I was standing in the kitchen, a bag of cheap pork sausages in my hand, when Emily froze by the fridge. She hadnt even bothered to greet me when she got home from work, and I didnt bother to kiss her either.
Good evening, love, I said, trying to keep my tone even. I bought the discounted pack. Were a bit short on cash at the moment.
Youre short on cash? Emily snapped, her voice rising. Were barely scraping by as it is, and youre spending on nonsense!
What nonsense? she shot back, hurt flashing in her eyes. I only buy the essentials.
I waved a hand and stalked off to the bedroom, leaving her clutching the grocery bags. Wed been married eight years, and for the past three months the arguments had become a habit the way she cooked, where she put things, how much she spent. Hed never been so particular before.
I watched her arrange the groceries on the shelves, hands trembling. She wanted to cry but held it together; she had to get dinner ready because Lucy, our nineyearold, would be home from school any minute and she couldnt see her mother in tears.
Dinner passed in silence. Lucy sensed the tension and ate quickly, then asked to do her homework. I kissed the top of her head and sent her off.
When she left, I finally spoke. I need to drive up to my mothers this weekend. Shes not feeling well.
Okay, Emily said softly. Should I come?
No, Ill go alone. You stay home; theres plenty to do.
She wanted to argue, but she kept quiet. Over the months shed learned to swallow her protests. We used to talk things through, argue, make up. Now it felt like a wall had risen between us.
Saturday morning I left early for my mothers. Emily tackled the house chores laundry, cleaning, cooking lunch the routine that had once seemed simple now felt heavy. Anxiety gnawed at her, refusing to let go.
Lucy played in her room while Emily tidied the bedroom. She opened the window for fresh air and heard voices on the balcony. At first she thought the neighbours were chatting, but then recognised my voice.
My mothers flat was on the same floor of the adjoining block. Id always thought the proximity convenient, but now it seemed a curse.
Mum, I cant take it any longer, I said, my voice sounding strained, nothing like the calm tone I used at home.
My boy, you must be firm, my mother, Doris Smith, replied. A woman needs to know her place.
Emily froze, guilt and anger mixing inside her. She knew she shouldnt be eavesdropping, yet she couldnt look away.
She never understands, I continued. I tell her one thing, she does another.
Thats exactly why you must be tougher with her, Doris said. Keep her in leather gloves. Ive always said that.
But I cant just shout at her all the time, I protested.
Dont shout. Just be stricter. Let her feel youre the head of the house, otherwise shell run wild, she warned.
A shiver ran down Emilys spine. Run wild? She worked from dawn till dusk cooking, cleaning, raising Lucy, and parttime at the local library to bring in a little extra. Was that runwild?
Im trying, Mum, I sighed. Sometimes I feel sorry for her.
Pity isnt a virtue, Doris said sharply. Youre the man, the head of the family. If youre soft, shell sit on your neck. All women are like that.
Not all, I muttered.
All! I raised you right, youre kind and caring. But in a marriage thats a weakness. You must keep your wife in check.
Emily retreated from the window, her legs shaking. She slipped onto the bed, the noise in her head like a vacuum cleaner turned on.
It wasnt that Id suddenly changed; it was Doris shaping me. Four months earlier shed stayed with us for a week, and after that visit my demeanor shifted.
Id begun to travel to my mothers more often, each trip leaving me colder and more demanding. Little things that never bothered me before now became grievances.
Lucy appeared at the doorway, eyes wide. Mum, are you crying?
I hadnt even noticed my own tears. I brushed them away quickly. No, love, just my eyes are itchy. Probably dust.
Really?
Really, I forced a smile. Go play. Ill have lunch ready soon.
When Lucy left, I sat on the bed, wondering what to do. Should I tell Emily Id heard the conversation? That would trigger another fight; shed accuse me of spying and pull further away. Should I stay silent and endure a mother who manipulates me against my wife? Every criticism now felt like Doriss words, not my own.
The rest of the day blurred. I cooked lunch mechanically, my mind replaying Doriss advice: keep her in leather gloves, dont be soft. Evening came and I tossed my keys on the hall table.
Dinner ready? I asked, skipping the usual greeting.
Yes, Ill reheat it, Emily replied, placing a pan on the stove. Her hands moved on autopilot, Doriss voice echoing in my head.
Whats wrong? she asked later, sitting down. You seem off.
Nothing, I said, sliding a plate toward her. Just tired.
Youre always tired, she retorted. What do you do all day at home?
I work at the library, I replied quietly.
The library? Halfaday wages, barely anything.
At least Im bringing something in, I shot back. Didnt you ever forbid me from working?
No, I just dont see the point. You should be keeping the house in order.
I clenched my teeth, reminding myself not to let this turn into a shouting match, especially not with Lucy watching.
Later, after Lucy was asleep, I lingered in the kitchen with a cold cup of tea while Emily watched television. We were strangers sharing a flat.
I thought back to when we first met, both twentythree. Id been a shop assistant in a bookshop, she was buying a gift for a friend. We chatted, went for coffee, then dates, laughter. She was attentive, sweet, caring. Even then, my mother, Doris, had hinted that I deserved more, that Emily came from a modest background and lacked education. I ignored her, telling her I loved Emily and that was enough.
We married despite my mothers disapproval, Lucy was born, and the early years were hard but happy. We survived sleepless nights, baby fevers, tight budgets. I was a solid support.
Then my mother started visiting more often, calling several times a day, inviting me over. I began to go, over and over.
The next day I decided to speak with Doris directly, not to argue but to discuss. I knocked on her door.
She opened, surprise flickering across her face. Oh, its you. Come in, she said, stepping aside.
Her flat was furnished with an odd mix of old furniture and lace tablecloths, family photos of me at various ages, none of Emily or Lucy.
Tea? she offered.
No thank you, Ill be brief, I said, taking a seat opposite her.
I wanted to talk about us, I began. Youve probably noticed things havent been smooth lately.
Yes, James. Igor told me, she replied.
Im asking if you could stop interfering in our marriage.
Her eyebrows lifted. Interfering? Hes my son. I have every right to be interested in his life.
Being interested is fine, but steering him against me isnt.
What do you mean? she asked, her tone cooling.
I overheard you on the balcony yesterday. You said I should keep Emily in leather gloves.
She went pale, then flushed. Did you eavesdrop?
I didnt mean to. I just had the window open for air and heard.
She stared at me, a flicker of guilt crossing her face. I was speaking the truth. Shes too soft, too much
I work from dawn to dusk, raising our child, helping out at the library. Thats not soft! I snapped, feeling the anger boil.
Yes? Then why is the house always a mess? Why are you so skinny? Why cant you cook? Why do you waste time at the library? A womans place is at home, by the stove.
We dont live in the 1950s, do we? I retorted.
Thats why families fall apart. Women chase careers, forget their purpose. Husbands end up miserable, children neglected.
Lucy isnt neglected! I spend all my time with her! I shouted.
Its not enough. She needs a calm mother, Doris said.
I realised the conversation was at a dead end and stood. Fine. I wont give up. This is my family and Ill fight for it.
She smirked. Remember, hes my son. Hell always listen to me first.
I left her flat, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. I didnt let them fall until I reached my own flat, where I collapsed onto the kitchen floor and wept until the sobs stopped.
Later that evening I returned, looking weary. Did you go to your mother? Emily asked.
Yes.
Why?
To talk.
She sighed. She called, said Id been rude to her.
I wasnt rude! I protested. I just asked her not to meddle.
She just gives advice, I said.
Do you understand whats happening? I asked her, eyes pleading. Shes turning you against me!
Its nonsense, she shrugged. Mum just wants me happy.
Are you happy? I asked, looking straight at her. Be honest.
She hesitated, then said, Im tired. I admitted, Im tired too, of the endless complaints, the tears, the arguments.
Then lets start over, like before, I suggested.
She shook her head. Things cant go back, she said, walking away.
For the first time in years I considered that maybe we shouldnt stay together.
That night I couldnt sleep. James thats me lay on the bed, facing the wall, the space between us as cold as an iceberg.
Morning came; I left for work without a word. I dropped Lucy at school and headed to the library.
My boss, Mrs. Allen, noticed my gloom. Whats wrong? she asked in the staff room.
I hesitated, then poured out everything the eavesdropped balcony, the visits, Emilys silence.
She listened, then said, Men are often more impressionable than we think, especially with motherly influence. Your soninlaw is still a child in his mothers eyes.
Was it always like this? I asked.
No, you lived apart before. Now shes nearby, she can push his buttons constantly.
What do I do? I asked.
Dont give up. Try to remind him of the love you once shared. And think about yourself are you willing to keep fighting for someone who wont fight for you?
Those words lodged in my mind. I spent the day replaying our early dates, the flowers shed bring, the way shed hold my hand in the delivery room. Somewhere under that icy exterior, the James I fell in love with still lived.
That evening I prepared his favourite buttered potatoes with mushrooms set the table, lit a candle.
When he walked in, he stopped at the doorway, surprised. Whats this?
Dinner, I said, smiling. Shall we eat together, like old times?
He sat hesitantly. I served him a portion and poured tea.
Remember our first holiday to the lake? I asked. You nearly drowned trying to show off your swimming.
He chuckled. You scolded me for an hour after that.
I was scared youd die, I admitted. I thought Id lost you.
We talked a little about the past. He even managed a smile or two. Hope flickered.
Then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen. Mum, he said, stepping out.
I heard fragments, Yes, Mum I understand
He returned, looking uneasy. I have to go to Mums. Shes unwell.
Now? Its already evening.
Yes, its urgent.
He left without finishing his meal. I sat at the table, the candle guttering, tears dripping onto the potatoes, but I didnt wipe them away.
Lucy peeked in from her room. Mum, why are you crying?
Just something, love. Go to bed.
Did you argue with Daddy?
No, everythings fine.
She hugged me. I love you, Mum.
I love you too, sweetheart, I whispered.
The next day I left for work, returned late, spent a weekend at my mothers, then went back to the flat. The pattern continued work, home, mothers visits, excuses.
I finally realised we couldnt keep living like this. I wrote Emily a long message, telling her I loved her but couldnt endure the constant tension, that her mother was tearing our family apart, and that something had to change or wed lose each other.
She read it, didnt reply. That night she came home, his face gloomy. Ive read your note, he said. Youre dramatising.
Its not drama! We barely speak, you pick fights over everything! Were strangers!
Youre the one who wont change! he shouted. Mums right, youre stubborn and headstrong. You dont listen to anyone.
My mother hates me. She wants to destroy our marriage!
Shes only trying to help! he retorted.
Why do you become a different man after every conversation with her? I asked.
He fell silent, eyes downcast. Maybe shes opening my eyes to things I ignored the mess, the bland food, my constant complaints.
I felt something break inside me. If thats true, perhaps you should find a perfect wife?
His face turned pale. What are you saying?
Im saying Im exhausted. Exhausted fighting, justifying myself. If Im that bad, why do you stay?
He snapped, Dont say foolish things.
Its not foolish, its reality, I said, standing. Think about it. Im going to bed.
I slipped into the bedroom, the weight on my shoulders finally lifting as I finally spoke my truth.
The next morning I took Lucy to school and visited my parents in the countryside, three hours by train. My mother welcomed us warmly. Come stay, love, she said.
I told Lucy we were going to see Grandma for a holiday. She beamed. I sent James a short text: Were at my parents for a week. Take some time to think. Ill be doing the same.
We boarded the train; Lucy fell asleep on my shoulder, the countryside rushing past. I wondered what would happen next. Would James return? Could he stand up to his mother? Or was our marriage doomed?
At the station my parents greeted us. My mother asked, Everything alright?
Later, I whispered.
That night, after Lucy slept, I recounted everything to my parents. My father listened, his expression growing darker. I should talk to that boy, he muttered. But were all in this together.
My mother, still protective, said, Were your family, love, so were involved.
I smiled through tears, grateful for their support.
I stayed three days, away from phones, away from arguments. I walked with Lucy, helped my mother with chores, talked with my father. It was a brief breath of peace.
On the fourth day I finally checked my phone. Thirty missed calls from James, a dozen messages, first angry, then confused, then pleading.
Where are you? one read.
Why arent you answering?
Im worried!
Please tell us youre okay.
The last message, sent an hour ago, said, I miss you and Lucy. Please come home.
I called him back. He answered after one ring.
Emily! Thank God! Where are you?
At my parents. Alls well here.
Why didnt you answer? Ive been looking everywhere!
I needed time to think. You too.
A pause.
Ive thought a lot, he said quietly. Youre right. My mother was turning me against you. I didnt want to admit it.
My heart quickened.
Continue, I urged.
I tried cooking, cleaning, everything on my own. I realised how much you do. Im sorry, I was a blind fool.
What about your mother?
I told her I wont let her meddle any more. She was hurt, but thats her problem now.
James?
I want you to come back, please. Lets start again, like we wanted.
I closed my eyes. I wanted to believe him, yet fear lingered. I need a little more time, I said. Ill be back in a couple of days, okay?
Okay, he exhaled. Ill be waiting.
I spent two more days with my parents, weighing my options. In the end I decided to give us another chance, for Lucy, for the love that still flickered.
We returned together; James waited at the station with a huge bouquet and an apologetic grin. Lucy ran to him, squealing. I walked slowly, meeting his gaze.
Sorry, he said, handing me the flowers. Ive learned. I promise things will be different.
Lets see, I replied, a faint smile on my lips.
At home the table was set. James had cooked dinner himself. It wasnt perfect, but I appreciated the effort.
Its tasty, I said, genuinely.
That night, after Lucy was asleep, we talked at length about his mother,We resolved to rebuild our marriage on mutual respect, keep our mothers meddling at bay, and promise to listen to each other from now on.
