Momll stay with us, your folks can stick to the village, Oliver said, halfsmiling, halfgrumbling.
Fortyfive hundred pounds on a kitchen set?!
Oliver slammed the receipt on the table so hard the plates bounced. Lucy flinched, tried to keep her voice steady.
It was the set. The old one finally fell apartcabinet door fell off, the worktop was all stained.
Fortyfive hundred! We agreed any big purchase would be discussed first!
I told you about it a month ago! You said, Go ahead, Ill trust you.
I never said spend that much!
How much do you think a decent set should cost? Tenhundred? That was the cheapest I could find!
Oliver paced the kitchen, tugging at his hair.
Were scraping every penny now! Weve been saving for a car!
We were. Well still save. But I need a place to cook tonight, not when we finally buy a car.
Couldve waited!
Wait? Another six months cooking on two burners because the rest are dead?
Oliver turned to her.
You know what? If you could actually save, wed have both the car and a bigger flat by now!
Lucy felt a lump rise in her throat.
Im not good at saving? I count every pound until payday, I buy the cheapest groceries, Ive been wearing that old coat for three years.
Exactly, youre the victim again!
Im not a victim! Im just stating facts!
They stared each other down, breathing hard. Lucy fought back tears, refusing to let them fall.
Olivers phone rang. He glanced at the screen, muttered Mum and slipped out into the hallway.
Lucy stayed at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. How did they get here? Theyd never fought over money before. Theyd barely argued at all.
She remembered how they’d met. Lucy was a receptionist at a dental practice; Oliver came in for a tooth. They chatted in the waiting room, he invited her for coffee, six months later he proposed.
She was twentysix, he twentyeight. Both working, sharing a cramped council flat on the citys outskirts. They later took a mortgage and bought a onebedroom house in a suburban estatemodest, but theirs.
Life was decent. Not rich, not struggling. Arguments were rare and usually about trivial things. Lucy thought everything was fine.
Then something snapped. Oliver grew irritable, nitpicking, always bringing up money and saving. He earned well as a manager at a large firm, but Lucy earned less, tried to help at home, cook, stretch the budget.
One day Oliver returned to the kitchen, face serious.
Lucy, we need to talk.
Im listening.
My mum called. Her healths decliningblood pressure spikes, 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 move the bed to the kitchen and set up a sofabed.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my mum. I cant leave her like that.
Im not saying we cant. Maybe hire a carer?
A carer costs money. Money we dont have, thanks to your splurges.
Lucy clenched her fists under the table.
What about my parents? Theyre about seventy, dad struggles with chores, mum cant walk well after a stroke.
Your folks live in the village. They have a house, a garden. Theyre fine there.
Theyre not fine! I go every week to chop firewood, fetch water, tidy up!
Keep doing that. But my mum will be here.
Why does your mum get priority while my parents have to stay in the village?
Olivers stare turned cold.
Because my mum is alone. Your parents have each other, so its easier for them. Plus, they need city doctors, which they cant get in the village.
Alone? Shes fiftyfour, you barely know her!
Mom will stay with us, your parents can stay in the village. Thats my decision.
Lucy stood up.
You decided, not us. No discussion. You just decided.
Im the head of the household.
The head who spends cash on fishing gear but cant afford a proper kitchen set for his wife!
Dont twist my words!
Im not twisting! Im stating facts! You think you have the right to decide for both of us, but when it comes to my parents, its a different story!
Your parents are fine!
Theyre not! Yet you never offer to help, never go with me, never ask if they need anything.
Oliver snatched the car keys.
Im tired of this. Mum arrives Saturday. Get the spare room ready.
What if I dont want to?
This is my flat. Im paying the mortgage. My mum will live here, love it or not.
He walked out. Lucy sank onto the kitchen floor and sobbed quietly, feeling the walls close in. This was her home, her decision, her mother and she was just a servant?
She wiped her tears, grabbed her phone and called her parents.
Hello, love! her mum answered, voice frail.
Mum, how are you?
Not bad, love. Dads chopping firewood, were keeping the stove going. Its been a cold year.
Mum, could you move to the city? Ill find a flat
Oh, Lucy dear! Why would we? Weve lived here all our lives. And where would the money come from for a rented place?
Dont worry, well sort it.
Its fine, love. You already help us enough. Just dont wear yourself out.
Lucy swallowed another sob.
Ill be there on Sunday with groceries.
Come on over, love. Well be glad to see you.
She hung up. Her parents never complained; they always said theyd manage. Yet Lucy saw the cracked walls, the cold water from the tap, the endless chopping of wood. Her dad, seventythree, struggled after heart surgery; her mum, after a stroke, couldnt use her left hand well, but they refused to be a burden.
Her motherinlaw, Vera Thompson, lived in a twobedroom flat in the city, a bit younger than Lucys parents, about sixtyfive. She wasnt in perfect health but managed on her own. Oliver was her only son and obeyed her every call, ten times a day, about meals, clothes, appointments.
Lucy first tried to endure, then to protest, but Oliver always sided with his mum, saying Lucy didnt understand his mothers good intentions.
Now Vera was moving in, taking up half the wardrobe, commandeering the kitchen, making Lucy sleep on the sofabed. Meals were greasy and heavy; Vera would constantly lecture on how Lucy washed the floor, did the laundry, dressed herself.
Lucy kept her head down, did as shed always done. Veras complaints grew daily, Olivers rebukes followed, Why cant you listen to my mum? She wants to help! I dont need her help! Youre ungrateful! The fights became routine, draining Lucys spirit.
One evening Lucy sat at the kitchen table, tallying expenses. Money was short until paydayfathers medication, paying the neighbour who helped with chores, the gas bill.
Vera wandered in.
Lucy, I need new slippers. These are tight. Can you spare some money?
I dont have any extra.
How? Oliver got paid this week!
Olivers salary goes to the mortgage and food.
What about your salary?
Its for my parents meds, utilities, everyday costs.
Your parents again! Vera snapped. You always fund them, never me!
Your pension is small, I know, Lucy said quietly.
Little enough! I need more!
Me too, but Im not asking you for money.
Vera stalked out, then complained to Oliver in the hallway.
You refused my mums request for slippers!
Oliver stormed back, face red.
Did you really deny my mum money for slippers?
I told you I have none left!
You have money for your parents, but not for me?
Its not about money, its about priorities! they shouted, while Lucy watched, feeling like a trapped bird.
She finally raised her voice, low but firm.
Thats enough.
What do you mean enough? Oliver asked, confused.
Enough of this. Im done being your housemaid. Im done watching my parents being treated like afterthoughts.
Dont have a fit, Lucy!
This isnt a fit, its a decision. Im leaving.
Oliver froze.
Where to?
To my parents house. Ill care for them. If you dont need me here, thats fine.
Youve lost it!
No, Ive made up my mind. You two manage on your own.
He tried to stop her.
Lucy, stop! You cant just go!
I can, and I will.
And what about me?
Youll manage. Your mum will cook, clean, everything.
But I love you!
Lucy met his eyes.
If you loved me, you wouldnt let your mother push you aside, you wouldnt put her needs above mine, you wouldnt forget my dads birthday next week, you wouldnt ask me to help with his health.
Oliver was silent.
Im exhausted being alone in this marriage, Lucy continued. I want to care for those who actually value my care.
She packed a suitcase, grabbed her bag, and headed for the bedroom.
Lucy, wait! Lets talk!
Its too late for talk. It should have been earlier.
She walked out, the hallway echoing with Veras voice, Good luck, youll manage better without me.
Outside, the night was cold, snow falling. Lucy flagged a cab, rode to the train station, bought a bus ticket to the village.
She arrived late, the house silent. She slipped off her shoes, collapsed onto the old sofa in the living room.
Morning smelled of pancakes. Her mum was flipping them on the stove.
Lucy! Youre here!
Ive come to stay for good.
Good forever? And Oliver?
Hes staying with my mum. Itll be easier for them.
Her mum hugged her tightly.
My dear, how did it come to this?
It just happened, Mum.
They sat with tea, Lucy spilling the whole saga. Her dad nodded.
You did right. You shouldnt put up with that, he said. Love isnt about tolerating humiliation; its about respect.
Lucy agreed, feeling lighter.
She found work at the village librarymodest pay but enough. She helped her parents around the house, settled into rural life.
Oliver called at first, begging her to return, promising change. She didnt believe him.
A month later he turned up at the garden gate.
Can I come in?
Sure.
They sat in the kitchen while her parents tended the garden.
Lucy, I finally understand. My mum was overwhelming, I felt like a child again. I sent her back to her flat.
Why?
Because I cant live like that. I want you back. Ill help your parents, listen to you, not put my mum above you.
Lucy looked at him, wanting to trust but fearing another letdown.
Ill think about it, she said.
How much time?
A month, maybe two. I need to see its not a quick fix.
He nodded.
Ill wait.
She stayed in the village.
Three months passed. Oliver visited weekly, helped her dad chop wood, fixed the roof, fetched water, chatted with both sets of parents about health.
Lucy saw genuine effort.
One evening on the porch, he said, I sold the flat. Bought a threebedroom house, bigger, so your parents could move in with us if you want.
Lucys eyes widened.
You really did that?
Yes. I realised Id been wrong, putting my mum first. Im sorry.
What about Vera?
Shes upset, but I told her she either accepts us both or well see each other less. She chose to try.
Lucy felt tears well up.
So youll come back? she asked.
She looked at his sincere face, his hands still dirty from the garden.
Ill come back, but on one conditionmy parents are as important as your mum, my opinions count as much as yours.
He smiled, Deal.
They embraced on the old porch, knowing thered still be work to do, but at least they were starting on equal footing.
Vera did indeed show up a week later, apologised to Lucys parents, even helped her mum with the garden.
Life settled into a new rhythm. Lucy split her time between the city and the village, visiting her parents often, while Oliver kept his promises.
It felt rightfamily isnt just a husband and wife; its both sets of parents, all deserving equal love and care.
