Your mother can stay with us; your parents could remain in the village, Oliver said, as if it settled everything.
You spent four hundred pounds on what? A kitchen set? Harriet snapped.
Oliver slammed the receipt onto the table so hard the dishes jumped. Harriet flinched, but tried to keep her composure.
It was for the set. The old one finally fell apart the cabinet door fell off, the worktop was stained.
Four hundred pounds! We agreed wed discuss any big purchase 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? Ten pounds? That was the cheapest you could find!
Oliver paced the kitchen, tugging at his hair nervously.
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 on two burners for another six months because the others are broken?
Oliver turned to her. You know what? If you could save, wed already have a car and a bigger flat.
Harriet felt a lump rise in her throat.
Dont tell me Im bad at saving. I count every penny each month to make it to payday. I buy the cheapest groceries and wear the same coat for the third year.
Exactly, youre playing the victim again!
Im not a victim, Im stating facts!
They faced each other, breathing heavily. Harriet fought back tears, refusing to show weakness.
Olivers phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then shouted, Mum, and slipped into the hallway.
Harriet stayed in the kitchen, sank onto the table and rested her head in her hands. How had things come to this? Theyd never argued over money before. Theyd never fought this often.
She recalled how theyd met. Harriet worked as a receptionist at a dental practice; Oliver came in for a filling. They chatted while waiting, he invited her for coffee, and six months later he proposed.
Harriet was twentysix, Oliver twentyeight. Both worked, rented a flat together, later took out a mortgage and bought a modest onebedroom flat on the edge of Manchester. Simple, but theirs.
Life was decent not lavish, but not starving either. Arguments were rare, usually over trivial things. Harriet believed they were happy.
Then something cracked. Oliver grew irritable, nitpicking, always bringing up money and saving, even though his salary as a company manager was respectable. Harriet earned less, tried to help at home, cooked, and saved wherever she could.
But Oliver never seemed satisfied. You didnt cook right, hed say. You didnt clean properly. He blamed every extra expense on her.
One evening Oliver returned to the kitchen, his face serious.
Harriet, we need to talk.
Im listening.
My mum called. Her health is failing blood pressure spikes, hearts shaky. She cant live alone.
And?
I think she should move in with us until she gets better.
Harriet stared at him. Oliver, we only have a onebedroom flat. Where will she stay?
On the sofa in the bedroom. Well shift the bed to the kitchen and use a foldout couch.
Youre serious?
Absolutely. Shes my mother; I cant leave her on her own.
Could we hire a carer instead? Or?
A carer costs money we dont have remember your spending on that kitchen set?
Harriet clenched her fists under the table. What about my parents? Theyre seventyplus. Dad struggles with chores, Mum cant walk after her stroke.
Your parents live in the village. They have a house and a garden. Theyre fine there.
Theyre not fine! I go every week to chop wood, fetch water, clean up!
Keep doing that, but my mum will live here.
Why does your mum get a place in the city while my parents have to stay in the country?
Olivers eyes turned cold. Because my mum is alone. Your parents have each other, so its easier for them. Plus she needs city doctors, whereas your parents are used to village life.
Youre hearing yourself, Oliver! Your mum will stay with us, your parents can remain in the village. Thats the decision you made, not us.
Oliver stood upright. Im the head of the household.
The head of the house who spends money on fishing gear but balks at buying a kitchen set for his wife! Harriet laughed bitterly.
Dont twist my words, Oliver snapped.
Im not twisting, Im stating facts. You think you can decide for both of us, but when it concerns my parents, you change the rules.
Your parents are fine! Oliver retorted.
No, theyre struggling! Yet you never suggest helping. You never go with me to the village, never ask if they need anything.
Oliver grabbed the car keys. Im fed up with this argument. Mum arrives Saturday. Prepare the room.
What if I dont want to?
This is my flat. Im paying the mortgage. My mother will live here whether you like it or not.
He left. Harriet sank onto the kitchen floor, sobbing quietly. This was her flat, her decision, her mother. Was she now a servant, a shadow forced to obey every whim?
She wiped her tears, picked up the phone, and called her parents.
Hello, love! her mothers voice sounded frail.
Mum, how are you?
Nothing much, just chopping wood, heating the stove. Its a cold year.
Mum, could you move to the city? Ill find a flat for you
Oh, Harriet, weve lived here all our lives. Where would the money come from for a rented flat?
Youll manage. Youve always helped us.
Dont worry, well cope. You already do enough. Just dont overwork yourself.
Harriet swallowed her tears. Ill be there Sunday with groceries.
Come home, dear. Well be glad to see you.
Her parents never complained, always said theyd manage. Yet Harriet saw the cracked windows, the old coalfired stove, the water she had to lug from the well. Her father, seventythree, barely walked after a heart operation; her mother, after a stroke, could barely use her left hand. Still they persisted, refusing to be a burden.
Olivers mother, Margaret, lived in a twobedroom flat in Leeds. She was sixtyfive, health not perfect but manageable. Oliver was her only son; she called him ten times a day, offering advice on everything from clothing to travel. He obeyed without question.
At first Harriet put up with it, then began to protest. But Oliver always sided with his mother, claiming she only wanted the best for him.
Now Margaret was moving into their cramped flat, and Harriet would have to look after her, cook, clean. Meanwhile her own parents would stay in the village, shivering.
Oliver came home late, went straight to the bedroom without a greeting. Harriet pretended to be asleep on the sofa.
The next morning he left for work early, leaving a note: Prepare a room for mum on Saturday. Clean the floors, change the bedding.
Harriet crumpled the note and tossed it in the bin.
Friday night she drove to the village, delivered food and medicine, helped her father stack firewood, tidied the house. Over tea, her mother looked at her closely.
You look pale. Everything alright?
Everythings fine, Mum.
Dont lie. I can see when youre upset.
Harriet sighed. Margaret is moving in with us. Oliver decided.
Her father shrugged. Old people can stay where they are.
Harriet, we have a onebed, and shell take the bedroom. Well sleep on the sofa.
Will she be here long?
Until she gets better, I guess. No idea how long that will be.
Her mother softened. I understand, love. Its hard to share a roof with a motherinlaw, but a son must look after his mother.
A daughter doesnt have to look after her parents? Harriet blurted.
Her parents exchanged glances. What are you saying? her father asked.
I suggested we bring you to the city, rent a bigger flat, help more. He refused, saying village life is better for you.
Better for us, her mother said, patting Harriets hand. Were used to it. The city would be cramped for us.
Its hard, Mum. Dad can barely walk, you cant use your hand!
We manage. The important thing is youre healthy, and Oliver is too. Dont worry about us.
Harriet pressed her forehead to her mothers, crying. Im exhausted. Im tired of his attitude, of being second, of his mother being more important than my parents.
Her mother soothed her, It will settle. Shell stay only a short while, then return home.
Harriet didnt believe it.
Saturday morning Margaret arrived with three huge suitcases. Harriet, help me with these! she shouted at the doorway.
Harriet silently carried the bags inside. Margaret surveyed the room. Youre living in such a tiny flat? You need a bigger place!
We cant afford a bigger flat yet, Harriet replied curtly.
You should earn more! Oliver, ask for that bonus at work!
Mom, thats not how it works, Oliver said, helping with the luggage.
The way it works is we work for our conscience, not fear! Margaret chided, pushing Oliver aside.
Harriet moved to the kitchen and began cooking a stew. Margaret hovered, issuing orders: Put the carrots in first, then the potatoes. Use less oil; youll ruin your liver.
Harriet clenched her teeth, letting her motherinlaw take over the stove. The meal was served in a tense atmosphere, Margaret rattling on about health, neighbours, grocery prices, while Oliver nodded.
After lunch Margaret retired to the living room. Harriet washed the dishes. Oliver approached from behind.
Thanks for taking my mum in.
Did I have a choice?
Harriet, dont start
Im not starting, Im stating facts. You decided, I complied.
You could have been nicer to her.
Im being polite, Harriet muttered.
Youre cold. She feels it.
Oliver snapped, Shes my mother! I wont let you insult her!
Im not insulting, Im telling the truth!
From the hallway Margarets voice floated, Oliver, whats happening? Are you fighting?
No, mum, everythings fine, Oliver said, entering the room.
Harriet stayed in the kitchen, drying her tears, finishing the dishes.
A week passed. Margaret settled in, claiming half the wardrobe, spreading her belongings across the flat. Harriet and Oliver slept on a foldout couch in the kitchen, their backs aching. Margaret rose early, clattered dishes, prepared a heavy breakfast Harriet refused, then blared the TV at full volume, later dispensing unsolicited advice: Youre washing the floor wrong, Harriet. Use a bigger bucket. Youre folding laundry upside down. Wear warmer socks.
Harriet endured, doing as shed always done. Margaret complained to Oliver, who scolded Harriet: Why cant you listen to my mother? She wants to help!
You dont need her help! Harriet snapped.
Youre rude and ungrateful! Oliver shouted.
Their fights became daily. Harriet felt her strength draining work, home, motherinlaw, husband, plus her own parents. She could hardly visit them any more; Margaret demanded her attention. She hired a neighbour to run errands for her parents and paid her.
One evening Harriet sat at the kitchen table, calculating expenses. Money wouldnt stretch to the next payday. She needed to buy medicine for her father, pay the neighbour, and cover the council tax.
Margaret entered. Harriet, I need new slippers. These are too tight. Give me some money, please.
I have no spare cash.
How can you say that? Oliver just got his salary!
The salary goes to the mortgage and food.
And yours?
My money pays for my parents meds, the bills, the groceries.
Your parents! Margaret snapped. You always spend on them, never on me!
My parents have a pension, albeit small, Harriet replied.
Small isnt enough! I need more! Margaret complained, then left the kitchen.
A minute later Oliver burst in, redfaced. You refused my mother money for slippers?
I told her I cant.
Then why do you spend on your own family?
Their health is fragile, Harriet said.
Her health is fragile too! Give her something!
You should give it yourself! Oliver shouted.
You cant both be right, Margaret said, smugly watching the argument.
Harriet saw the whole scene from a new angle: a motherinlaw manipulating her son, a husband blind to the imbalance, and herself cornered.
Thats enough, she said softly.
What do you mean, enough? Oliver asked, confused.
Im done. Im exhausted of being treated like a servant, of my parents being invisible to you. Im leaving.
Oliver froze. Where will you go?
To my parents house. Ill care for them. If you dont need my help here, Ill be gone.
Youve lost your mind! he shouted.
No, Ive made a decision. Live together, youll manage without me.
Harriet gathered her things; Oliver followed, pleading. Harriet, stop! You cant just walk out!
I can, and I will.
What about me? he asked.
Youll manage. Your mum will cook, clean, and do everything you expect her to do.
But I love you! Oliver pleaded.
Harriet stopped, looked into his eyes. If you loved me, you wouldnt let your mother push me aside. Youd remember my fathers birthday next week, ask if we could visit, not ignore it.
Oliver was silent.
Im tired of being alone in this marriage, Harriet continued. I want to care for the people who value my care. Im leaving now.
She closed her suitcase, grabbed her bag. Talk later, if you ever want to discuss it properly. Its too late now.
Oliver watched her walk to the door. Margaret stood in the hallway, smirking. Well, shes finally gone. Good for you, Oliver.
Harriet stepped out into the cold November rain, hailed a cab, and rode to the train station. She bought a ticket to the village.
She arrived late, the house silent. She slipped into an old armchair in the living room, exhausted.
Morning smelled of pancakes. Her mother was at the stove. Harriet! Youre finally here! she cried.
Im staying for good, Harriet answered.
Her father, still frail, nodded. You made the right choice. You shouldnt tolerate that kind of treatment.
Love isnt about enduring humiliation, he added. Its about respect.
Harriet smiled, feeling the weight lift. She took a job at the village library. The pay was modest, but she could help her parents with the garden and chores. She settled into the slower rhythm of country life.
Oliver called a few times, begging her to return, promising change. She listened, but remained cautious.
A month later he turned up at the gate, nervous. Harriet, Ive realized I was wrong. I sent my mum back home. I sold the flat and bought a threebedroom house so we could have space for everyone, including your parents if they ever want to move in.
Harriet studied his face, searching for sincerity. Did you actually do it?
Yes. Ive talked to Margaret. Shell either accept us or keep her distance. Shes even offered to visit your parents and apologise.
Harriet felt tears well up. If you truly want us back, we must be equals. My parents are as important as your mother. My opinions matter as much as yours.
I agree, Oliver said, relief evident. I promise to listen and share the responsibilities.
They embraced on the old porch, aware that rebuilding trust would take time. Margaret eventually visited the village, apologized to Harriets parents, and helped with the garden.
Harriet later moved back to the city, this time into a larger flat they bought together. Her parents stayed in the village, visiting often. Oliver, now more considerate, shared household duties and made sure both families received equal care.
The story ends with a simple truth: a family thrives only when respect is mutual and love is balanced, not when one side bears the weight alone.
