Tell Mum she can stay with us; your parents can remain out in the village, I said.
You spent what, fortyhundred pounds on a kitchen set?!
I slammed the receipt onto the kitchen table so hard the plates jumped. Emily flinched, but she tried to keep her composure.
On the set. The old one finally fell apart. The door fell off, the worktop is mottled with stains.
Fortyhundred! We agreed any big purchase would be discussed first!
We did discuss it! I told you a month ago. You saidlook for yourself!
I never said you could spend that much!
And whats a decent set supposed to cost? Tenhundred? That was the cheapest you could find!
James paced the kitchen, tugging at his hair.
Every penny counts now. Weve been saving for a car!
We were saving. Well save again. But I need a place to cook now, not when we finally buy the car.
You could have waited!
Wait? Cook for the next six months on two burners because the others dont work?
I turned to her.
If youd been better at saving, wed have a car and a bigger flat by now!
Emily felt a lump rise in her throat.
Im not good at saving? I count every pound to stretch the salary, I buy the cheapest groceries, Ive been wearing that old coat for three years.
There you go again, playing the victim!
Im not a victim! Im just stating the facts!
We stood facetoface, breathing heavily. Emilys eyes welled, but she fought the tears. No crying. No showing weakness.
Jamess phone rang. He glanced at the screen, muttered Mum, and slipped out into the hallway.
Emily stayed in the kitchen, sank into a chair, and rested her head on her hands. What had happened to us? Wed never argued about money before, never fought this often.
She recalled how they met. Emily worked as a receptionist at a dental practice; James came in for a filling. They chatted while waiting, he invited her for coffee, and six months later he proposed.
Emily was twentysix, James twentyeight. Both working, sharing a modest flat. Then they took out a mortgage and bought a onebedroom house on the outskirts of Manchestersmall, but theirs.
Life was simple. Not rich, but not struggling. Arguments were rare and petty. Emily thought they were fine.
Then things changed. James grew irritable, nitpicky, constantly bringing up money and saving, even though he earned a decent salary as a manager at a large firm. Emily earned less, tried to keep the house running, cooking and cutting costs wherever she could.
But James never seemed satisfied. You didnt cook properly. You didnt clean properly. You spent too much.
James returned to the kitchen, his expression serious.
Emily, we need to talk.
Im listening.
Mum called. Her health is failingblood pressure spikes, her heart is weak. She cant live alone.
And?
Ive decided shell move in with us until she gets better.
Emily stared at him.
James, we only have a onebedroom flat. Where will she stay?
On the sofa in the living room. Well shift the dining table, use a sofabed.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my mother. I cant leave her alone in that state.
Im not saying we shouldnt help, but could we hire a carer? Or
A carer costs money we dont have, thanks to your spending.
Emily clenched her fists under the table.
What about my parents? Theyre in their seventies, dad cant manage the house, mum struggles after a stroke.
Your parents have a house and a garden in the village. Theyre fine there.
Its not fine! I drive up every week to chop wood, carry water, clean up!
Keep doing that, but my mum will be here.
Why does your mum get priority while my parents have to suffer out there?
James looked at her, cold.
Because my mum is alone. Your parents are together, its easier for them. Plus, she needs city doctors, while your folks are used to village life.
Used to village life? James, do you hear yourself?
I hear. Mum will stay with us, your parents can remain in the village. Thats my decision.
Emily stood.
Its your decision, not ours. We never discussed it.
Im the head of the family.
Head of the familyspending on fishing gear while you cant even buy a kitchen set for your 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 you balk.
Your parents are fine!
No, theyre not! Yet you never offer to help, never go with me, never ask if they need anything.
James snatched the car keys.
Im done with this. Mum arrives on Saturday. Prepare a room.
What if I refuse?
He stopped at the doorway.
This is my flat. Im paying the mortgage. My mother will live here, whether you like it or not.
He left. Emily sank onto the kitchen floor, tears streaming, the room silent and hopeless.
This is my flat. My decision. My mother.
And who was she? A servant? A shadow that must obey every husbands whim?
She wiped her eyes, grabbed the phone, and dialed her parents.
Hello, love! her mother answered, voice frail.
Mum, how are you?
Oh, same old. Dads chopping firewood, were keeping the stove going. Its been a cold winter.
Would you both consider moving to the city? I could find a flat, rent it
Nonsense, love! Weve lived here all our lives. And where would you get the money for a rental?
Ill figure something out.
Dont. We manage. You already do so much for us. Just dont overdo it.
Emily swallowed her sobs.
Mum, Ill be there on Sunday with groceries.
Come, love. Well be glad to see you.
Her parents never complained; they always said theyd manage. Yet Emily saw how hard it was: the old house, coal heating, water hauled from a pump, dads heart operation leaving him barely able to walk, mums left hand weakened by a stroke. They persevered, refusing to be a burden.
Her motherinlaw, Valentina Stevens, lived in a twobedroom flat in the city. She was sixtyfive, healthier than Emilys parents, though not perfect. Valentina called James ten times a day, offering advice on what to wear, where to go, what to eat. James obeyed without question.
At first Emily endured. Then she began to push back, but James always sided with his mother, saying she only wanted what was best for him.
Now Valentina was moving into their cramped flat, and Emily was expected to look after her, cook, cleanwhile her own parents were left to freeze in the village.
James returned late one evening, went straight to the bedroom without a greeting. Emily lay on the sofa, pretending to sleep.
In the morning he left for work early, leaving a note on the kitchen table: Prepare a room for Mum on Saturday. Clean the floors, change the linens.
Emily crumpled the note and tossed it in the bin.
Friday night she drove to the village, bringing food, medicines, helping dad stack firewood and cleaning the house. They sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea.
You look pale, love. Everything alright? her mum asked.
All good, Mum.
Dont lie. I can see when youre upset.
Emily sighed.
Valentina is moving in with us.
Well, thats that, her dad shrugged. Old people can live together.
James said shell stay in the spare room, and well sleep on the sofa in the kitchen.
She wont be here long, I reckon?
He said until she gets better. No idea when that will be.
Her mum nodded sympathetically.
I understand, love. Its hard having a motherinlaw under the same roof. But a son must look after his mother.
And does a daughter have to look after her parents? Emily blurted.
Her parents exchanged a glance.
What are you on about? her dad asked.
I suggested we bring you into the city, get a bigger flat, help more. He refused, saying the village is better for you.
Its better here, love. Were used to it.
Mum, youre struggling! Dad can barely walk, you cant use your left hand!
We manage. The important thing is youre healthy, and James is fine. Dont worry about us.
Emily pressed her face to her mothers shoulder and wept.
Im tired. Tired of his attitude, of being second, of his mother being more important than my parents.
Calm down, dear. Itll sort itself. Your motherinlaw will stay a short while and then go back.
Emily didnt believe it.
Saturday morning Valentina arrived with three massive suitcases.
Emily, help me with these! she shouted from the doorway.
Emily silently helped. Valentina inspected the room.
Youre living so cramped! You need a bigger flat!
We cant afford one now, Emily replied flatly.
Earn more! James, ask for a bonus!
Mum, thats not how it works, James said, arranging boxes.
In my day we worked for conscience, not for fear, and we earned well!
Emily retreated to the kitchen, started the stew, hearing Valentina command James: Put that there, hang that there.
Valentina eventually stepped into the kitchen.
What are you making?
Stew and meatballs.
James cant have fatty food; his livers weak!
Chicken meatballs, steamed.
Still not good enough. Make fish. Ive brought a pike, Ill show you how to cook it.
I can cook fish.
You can, you can but not like this. She brushed past Emily, taking over the stove. Emily clenched her teeth, watching her being pushed aside.
The lunch was tense. Valentina rattled on about health, neighbours, grocery prices. James nodded, Emily stayed silent.
Afterward Valentina collapsed onto the sofa to rest. James slipped behind her.
Thanks for taking my mum in.
Did I have a choice?
Emily, dont start.
Im not starting. Im stating facts. You decided, I complied.
You could have been kinder to her.
Im being kind.
Cold. She can feel it.
Emily turned.
James, your mother has taken our room, pushed me out of the kitchen, criticised my cooking, and you expect me to be sweet?
Shes ill!
Shes a dictator! And you let her!
Enough! James shouted. Shes my mother! I wont let you insult her!
Im not insulting, Im telling the truth!
From the bedroom Valentinas voice floated:
James, whats happening? Are you two fighting?
Alls fine, Mum! James called back.
Emily stayed in the kitchen, wiped her tears, finished the dishes.
A week later Valentina had claimed half the wardrobe, strewn her belongings everywhere. Emily and James slept on a folding couch in the kitchen, backs aching. Valentina rose early, clanged dishes, made a breakfast Emily refusedtoo greasy, too rich. Then she blared the telly at full volume, dispensing advice.
Emily, youre washing the floor wrong. Heres how.
Emily, youre washing the clothes wrong. Use a hotter cycle.
Emily, youre dressing wrong. That doesnt suit you.
Emily endured, doing as shed always done, while Valentina complained to James, who rebuked his wife.
Why cant you listen to my mum? She wants to help!
I dont need her help!
Youre rude and ungrateful!
Arguments became daily. Emily felt her strength drainwork, home, motherinlaw, husband, all pressing down.
One evening she sat at the kitchen table, tallying expenses. Money wouldnt stretch to the end of the monthshe needed to buy dads medicines, pay the neighbour who helped the parents, and set aside a bit for the council tax.
Valentina entered.
Emily, I need new slippers. These hurt. Can you lend me some money?
I have nothing spare.
How can that be? James got his pay!
Jamess salary goes to the mortgage and food.
What about yours?
Mine covers my parents meds, the bills, everyday costs.
Your parents! Always you! Nothing for me!
Valentina snapped her lips, then left the kitchen. A minute later James appeared, face flushed.
You refused my mother money for slippers?!
Emily, I have nothing extra!
And you still spend on your parents?
My parents are ill! They need medication!
My mum is ill too! She needs slippers! Give her something!
You give it yourself! Shes your mother!
I have none!
I have none either!
They shouted, Valentina watching from the doorway, satisfied.
Emily stepped back, seeing the scene clearly: a manipulative motherinlaw, a husband blind to it, herself cornered.
Enough. she said quietly.
Whats enough? James asked, confused.
Everything. Im tired of your treatment, of being a servant, of my parents being nothing to you.
Emily, dont have a tantrum!
Its not a tantrum. Its a decision. Im leaving.
James froze.
Where to?
Back to my parents. Ill live with them. If you dont need my help here, thats fine.
Youve gone mad!
No. Ive simply chosen.
Youll manage without me?
You have Mum. Shell cook, wash, iron for you.
But I love you!
Emily paused, meeting his eyes.
If you loved me, you wouldnt put your mother above my needs. Youd remember my dads birthday next week, ask if we should visit, offer help.
James fell silent.
Im exhausted being alone in this marriage, she continued. I want to care for those who value my care.
She closed her suitcase, grabbed her bag.
James, stop! You cant just walk out!
I can. And Im doing it.
What about me?
Youll manage. You have Mum. Shell look after you.
But I love you!
Emily stared at him, a mixture of hurt and resolve.
If you loved me, you wouldnt let your mother push me out. You wouldnt put her wishes above mine. You wouldnt forget my dads birthday.
I didnt forget!
He said nothing.
Im done being alone in this marriage, she said. Im going to look after those who appreciate me.
She zipped her suitcase, took her bag.
James, wait! Lets talk!
Its too late. It should have been earlier.
She walked out, Valentina standing in the hall.
Leaving? Fine then. James will be better off without you.
Emily halted.
Youve achieved your goal, Valentina. Youve taken my husband. Im notAs the cold wind swept the village lane, Emily stepped onto the bus, leaving behind the cramped flat and a future she would finally rebuild on her own terms.
