Emma froze beside the fridge, a handful of grocery bags clutched in her fingers. James had walked in from work without a word, without even a kiss.
Good evening, love, she managed, trying to keep her voice steady. I grabbed the discounted sausages. Moneys tight right now.
How tight? James snapped, his tone rising. Were barely scraping by, and youre splurging on nonsense!
What nonsense? Emma felt a sting of hurt flare inside. Im only buying the essentials.
James waved his hand and stalked into the bedroom. Emma stood in the kitchen, wrists whiteknuckled around the bag handles. Theyd been married eight years, and for the past three months the fights had become a patternher cooking, the way she stored things, the amount she spent. Hed never been so particular before.
She began to unload the groceries onto the shelves, hands trembling. She wanted to cry but forced herself not to. She had to get dinner ready; Lily, their nineyearold, would be home from school any minute, and Emma couldnt let her see her break down.
Dinner was a silent affair. Lily sensed the tension and kept to herself, quickly finishing her soup before asking to do her homework.
Go on, sunshine, Emma said, planting a kiss on Lilys crown.
When Lily left, James finally spoke. I need to visit my mother this weekend. Shes not feeling well.
Alright, Emma nodded. Should I come?
No, Ill go alone. Stay home; theres plenty to do.
Emma wanted to argue, but she stayed quiet. In recent months shed learned to swallow her protests. They used to discuss everything, argue, make up. Now a wall seemed to have risen between them.
Saturday morning James left early. Emma went through the usual routinelaundry, cleaning, prepping lunch. Tasks that once felt routine now dragged her down, a knot of anxiety twisting in her chest.
Lily played in her room while Emma tidied the bedroom. She opened a window for fresh air and heard voices on the balcony. She was about to close it when she recognized James tone.
James stood on the balcony of his mothers flat. Margaret, his mother, lived in the adjoining block on the same floora convenience Emma had once welcomed. Now she wasnt so sure.
Mum, I cant take it any longer, James said, his voice sounding strained.
Son, you must be firm, Margaret replied. A woman should know her place.
Emma froze, unable to look away from the window.
She never understands, James continued. I tell her one thing, she does another.
Exactly, Margaret said. Youre too soft with her. You need to keep her in iron gloves. Ive always said that.
But I cant keep shouting at her, James protested.
Dont think of it as shouting. Just be stricter. Let her see youre the head of the house, Margaret insisted. Otherwise shell go soft.
A shiver ran down Emmas spine. Soft? She worked from dawn till dusk, cooking, cleaning, raising Lily, and parttime at the local library to help the family finances. And that was soft?
Im trying, Mum, James sighed. But sometimes I feel sorry for her.
Pity wont help, Margaret said sternly. Youre the man, the familys pillar. If youre gentle, shell cling to you. All women are like that.
Not all
All! I raised you right; youre kind and caring. But in marriage thats a weakness. You must keep your wife under control.
Emma stepped back from the window, her legs trembling. She sank onto the bed, her mind buzzing like a vacuum cleaner.
It wasnt James who had changed overnight; it was Margarets influence. Four months earlier Margaret had stayed with them for a week, and after that visit James became a different man.
Emma recalled how James started making more trips to his mother, how each visit left him colder, more demanding, how he began nitpicking things that never bothered him before.
Lily appeared in the doorway, eyes wide with fear. Mum, are you crying?
Tears rolled down Emmas cheeks before she could stop them. She wiped them quickly.
No, love, just dust in my eyes. Probably an allergy, she said, forcing a smile. Go play. Ill have lunch ready soon.
When Lily left, Emma sat on the bed, torn between confronting James or staying silent. Speaking the truth would spark another fight; hed accuse her of spying. Keeping quiet meant enduring his mothers manipulation day after day.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. Emma cooked lunch but tasted nothing. She spoke to Lily but heard only background noise.
James returned at dusk, dropping his keys on the hall table. Dinner ready? he asked, not greeting her.
Yes, Ill heat it up, she replied, turning the stove on. Her hands moved automatically, the words of Margaret echoing in her headiron gloves, soft, pity.
Something wrong? James asked, sitting down. Youre not yourself.
Just tired, she said, plating his food.
He grimaced. Here we go againalways tired, always complaining. What do you do at home all day?
I work at the library, she said quietly.
Library? Half a wage, thats it, he muttered. Why do you even bother? Id rather you just kept the house in order.
Emma clenched her teeth. Dont talk to me like that, she whispered. Im doing my best.
The evening stretched on in silence. Lily eventually fell asleep, and the house felt like two strangers sharing a roof.
Emma thought back to their first meetingboth twentythree, Emma selling books at a shop in Manchester, James coming in to buy a gift for a friend. Their early nights were filled with laughter, gentle touches, promises of forever. Even then James mother, Margaret, had hinted that Emma wasnt good enoughshe was from a modest background, lacked education. James had brushed it off, saying his love was enough.
They married despite Margarets disapproval, and Lily was born. The early years were hard but happy, filled with sleepless nights, fevers, and shared hopes. James was the rock.
Then Margarets visits grew more frequent, her calls multiple times a day, inviting James over. He obeyed, and the distance between him and Emma widened.
The next day Emma decided to speak with Margaretno accusations, just a calm conversation between women.
She knocked on Margarets door. The matron opened, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. Oh, Emma, come in, she said, stepping aside.
The flat was snug, furnished with wellworn pieces, lace doilies on the coffee table, photographs of James at various ages lining the wallsnone of Emma or Lily.
Would you like a cup of tea? Margaret asked.
No, thank you. I wont stay long, Emma replied, taking a seat.
I wanted to talk about James, Emma began. Youve probably noticed things have been strained at home lately.
Margaret nodded. James has mentioned it.
Im asking if you could ease off a bit. It feels like youre steering his thoughts against me.
Youre his sons mother. I have every right to be involved, Margaret said, her tone firm.
Being involved is fine, but manipulating isnt, Emma replied.
What do you mean? Margarets voice hardened.
I heard you on the balcony yesterday. You said I should be kept in iron gloves, Emma said, the words heavy.
Margarets face drained, then flushed. Did you eavesdrop?
I didnt mean to. I was just airing the room, Emma said, feeling anger rise. You said I was soft, that I was neglecting the house, that my job at the library was useless. That a womans place is the kitchen.
Were not in the 1950s any more! Margaret snapped. Thats why families fall apartwives chase careers, forget their duties. Men end up miserable.
Emma stood, her resolve solidifying. I wont give up. This is my family, and Ill fight for it.
Margaret smirked. Remember, James is my son. Hell always listen to me, not you.
Emma left, tears finally escaping as she walked back to her own flat. She let them fall in the kitchen, each one a release.
That night James arrived, his face a mask of gloom. Did you see my mother? he asked.
Yes, Emma said. I heard what she said.
She called me a liar, James muttered. She says Im just being protective.
Shes not protecting anyone, Emma retorted. Shes turning you against me.
Its not that simple, James said, sighing. She wants me happy.
Are you happy? Emma asked, meeting his eyes. Tell me honestly.
James looked away. Im exhaustedher complaints, your tears, the endless arguments.
Then lets try to change things, Emma said, her voice shaking. Lets go back to how we were.
It cant be like it was, James said, stepping into the bedroom.
Emma stood in the kitchen, the first time in years feeling the possibility that maybe, just maybe, they might not survive together.
Sleep eluded her that night. James lay beside her, turned away, the space between them as cold as an iceberg.
Morning came, and James left for work without a goodbye. Emma took Lily to school and walked to the library.
Her boss, Mrs. Allen, noticed her pale face. Whats wrong, Emma? she asked in the staff room.
Emma hesitated, then let the story pour out the balcony, Margarets words, James silence.
Mrs. Allen listened, then said, Men are often more impressionable than we think, especially when mothers dominate their lives. Your husbands loyalty is being bought with affection, not respect. You need to reclaim your space.
What do I do? Emma asked.
Dont give up. Remind him of who you were to each other. And think about yourselfare you willing to keep fighting for someone who wont fight for you?
The words lingered. Emma spent the day recalling their early dates, the flowers James used to bring, the way he held her hand in the delivery room. Somewhere beneath the ice, the old James still existed.
That evening she cooked his favouritecrispy roast potatoes with mushroomsand set the table with candles. James walked in, surprised.
Whats this? he asked.
Dinner, Emma said, smiling. Shall we eat like before?
He sat, a tentative grin forming. Emma ladled potatoes onto his plate, then asked, Remember our first holiday by the lake? You tried to show off your swimming, almost drowned.
James laughed, the sound rusty at first. You scolded me for an hour after that.
I was scared youd disappear, Emma admitted. I loved you then, and I still do.
They talked about the past, a few genuine smiles breaking through. Then Jamess phone buzzed.
Mum, he said, standing. She needs me.
Now? Lilys voice called from the hallway. Its late.
James hesitated, then left without finishing his meal. Emma watched the candle flame wobble, tears gathering again.
Lily found her mother in the kitchen. Mum, why are you crying?
Its nothing, love. Just go to bed, Emma said, pulling her close. Ill be okay.
Lily hugged her. I love you, Mum.
Emma clung to her daughter, feeling a sliver of hope.
The next day Emma called her parents in Liverpool. Can we stay with you for a while? she asked. Her mother welcomed her instantly; her father, after a pause, said, Well sort it out.
Emma packed a bag, told Lily they were going to Grandmas for a holiday. Lily beamed. Emma sent a short text to James: Were staying with my parents for a week. Think about everything. She hung up, took Lilys hand, and left the flat.
On the train, Lily fell asleep on Emmas shoulder, and the countryside rolled by. Emma stared out the window, wondering what lay aheadwhether James would return, whether Margaret would finally back off, or whether the marriage was beyond repair.
At Liverpool station, her mother embraced her. What happened? she asked softly.
Later, Emma whispered, tears still fresh.
That night, after Lily slept, Emma confided everything to her parents. Her fathers face grew grim. I should go talk to that boy, he muttered. Her mother placed a hand on Emmas shoulder. Were with you, love.
Emma spent three days without a phone, walking with Lily, helping her mother with chores, and letting the weight lift a little. On the fourth day she finally checked her phonethirty missed calls from James, a string of frantic messages.
Where are you? one read. Why havent you replied? another. Im scared. A final message: Im sorry. We need to talk.
Emma called him back. Emma? James answered, relief evident. Where are you?
At my parents place. Alls fine.
Why didnt you answer? I was looking everywhere!
I needed time to think. You too.
A pause. Ive realized Margarets been steering me. I didnt want to admit it, but youre right. Im sorry. Ive tried doing the housework myself and I see how much you do.
What about your mother? Emma asked.
I told her I wont let her meddle any more. Shes angry, but thats her problem.
James Emmas voice faltered.
I miss you. I miss Lily. Come back. Lets start again, he pleaded.
Emma closed her eyes, heart pounding. She wanted to believe, but fear lingered. I need a few more days, she said. Ill be back soon.
Okay, James sighed. Ill wait.
Emma stayed two more days with her parents, weighing everything. She decided to give the marriage one more chance, for herself, for Lily, for the love that still lingered.
When they returned, James met them at the station with a huge bouquet and an apologetic grin. Lily ran to him, laughing. Emma walked slowly, meeting his gaze.
Im sorry, James said, offering the flowers. Ive learned. I promise things will be different.
Time will tell, Emma replied, a small smile breaking through.
At home the table was set. James had prepared dinner himselfnothing spectacular, but the effort mattered. Delicious, Emma said, sincerity in her tone.
That night, after Lily fell asleep, they talked for hours. James confessed his mothers domineering pastshed raised him alone after his father died, and shed always expected his loyalty. Hed felt torn between her and Emma. I was selfish, he admitted, eyes downcast.
Did you ever think I was betraying you by listening to her? Emma asked.
No, he said quietly. I realized I was the one betraying you.
They discussed how to handle Margaret. I told her well keep contact, but no interference. If she cant accept that, well limit it, James said.
She agreed? Emma asked.
Not right away. She finally saw she had no choiceeither that or lose us.
Emma nodded. The road ahead would still have bumps, arguments, misunderstandings, but now they faced it together, a real team.
Sometimes, passing the block where Margaret lived, Emma recalled the balcony words about iron gloves and laughed. She had wonnot with fists or shouting, but with patience, love, and stubborn belief in her family.
