Dear Diary,
Andrew walked in with his phone still glued to the news feed and said, My son lives here, so Ill stay too, as his mother, Margaret, crossed the threshold of our flat.
Emilywell, that would be mehad just poured tea for Andrew when I suggested, Lets head to the market on Saturday to pick up seedlings for the garden. We can grab some tomatoes and cucumbers for the allotment.
Andrew nodded, scrolling. Sounds good. Lets leave early; otherwise well get stuck in the queue.
I settled opposite him. Could we catch a film in the evening? Theres a new release Ive been wanting to see.
He looked up, smiled, and replied, Of course, love. Its been ages since weve gone out just the two of us. I sighed contentedly. Eight years of marriage have taught us to cherish quiet evenings and simple weekend plans, free from the usual hustle.
The phone rang. Andrew glanced at the screen, his brow furrowing. Its Mum, he said. Shes not usually that chatty at this hour.
Answer it, I prompted.
He switched to speaker. Hello, Mumwhats wrong?
A bright voice burst through, Andrew, darling, Ive got news! Ive sold my flat!
Andrew and I exchanged a stunned look.
How could you sell it? he stammered. You never mentioned you were looking to move.
Margaret babbled on, It was sudden. My neighbour Tamara mentioned her nephew needed a place. He offered a good price, and I accepted. The money has already been transferred; we sign the papers tomorrow.
Andrew rubbed his nose. Mum, where will you stay?
As if you didnt know, Margaret replied, as if it were obvious. Ill move into your flat. Ill bring my things tomorrow evening.
A chill ran through me. I looked at Andrew, who seemed equally bewildered.
Mum, can we discuss this calmly? he finally managed. Come over tomorrow, and well talk.
Theres nothing to discuss, Margarets tone turned steel. Im your mother; I have nowhere else to go. Ive got to run; lots to do. See you tomorrow.
The line clicked off. I whispered, Shes joking, right?
Andrew shrugged. Mum can be impulsive. Maybe shell explain everything when she arrives.
But I knew Margaret well enough to recognize that when she said she was moving in, she meant it.
That night I lay awake, picturing her in our kitchen, drifting into the living room, constantly offering unsolicited advice. I turned over and over while Andrew slept peacefully beside me.
In the morning I rose feeling drained. Andrew had already left for work, leaving a note: Emily, dont worry. Well sort it with Mum this evening. Love you. I crumpled the note. It was easy for him to say dont worry when it was his mother who was about to upend our life.
At work I couldnt focus. My colleague Laura noticed my gloom. Whats got you down, love?
I recounted the phone call. Laura shook her head. Thats awful. My sister went through the same thingher mother moved in and they split after three months.
Dont scare me, I whispered, heart pounding.
Laura placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. Im just warning you. But maybe your mother-inlaw is reasonable.
I managed a bitter smile. Reasonable? Margaret thinks shes the only one who can make a proper bolognese, do the laundry, and run a household. Every visit feels like an inspectionendless critiques and suggestions.
That afternoon I slipped home early, hoping for a quiet few hours before Margaret arrived. I walked through each room, saying a silent goodbye to the life wed built: the bright bedroom, the cosy living room where wed watched countless films, the kitchen where I loved to experiment with recipes.
When the lock clicked, Andrew stepped in, followed by Margaret, with a porter hauling a massive suitcase and a couple of boxes trailing behind.
Your son lives here, so Ill be here too, Margaret announced, planting a kiss on my cheek. Andrew, show me where I can settle.
Andrew looked apologetic. Mum, maybe we should talk first? Have a cup of tea first?
Later, Margaret brushed him aside. Im exhausted from the journey. Show me the room.
We only have two rooms, Andrew explained. The bedroom and the sitting room.
The sitting room will be mine, of course, she declared, as if it were common sense. Is the sofa a pullout? Perfect. Young man, she said to the porter, put everything in that room.
I felt as if the floor had dropped beneath me. Our living roomour space for friends and eveningswas suddenly hers.
Mum, can we at least discuss this? I said firmly. You didnt ask us, you didnt warn us.
Margaret turned, her eyes cold with authority. Sweetheart, this is my sons flat. Im his mother. I dont need permission from anyone.
But Im his wife! I snapped.
And thats exactly why Im here, she replied, emphasizing the word wife. I am his mother. Blood runs thicker.
Andrew stood between us, pale and silent. I waited for him to defend me, but he said nothing.
Fine, Margaret said, paying the porter and closing the door behind him. Whats for dinner?
I havent cooked yet, I muttered through clenched teeth.
She marched to the kitchen. Ill make something. You lot survive on readymade meals, dont you?
Left alone in the hallway, I turned to Andrew. Why didnt you say she couldnt just move in?
Its my mother, he shrugged helplessly. She really has nowhere to go. She sold her flat.
Did you ask us? I demanded, voice trembling. Are we just furniture in this place?
He tried to hug me, but I pulled away. I understand this is sudden, but its not permanent. Shell find another place eventually.
She just sold her flat! I shouted. Where will she get money for a new one?
Andrew fumbled. She she invested it somewhere. Im not sure where.
Where? I pressed. Explain!
He avoided my eyes. She said it was a good investmentsome friends business.
I shut my eyes, the realization sinking in: Margaret had sold her home, vanished the proceeds, and now expected to live with us.
From the kitchen came the clatter of dishes and Margarets muttering, No proper saucepan! How can I cook like this?
I fled to the bedroom, slammed the door, and collapsed onto the bed. For the first time in eight years, I wanted to pack my things and leave. But where could I go? This was my home.
An hour later Margaret called us to dinner. She placed steaming bowls of soup on the table. Sit while its hot, she instructed. Andrew, slice the bread.
Andrew obeyed. I sat quietly, the aroma of the soup failing to stir any appetite.
Whats wrong? Margaret asked. Dont you like it?
Im just not hungry, I replied.
She smirked, A working woman should eat well. Perhaps youre on a diet? You could lose a few pounds.
I clenched my fists under the table. The criticism had begun.
Andrew tried to defend me. Emily looks lovely.
Margaret snapped back, Im just looking out for you. You want your wife to be beautiful, dont you?
Hes right, Andrew muttered, his cheeks flushing.
After dinner Margaret announced, Tomorrow Ill do a deep clean. Its been ages since youve really tidied up.
I gritted my teeth. We keep the flat tidy every Saturday.
Thats just your impression, dear, she said condescendingly. My standards are higher.
Later, in the bedroom, I finally let the tears flow. Andrew tried to comfort me, Emily, please dont cry. Its only temporary.
How long? I sobbed. A month? A year? Forever?
I dont know, he admitted. Well figure something out.
I wish youd stood up for me when she started commenting on my weight, I said, hurt.
I told her youre beautiful, he replied weakly.
It was only after she kept pushing, I retorted. This is my flat too. I dont want your mother dictating how I live.
She shrugged, Im just used to being in charge.
I snapped, Then stay in your own place! You have no right to take over our living room, bedroom, kitcheneverything!
Andrew looked torn. I love you, but shes my mother. I cant just kick her out.
Then you choose, I said, voice shaking. Either you or me.
He sighed, Alright, Ill talk to her.
Later, I poured water at the kitchen sink. Margaret sat sipping tea, eyes cold. So, you want to drive a wedge between me and my son?
I just want my own home, I said, weary.
This is my sons flat, she replied sharply. I raised him. Who are you?
Ive been his wife for eight years, I answered, the anger now a steady fire. Where were you when he was ill? When he lost his job? I was there.
She looked pale. I I didnt know. My husband died, and I felt lost. A friend suggested I invest in a business, which turned out to be a scam. I sold my flat, thought I could hide, but I was ashamed to tell Andrew.
What business? I asked.
None. It was a fraud, she admitted, shaking her head. I was taken for a fool.
I softened a little. Why didnt you tell us?
It was humiliating, she said. Ive always been independent, but now Im a helpless old woman.
Silence settled. I placed my hand over hers. We could have helped if youd spoken up.
She nodded, tears spilling. I was scared. I thought youd push me away.
Later that evening Andrew walked in, surprised to see us together. Whats happening? he asked cautiously.
Were talking, I said. Just a hearttoheart.
Andrew turned to his mother. Mum, why didnt you tell me about the scam?
She looked guilty. I didnt want you to think I was foolish.
Andrew embraced her. Youre my mum. Ill help you. Well go to the police tomorrow.
I suggested, We should also see a solicitor. Maybe the sale can be challenged if you were misled.
Margaret stared at me, astonished. Youd help me after everything?
Yes, I replied. Youre part of this family now.
She broke down, Im sorry, Emily. I was horrendous, constantly criticizing and meddling.
Its alright now, I soothed, rubbing her back. The important thing is weve spoken.
She promised to change, to stop ordering around. I vowed to be more tolerant and maybe even learn her famous pancake recipe.
That night, for the first time in weeks, I slept soundly. Margaret was still with us, but the tension had eased. In the morning she rose early, prepared a simple breakfast without the vacuum, and waited for us to come down.
Good morning, she said when we entered. Breakfast is ready, but no pressure if you dont want it.
I smiled. It smells wonderful.
Over tea we discussed the days plan, laughed about a silly story from her youth, and I felt a genuine sense of relaxation.
At the police station they took our statement seriously and opened a file. The solicitor told us there was a chance to contest the sale if we could prove Margaret had been deceived.
That evening we scoured listings for a modest onebedroom flat nearby. Well help with the rent, Mum, Andrew offered. Dont worry.
Margarets eyes softened. Thank you, both of you.
Within a week she moved into a cosy flat in the next street. I helped her settle, bringing fresh flowers and new curtains.
It’s lovely here, she said, admiring the space. Thanks, Emily.
Visit us anytime, but give a headsup, please, I replied.
She kept that promise, dropping by a couple of times a week, sometimes bringing a homecooked treat, sometimes just sharing a cuppa and the local news.
Our relationship gradually improved. Margaret stopped the constant nitpicking, and I stopped feeling resentful. One afternoon, while baking a cake together, she said, Im glad things turned out this way. I used to think my son owed me everything. Now I see he needs his wife too.
Youre both vital to him, just in different ways, I answered.
She embraced me. Thank you for taking me in and forgiving me.
Were family, I said, smiling.
Later, Andrew and I curled up on the sofanow truly oursand I whispered, I never thought Id make it through the time your mum lived with us.
He looked puzzled. Why?
Because we learned to speak up, not shut down. It made us stronger.
He kissed my forehead. Youre amazing. I love you.
I love you too, I replied, feeling the warm glow of the lamp as evening settled over our street.
Life remains messy, but with Andrew by my side and even Margaret turned ally rather than adversary, the future feels manageable. The little victoriesshared meals, honest conversations, a fresh start for Mumare enough to keep me hopeful.
