Emily stood in the hallway, watching as her motherinlaw, Martha, stripped the little boy of his thin sweater and pulled on a warm cardigan. Michael, five, squirmed and whined, but Martha was unmoved.
Mom, hell be hot in that, Emily tried to protest.
Its better to be hot than to catch a cold! Martha snapped, fastening the cardigan and nodding approvingly. Thats how it should be. Go on, out for a walk.
Emily bit her lip, swallowed the retort, took Michaels hand and left the flat. Their upstairs neighbour, Martha, liked to keep an eye on every move her daughterinlaw made.
Emily had married David four years earlier. At first they rented a small flat on their own. When Michael was born, David suggested they move into his parents house in a suburb of London more space and the help of a grandmother would be handy. Emily agreed, and regretted it within the first week.
Martha involved herself in everything: how to feed the child, what to put on him, when to put him to bed. Emilys voice was barely heard; every suggestion she made was dismissed.
Youre young and inexperienced. Ive raised three children; I know whats best, Martha would say.
David usually kept quiet, saying his mother was just being caring and that Emily shouldnt take offense. Yet Emily felt more like a servant than a partner.
The kitchen became a battlefield. Martha prided herself on being the best cook and scoffed at any other method.
The stew must be made with smoked ribs! What did you add? shed bark.
Meatballs need a bit of bacon! Yours are as dry as a biscuit! shed retort.
The pie dough should rest three hours, not one! shed claim.
At first Emily tried to argue, insisting her ways were also right, but Martha would not listen. Soon Emily stopped cooking altogether; why bother if it would only be criticised?
The next day was Davids father Johns birthday. Emily decided to prove she could cook and wanted to make something nice for him. She rose early while everyone slept, preparing a prawn salad Johns favourite a roast chicken with vegetables, and an apple crumble using her mothers recipe. She poured her heart into every dish.
By lunchtime the kitchen smelled wonderful. John stepped out of his study and sniffed.
Oh, how appetising! Emily, is that you? he asked.
Yes, John, happy birthday, Emily replied.
Thank you, dear, John said, a kind man who often defended Emily when Martha started to lecture her.
Martha entered from the bedroom, her face twisted into displeasure.
Whats that smell in the morning? she demanded.
Its Emilys cooking for Johns birthday, he said with a smile.
Martha moved to the kitchen. Emily was arranging the chicken on plates. The matriarch lifted the lid off the salad bowl, sniffed, and winced.
What is this? she asked.
Its a prawn salad, Emily said. John loves it.
Prawns? Why prawns? John gets heartburn from them! Martha snapped.
But he said he liked them
He never said that! Martha slammed the bowl down. And this? The chicken looks dry.
David, who had just entered, intervened. Mum, its just out of the oven. Let us taste it.
I dont need to taste it, I can see its ruined, Martha replied, slamming the oven door. And whats this horrid cake?
Its an apple crumble, Emily whispered, feeling a knot form in her throat. I used my mums recipe.
Your mum cant cook, Im sure, Martha sneered. An apple from an apple tree never makes a good pie.
Emily clenched her fists. My mum cooks beautifully! she shot back.
Sure, she taught you, didnt she? Martha scoffed, picking up the salad bowl and marching it to the bin.
What are you doing? Emily lunged.
Throwing it away. No one will eat it anyway.
In front of everyone, Martha tipped the prawn salad into the rubbish. Emily stared at the discarded bowl, tears welling up but she held them back. She would not break down in front of this woman.
She turned and fled the kitchen, closed the bedroom door and collapsed onto the bed, finally letting the tears flow.
David entered quietly. Emily, dont cry. Mum just got a bit worked up.
Worked up? She threw my food away, in front of everyone! Emily hissed.
Shes worried about your father. He does get heartburn, David said gently.
But he told me he loves prawns!
Maybe he liked them before, not now, David replied.
Emily looked at him. He always defended his mother, never once stood up for her. Why do you always excuse her?
Im not excusing her. I just understand. She likes to control everything, Emily said, voice shaking.
Your feelings matter too, David said, sitting beside her. It does hurt, I know.
I feel invisible, like a servant, Emily whispered.
David stayed silent.
Lets not argue on his birthday. Come sit with us, he suggested.
Emily shook her head. I dont want to.
Fine, go on then, David sighed and left.
That night, after everyone had gone to bed, Emily returned to the kitchen. The roast chicken and crumble lay untouched. Martha had prepared her own dinner fried potatoes and meat patties and everyone ate her food while no one touched Emilys dishes, except John, who sneaked a bite of the crumble and winked.
Its delicious, thank you, dear, he said.
Emily cleared the table, washed the dishes, and watched Martha lounge in the living room, a TV on, offering no help. When she finished, David knocked.
Emily, Mum wants to speak with you.
What about?
Just go. Shes in the sitting room.
Emily wiped her hands and entered. Martha turned off the TV, faced her, and gestured to a seat.
Sit down, she said.
Emily perched on the edge of the sofa. Martha studied her.
This is my house, my rules. If you want to stay here youll do as I say, she declared.
Emily stayed quiet.
The kitchen is my domain. No more of your prawn salads or other nonsense, Martha continued.
I only wanted to make John happy, Emily replied.
Happy means obeying me, not playing chef, Martha snapped.
Im also a member of this family. I have a right to cook, Emily said.
Martha smirked. A family member? Youre living off my money, I feed you, wash your clothes. What do you do? Stay at home with the child.
I care for him! Emily retorted.
Care for him, yes, but I raised children while working. You just whine, Martha hissed.
Emily sprang up. Im not whining! I just want respect!
Respect must be earned, Martha said, standing as well. What have you done for me?
Nothing, I just ask to be treated fairly, Emily answered, her voice shaking.
Martha turned away, storming out of the room. Emily walked to the bedroom where David lay scrolling on his phone.
Dave, we need to move out, she said.
He looked up, surprised. Where?
Find a flat. I cant stay here any longer, she replied.
We dont have the money, David said.
Well find it. Ill get a job, Emily insisted.
What about Michael? David asked.
Well put him in nursery, she said.
Dave, be realistic. My salary barely covers the bills. If we rent somewhere else therell be nothing left, he warned.
Then Ill keep putting up with your mother? Emily snapped. She just threw my salad away, in front of everyone, humiliated me!
Maybe youre overreacting, David said. But lets not make a scene.
Emily stared at him, feeling the weight of his indifference. She decided she could not keep living under Marthas thumb.
The next morning, Martha acted as if nothing had happened, commanding from the kitchen while Emily ate quietly, avoiding eye contact. Later that day, Emilys mother called.
Emily, love, how did the birthday go? she asked.
Emily stepped onto the balcony, voice low. Everythings a disaster, Mum.
Whats wrong?
She explained the salad incident and Marthas harsh words. Her mother listened.
Darling, why are you putting up with this? Move out, she urged. We could help, but I know you dont want to burden us.
I cant, Mum. Weve no money, Emily replied.
Maybe you could take a parttime job. Youd earn some, and it would give you a break from Martha, her mother suggested.
Michael is three now, a nursery would be fine, she added.
Emily thought it over. Okay, Ill look for work.
That evening, after Michael was asleep, Emily brought up the idea with David.
I want to get a job, she said.
Why? he asked.
So we can afford our own place, she replied.
What about Michael? he worried.
Well put him in nursery. Hes old enough, Emily said.
David frowned. My mother says nursery is unhealthy. Kids catch colds.
Kids get colds everywhere. Itll help him socialise, Emily countered.
Fine. Lets try, but dont tell my mother yet, David agreed.
The next day Emily queued for a nursery place; after a month she secured a spot. She also found a parttime admin job at a small firm, nine to three, leaving time to pick Michael up.
When she told Martha, the older womans face hardened.
Youre going to work? And Michael to nursery? Martha demanded.
We decided together, Emily answered.
You didnt even ask me! Martha shouted, slamming a pot onto the stove. What kind of mother are you?
Im a normal mother. Lots of families work and send kids to nursery, Emily replied.
Martha sneered. Most mothers stay at home! Youre trying to build a career?
I need to earn, Emily said firmly.
Earn? Can you even afford it? Martha scoffed. David cant support us all.
Maybe, but I want independence, Emily said.
Martha turned to David. Dave, is this really what you want?
David stepped in. Mum, weve discussed this. Emily is working, thats fine.
Youre letting her throw the child away? Martha accused.
No, Im supporting her decision, David said.
Martha huffed and left the kitchen, the silence heavy.
For a week Martha gave the silent treatment, cooking only for herself and John. Emily and David managed meals themselves, but Emily felt a lightness she hadnt known in years. She finally cooked her own dishes without criticism.
On Monday Emily started work, Michael went to nursery happily. Martha predicted he would cry and get sick, but he thrived, making friends and enjoying story time.
At work, colleagues were friendly, the boss fair. Emily earned a modest wage and began saving. After three months she and David had enough for a months rent and a deposit.
They found a modest twobedroom flat in a leafy suburb of Manchester. The landlord was kind, the rent reasonable. They signed the tenancy and started planning how to tell the parents.
David dreaded the conversation, but the move was in a week. That evening he gathered everyone in the living room.
Mom, Dad, we need to talk, he began.
Marthas eyes narrowed. About what?
Were moving out. Weve rented a flat, he said.
A heavy silence fell. Martha placed her teacup down slowly.
So you think youre better off without us? she asked, voice trembling.
No, were grateful for everything, but we need our own space, David replied.
Martha erupted. Ungrateful! Ive fed you, washed your clothes, looked after Michael! And you just leave?
Mom, we love you. We just need independence, Emily said quietly.
John, the grandfather, rose. Martha, theyre right. They need their own life.
Martha turned on him. Youre taking their side! All this time Ive tried to keep the family together, and now you push them away!
John placed a hand on her shoulder. Youve done enough. Let them grow.
Emily smiled gratefully. The conversation ended with promises to visit on weekends and holidays.
A week later they moved into the new flat. Martha never came to say goodbye; she stayed in her own house, stubbornly silent. John called occasionally, asking how they were settling in. He praised Emilys new apple crumble when he tasted a slice.
Life in the flat was different. Emily could cook what she liked, clean how she saw fit, and feel like a real homeowner. David relaxed without his mothers constant oversight, and their marriage blossomed again.
Michael loved his own room, his toys, and his new friends at nursery. He laughed more, and the house felt warm.
Six months later, Emily reflected on the day her motherinlaw threw away the prawn salad. That moment had been the breaking point that forced her to stand up for herself. She realised respect cannot be earned by enduring humiliation; it must be claimed.
She had learned that a healthy family respects each members boundaries, and that love does not mean losing ones own voice. The lesson stayed with her: never let anyones control erase who you are stand firm, seek independence, and build the life you deserve.
