**A Week of Sausage: When My Mother-in-Law Judges Our Portions**
That day in mid-July, Margaret Whitmore was scrubbing the windows, fluffing the cushions, and reminding her daughter it was time to visit the countrysidethe garlic was ready to be harvested. Emily tried to explain: work, commitments, the children But her mother, stubborn as ever, wouldnt let it go.
“Summer will be over before you know it, and there you are, cooped up in your flat in London!” she snapped over the phone. “The strawberries will spoil, the potatoes will go to waste, and youll just be staring at your phones!”
Eventually, they settled on a weekendjust long enough to help in the garden and enjoy a quiet evening.
Edward, though, had no desire to make the trip. Their last visit had ended badly, leaving a bitter taste. Hed only asked for a bit of sausage to go with the roastbut his mother-in-law had outright refused. So sharply, it left him speechless.
On Saturday, they set off early. They worked efficiently: the garlic was pulled, sorted, and stored. Then came the evening, the dinner, the family chatter. Edward showered and wandered into the kitchen. Emily and her mother were setting the table. The rich scent of roast filled the air. To pass the time, Edward opened the fridge and grabbed a few slices of sausage for a sandwichwhen suddenly
“Leave that alone!” Margarets voice cracked like a whip.
The sausage went straight back in the fridge. Edward froze, stunned.
“Whats the matter, Mum?” Emily asked, baffled.
“That sausage is for breakfast, with toast! Not before. And dont ruin your appetite!” Margaret cut in sharply.
Edward ate the roast, but not a scrap of meat could be found on his plate. He asked for a bit of sausage. Another refusal.
“Whats with this obsession?” Margaret huffed. “Youve already eaten half of it! Do you know how much this costs? Its meant to last the week!”
Edward pushed his plate away. His appetite gone, he stepped outside and lay on the garden bench, staring at the sky. Emily joined him later.
“Lets go home. I cant stand this. Every move is watchedlike Im a thief. Im even afraid to spread too much butter on my toast, in case she snatches it from me.”
“Theres not even a proper shop here,” Emily murmured, embarrassed. “Just the greengrocers van on Wednesdays.”
“We shouldve brought our own food instead of cherries and apricots,” Edward grumbled. “Im leaving tomorrow. Ill come back for you later. Because without meat, I wont last long.”
“Were leaving together,” Emily said firmly.
The next morning, they drove back to London. Emily lied to her mother, claiming Edward had a work emergency. Margaret watched them go, her expression dark.
A year passed. They hadnt set foot in Margarets house again. Yet she had no trouble visiting themand oddly enough, shed rummage through their fridge as if it were her own, taking whatever she pleased without asking. Edward even laughed about it:
“Look at thatthe sausage! Apparently, here, she has all the rights”
But come spring, the calls started again:
“So, when are you coming? The garden wont wait forever.”
Edward resisted. Until Emily suggested a trick:
“Lets bring our own supplies. That way, Mum wont be counting our portions.”
Edward agreedon one condition: theyd stop at the supermarket first. And so they found themselves back at the countryside house, arms laden with bags.
“Whats all this? More apricots?” Margaret pursed her lips. But as she rummaged, she found cheese, meat, sausage. And fell silent.
“Now you wont have to measure how many grams Im eating,” Edward smirked.
Margaret let out a disdainful sniff but said nothing. Later, in the kitchen, she muttered to Emily:
“It would be nice if you always brought supplies. Easier for me, less trouble for you.”
Emily nodded, torn between irritation and amusement. But the important thing was this: Edward was willing to come back. With groceries, yes. But without arguments or reproaches. And really, when you thought about it, that was its own kind of family happiness.
