Your mum will stay with us; your parents can remain in the village, Oliver said, trying to sound decisive.
You spent fortyhundred pounds on what? A kitchen set? Lucy snapped, her voice shaking.
Oliver thrust the receipt onto the table; the plates clattered. Lucy flinched, then forced herself to stay calm.
It was for a set. The old one fell apartdoor came off, the worktop was stained.
Fortyhundred! We agreed any big purchase would be discussed first.
We did discuss it! I told you a month ago. You said, look for yourself.
I never said spend that much!
How much do you think a decent set should cost? Tenhundred? That was the cheapest you could find!
Oliver paced the cramped kitchen, tugging at his hair.
Every penny counts now! We were saving for a car.
Well save. But I need a place to cook now, not when the car arrives.
We could have waited.
Wait? Spend the next six months on two burners because the other ones are broken?
He turned to her, eyes hard. If you could actually save, wed have a car and a bigger flat by now.
Lucy felt a lump rise in her throat. I dont know how to save? I count every pound to stretch the paycheck, buy the cheapest groceries, and Im still in that same threadbare coat for the third year.
See? Youre playing the victim again.
Im not the victim! Im just stating facts!
They faced each other, breathing heavily. Lucy fought back tears, refusing to let them fall. She wouldnt show weakness.
Olivers phone rang. He glanced at the screen, muttered Mum and stalked out into the hallway.
Lucy lingered at the kitchen table, her head cradled in her hands. How had they gotten here? Theyd never fought over money before. Theyd never argued this often.
She remembered their first meeting. Lucy was the receptionist at a dental surgery; Oliver came in for a filling. They chatted while waiting, he invited her for coffee, six months later he proposed.
She was twentysix, he twentyeight. Both working, sharing a modest flat. Then they took a mortgage and bought a onebedroom on the outskirts of Londontiny, but theirs.
Life was ordinary, not affluent but not destitute. Arguments were rare, usually about trivialities. Lucy thought they were fine.
Then something cracked. Oliver grew irritable, nitpicking everything, constantly bringing up money and saving. He earned well as a manager at a large firm, while Lucy earned less, trying to help at home, cook, and save where she could.
But Oliver never seemed satisfied. You dont cook right. You dont clean right. You waste money.
One evening Oliver returned to the kitchen, his face solemn. Lucy, we need to talk.
Im listening.
My mum called. Her blood pressures erratic, her hearts weak. She cant live alone.
And?
Ive decided shell move in with us until she gets better.
Lucy stared at him. Oliver, we only have a onebedroom flat. Where will she stay?
On the sofa in the living room. Well shift the dining table into the kitchen and put a folding bed.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my mother. I cant leave her on her own in that state.
What about my parents? Theyre about seventy, my dad cant manage the house, my mum cant walk after her stroke.
Your folks live in the village. They have a house, a garden. Theyre fine there.
Theyre not fine! I drive up every week to chop wood, fetch water, clean up!
Keep doing that. But my mum will be here.
Why does your mum get priority while my parents have to struggle in the countryside?
Olivers stare turned cold. Because my mum is alone. Your parents have each other, its easier for them. And in the city she needs doctors, which isnt a village thing.
Shell live with us, your parents can stay in the village. Thats what you decided, not us.
Lucy stood, fists clenched under the table. You decided. You didnt discuss it. I didnt have a say.
Im the head of the family.
The head of the family who spends on fishing gear and a new rod, but balks at buying a kitchen set for his wife!
Dont twist this!
Im not twisting! Im stating facts! You think you have the right to dictate everything, but when it comes to my parents, you change the rules!
Your parents are fine!
No! Its hard for them! Yet you never offer to help! You never go with me, never ask if they need anything!
Oliver snatched the car keys. Im fed up. Mum arrives Saturday. Prepare a room.
What if I dont?
This is my flat. Im paying the mortgage. My mother will be here, whether you like it or not.
He stormed out. Lucy sank onto the kitchen floor, sobbing silently. This was her flat, her decision, her mother and she? A servant? A shadow forced to obey her husbands wishes?
She wiped her tears, grabbed the phone, and called her parents.
Hello, love! her mothers weak voice answered.
Mum, how are you?
Nothing much, lad. Dads chopping wood, were heating the old stove. Its a cold winter.
Mum, could you move to the city? Ill find a place to rent
Dont be silly, love! Weve lived here all our lives. Where would the money come from for a rent?
Ill manage.
Dont worry. Well manage. You already do so much for us. Just dont wear yourself out.
Lucy swallowed another wave of grief. Ill be there on Sunday with supplies.
Come on over, love. Well be glad to see you.
Her parents never complained; they always said theyd manage. Yet Lucy knew the truthold walls, coal fires, a water tank they had to haul from the well, a seventythreeyearold dad barely walking after heart surgery, a mother with a strokeshaken left hand. They persevered, refusing to be a burden.
Olivers mother, Valerie Hart, lived in a twobedroom flat in central London. She was sixtyfive, health not perfect but she managed alone. Oliver was an only child; Valerie called him ten times a day, offering advice on everything. Oliver obeyed without question.
At first Lucy endured. Then she rebelled, but Oliver always sided with his mother, telling Lucy she didnt understand his mothers good intentions.
Now Valerie was moving into their cramped flat, and Lucy was expected to look after her, cook, clean, while her own parents were left to the cold village.
One night Oliver returned late, went straight to the bedroom, didnt even say hello. Lucy lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep.
The next morning he left for work early, leaving a note on the table: Prepare a room for mum on Saturday. Clean the floors, change the bedding.
Lucy crumpled the note and tossed it in the bin.
Friday evening she drove to the village, delivered groceries, medicine, helped her dad split wood and tidied the house. They sat drinking tea; her mother watched her closely.
You look pale, love. Everything alright?
Fine, Mum.
Dont lie. I can see when youre upset.
Lucy sighed. Valeries moving in with us.
Right, her dad shrugged. Old folk can stay.
But we only have one bedroom. Well be sleeping on a foldout in the kitchen.
Give it time. She wont be forever, I guess?
I dont know. Oliver said until she gets better. No timeline.
Her mother brushed Lucys hand. I understand, love. Its hard, having a motherinlaw under the same roof. But a son must look after his own mother.
A daughter isnt obliged to look after her parents? Lucy burst out.
Her father frowned. What are you on about?
I suggested we take you both to the city, a bigger flat, more help. He said youre better off in the village.
Better off, yes, her mother said gently. Were used to this. City would be cramped for us.
But youre struggling! Dad can barely walk, I cant use my left hand properly!
We manage. The important thing is youre healthy, and Olivers okay. Dont worry about us.
Lucy leaned into her mother, tears spilling. Im exhausted. Tired of his attitude. Tired of being second. Tired that his mother means more than my parents.
Shh, love, her mother soothed. Itll pass. Shell stay a while, then go back.
Lucy, however, couldnt believe it.
Saturday morning Valerie arrived with three massive suitcases. Lucy, help me in! she shouted from the doorway.
Lucy lifted the bags in silence. Valerie surveyed the flat. Youre living too tight! You need a bigger place!
We cant afford it, Lucy replied flatly.
You should earn more! Oliver, ask for a bonus!
Mom, thats not how it works, Oliver said, arranging the luggage.
Valerie snapped, In my day we worked for conscience, not for fear!
Lucy retreated to the kitchen, started the stew, hearing Valerie boss Oliver aroundmove this, hang that.
Valerie eventually asked, What are you cooking?
Borscht and meatballs.
Oliver cant have fatty foodhis livers weak!
Chicken patties, steamed.
Still no good. Bring fish. I brought a pike, Ill show you how.
I can cook fish.
Fine, but not the way I do. She pushed Lucy away from the stove, taking over.
The lunch passed under a tense cloud. Valerie lectured about health, prices, neighbours. Oliver nodded, Lucy gritted her teeth.
After the meal, Valerie rested. Lucy washed dishes when Oliver approached from behind.
Thanks for taking my mum in.
Did I have a choice?
Lucy, dont start.
Im not starting. Im stating facts. You decided, I obeyed.
You could be kinder to her.
I am polite.
Youre cold. She feels it.
Lucy turned. Oliver, your mother has taken our room, driven me from the stove, criticised my cooking, and Im expected to be pleasant?
Shes ill!
She commands everything! And you let her?
Enough! Oliver shouted. Shes my mother! I wont let you insult her!
Im not insulting! Im speaking the truth!
Valeries voice floated from the bedroom, Oliver, whats happening? Are you fighting?
No, mum, everythings fine. Oliver hurried away.
Lucy stayed at the sink, wiping tears, finishing the dishes.
A week later Valerie had claimed half the wardrobe, spread her belongings everywhere. Lucy and Oliver slept on a folding bed in the kitchen; her back ached from the cramped position.
Valerie rose early, rattling dishes, making a breakfast Lucy refusedtoo greasy, too heavy. She then turned the TV up to full blast, then began offering unsolicited advice.
Lucy, youre washing the floor wrong. Heres how.
Lucy, youre setting the washing temperature too low.
Lucy, that dress doesnt suit you.
Lucy endured in silence, while Oliver defended his mother, accusing Lucy of ingratitude.
The arguments became daily. Lucy felt herself drainingwork, the flat, Valerie, Oliver. Her own parents, too, suffered; she could no longer visit as often because Valerie demanded attention. She hired a neighbour to help her parents, paying her out of what little she had.
One evening Lucy sat at the kitchen table, tallying expenses. Money wouldnt stretch to the next paydayshe needed medicine for her dad, rent for the neighbours help, and utilities.
Valerie entered. Lucy, I need new slippers. These hurt. Can you spare some money?
I have nothing extra.
How can that be? Oliver got paid!
Olivers salary goes to the mortgage and food.
What about yours?
Its spent on my parents meds, bills, daily costs.
Your parents! Always their needs first, and nothing left for me!
Valeries lips pursed. Your pension is tiny! Mine isnt enough either!
Both of us are short, but Im not asking you for money.
Valerie stormed out, then complained to Oliver: She refused! I asked for slippers, and she said no!
Oliver returned, face flushed. You seriously denied my mother money for slippers?
I told you I have no spare cash!
And you have money for your own parents?
My parents need medicine!
My mother also needs slippers! Give her something!
Give it yourself! Its your mothers right!
I have none!
I have none either!
They shouted, Valerie standing smug in the doorway. Lucy finally saw the whole picture: a mother manipulating her son, a husband blinded, and herself cornered.
This is enough, she said softly. Stop.
What do you mean stop? Oliver asked, confused.
Everything. Im exhausted. I wont be your servant any longer. My parents are nothing to you.
Lucy, this is a tantrum!
It isnt. Its a decision. Im leaving.
Oliver froze. Where will you go?
To my parents. Ill live with them. If you dont need me here, thats fine.
Youre crazy!
No. Ive decided. Youll manage on your own.
Lucy moved to the bedroom, began packing. Oliver followed, pleading. Lucy, stop! You cant just walk out!
I can, and I will.
What about me?
Youll survive. Your mother will cook, clean, and do everything you expect from a wife.
But I love you!
Lucy halted, looked him in the eye. If you loved me, you wouldnt let your mother push me aside. Youd value my needs as much as yours.
You didnt forget!
You did. You didnt even remember Dads birthday next week, didnt ask if he needed help, didnt suggest a visit.
Oliver was silent.
Im tired of being alone in this marriage, Lucy continued. Im tired of carrying everything. I want to care for those who appreciate it.
She closed her suitcase, grabbed a bag. Lucy, wait! Lets talk!
Its too late. It should have been earlier.
She walked out, Valerie watching from the hallway. Leaving? Fine, go. Oliver will be better off without you.
Lucy paused. Youve won, Valerie. Youve taken my husband. Living in a cramped flat with a motherinlaw is a miserable happiness, isnt it?
She stepped out, slamming the door. The night was cold, snow falling as she hailed a cab to the train station, bought a ticket to the village.
She arrived late, the house dark. She slipped off her coat, collapsed onto the old sofa in the hall.
Morning brought the smell of pancakes. Her mother was at the stove. Lucy! How are you?
Im here for good, Lucy whispered.
Good? And Oliver?
Hes staying with his mum. Theyll manage.
Her mother hugged her tightly. My dear, how did it come to this?
It just did, Lucy said, tears welling.
They sat with tea, Lucy recounting the nightmare with Valerie, the fights, her decision to leave.
You did right, her father said. You cant endure that.
But I love him, Lucy murmured.
Love isnt putting up with humiliation. Love is respect. He gave you none.
Lucy nodded, feeling the truth settle.
She found work at the village library, modest pay but enough. She helped her parents with chores, gradually adjusting to country life.
Oliver called at first, begging her to return. He claimed hed change. Eventually, after months of weekly visits, he began to help her parentscutting firewood, fixing the roof, fetching water. He spoke more with both sets of grandparents, showing genuine concern.
One evening on the garden wall, he said, I sold the flat.
What? Lucy stared.
I bought a threebedroom house. If you want, your parents could move in with us.
You really did that?
Yes. I realised Id been wrong, putting my mum above you. Im sorry.
Lucy felt the familiar knot in her throat loosen.
What about Valerie?
Shes angry, but I told her she either accepts us or shell see less of us. She chose to try.
Will she come here?
She wants to apologise to your parents, help your mum with chores.
Lucy hesitated, then asked, So youre coming back?
Oliver met her gaze, hands calloused from the garden work. If youll give us another chance, but only if were equal. My mum, your parents, our opinionsall matter equally.
Ill return, but on one conditionmy voice counts as much as yours, my parents are as important as yours.
I agree. I promise.
They embraced on the old wooden bench, the night air crisp. Lucy knew there was still work aheadrebuilding trust, healing woundsbut they had taken the first step. Love, she realized, must be a partnership, not a hierarchy.
Valerie did indeed turn up a week later, apologised to Lucys parents, helped her mum with the garden. The family began to mend, moving eventually into a larger house in a suburb, where both sets of grandparents visited regularly.
And in the end, Lucy discovered that a family is built on mutual respect, not on who gets the bigger sofa. The story continues, but now with everyone sharing the same table.
