Emily froze by the fridge, clutching a couple of grocery bags. You bought that sausage again? I told you its terrible! her husband James barked, his voice echoing from the kitchen. He hadnt even given her a kiss when he walked in from work.
Good evening, love, Emily forced a smile, trying not to let the sting show. I grabbed the one that was on offer. Moneys a bit tight at the moment.
Quite tight? James raised his voice. Were barely scraping by, and youre splurging on nonsense!
On what nonsense? Emily felt a hot flash of hurt. Im only buying the essentials!
James waved a hand and stalked off to the living room. Emily stayed in the kitchen, squeezing the bag handles tighter. Theyd been married eight years, and for the past three months the little spats had become a daily routine the way she cooked, where she put things away, how much she spent. He had never been so nitpicky before.
She started to put the groceries away, her hands trembling. She wanted to sob, but she wouldnt let herself. Dinner had to be ready; their nineyearold daughter Poppy would be home from school any minute, and Emily didnt want her to see mum in tears.
That evening they ate in silence. Poppy, a bright little thing, sensed the tension and kept her head down, shovelling soup into her mouth before asking to do her homework.
Off you go, sunshine, Emily said, planting a quick kiss on Poppys crown.
When Poppy left, James finally spoke.
I need to pop over to Mums this weekend. Shes feeling a bit under the weather.
Right, Emily nodded. Shall I come with you?
No, Ill go alone. You stay home; theres plenty to do.
Emily wanted to argue, but she kept quiet. In recent months shed learned to swallow her words. Once theyd talked about everything, argued, made up. Now there seemed to be an invisible wall between them.
Saturday morning James left early. Emily tackled the housework washing, cleaning, preparing lunch. The ordinary routine that had once felt easy now seemed a Herculean effort. A lowgrade anxiety settled in, refusing to leave.
Poppy was playing in her room while Emily tidied the bedroom. She cracked a window for fresh air and, just as she was about to shut it, heard voices. Probably the neighbours on the balcony, she thought, but then recognised Jamess tone.
Her husband stood on the balcony of his mothers flat. Yes, his mum lived in the block next door, same floor, a short walk away. Emily had once liked the proximity, thinking it convenient. Now she wasnt so sure.
Mum, I cant take it any longer, James murmured, his voice sounding plaintive, not the confident tone he used at home.
Son, you must be firm, replied Maggie Thompson, his mother, her voice dripping with oldfashioned authority. A wife needs to know her place.
Emily stood rooted to the window, unable to look away.
She doesnt understand a thing, James continued. I tell her one thing, she does another.
Exactly, Maggie agreed. Youre too soft with her. She needs a firm hand. Ive always said that.
But I cant keep shouting at her, James protested.
Then be stricter. Let her feel youre the head of the house, or shell go off the rails.
A shiver ran down Emilys spine. Gone off the rails? She worked from dawn till night, cooking, cleaning, looking after Poppy, and even a parttime job at the local library to keep the pennies turning. And now she was being called a loosecannon?
Im trying, Mum, James sighed. Sometimes I feel sorry for her.
Pity isnt a virtue, Maggie snapped. Youre the man, the familys pillar. If youre soft, shell sit on your lap all day. All women are like that.
Not all James muttered.
All! I raised you right; youre kind, caring. But in marriage thats a weakness. You must keep her in check.
Emily backed away from the window, her legs wobbling. She slipped onto the bed, the noise in her head sounding like a vacuum cleaner.
It wasnt James who had changed; it was Maggie pulling the strings. Emily remembered when, four months earlier, his mother had stayed for a week. After that visit James became a different man.
She recalled the oddities of recent months Jamess frequent trips to Mums, his growing coldness, his sudden grip on every tiny flaw that had never bothered him before.
Mum, are you crying? Poppy asked, standing in the doorway, eyes wide.
Emily didnt notice the tears sliding down her cheeks until she wiped them hastily with her palms.
No, love, just a bit of dust in my eyes. Maybe an allergy.
Really?
Really, Emily forced a grin. Off you go and play. Ill have lunch ready soon.
When Poppy left, Emily sank back onto the bed. What now? Talk to James? Admit shed overheard? That would spark a fresh fight, and hed accuse her of spying, pushing him further away. Keep quiet? How could she live knowing his mother was steering him against her?
The rest of the day drifted like fog. Emily cooked lunch but tasted nothing. She chatted with Poppy but heard only background noise.
James returned that evening, tossed his keys on the hall table.
Dinner ready? he asked, skipping the usual greeting.
Just heating it up, she replied, placing the pan on the stove. Her hands moved on autopilot while Maggies words replayed: keep her in steelgloves, shes gone off the rails, pity wont help.
Something wrong? James asked as he sat down. You seem off.
Nothing, Emily said, sliding a plate in front of him. Just tired.
Right, here we go again, he grumbled. Always tired. What do you do all day, just sit at home?
I dont just sit, Emily replied quietly. I work at the library.
Library, half a job, pennies earned.
At least I bring something in. Did you ever forbid me to work?
I didnt. I just dont see the point. You should be keeping the house spickspan.
Emily clenched her teeth, reminding herself not to let the argument blow up, especially not in front of Poppy.
That night, after Poppy was asleep, Emily lingered at the kitchen table with a cooling cup of tea while James watched television in the next room. They were more like strangers sharing a roof than a couple.
She thought back to their first meeting, both twentythree. Emily had been a bookshop assistant; James had popped in looking for a present for a friend. Theyd chatted, gone for a coffee, then dates, laughter, latenight walks. Hed been attentive, gentle, caring.
Even then, Maggie had hinted she wasnt thrilled with Emily, claiming James deserved someone of a higher station, that Emilys background was plain, her education lacking. James had ignored the remarks, insisting he loved Emily. Theyd married despite his mothers disapproval, and Lily (Poppy) was born. The early years were tough but happy, full of sleepless nights, child illnesses, and money woes, with James as a solid rock.
Then things shifted. Maggie started visiting more often, phoning James several times a day, inviting him over. He began travelling to her flat repeatedly.
The next day Emily decided to have a word with his mother not a shouting match, just a chat, woman to woman.
She knocked on Maggies door.
Ah, its you, Maggie said, stepping aside. Come in.
The flat was cosy but dated, lace doilies everywhere, photos of James at various ages on the walls. No pictures of Emily or Poppy.
Tea? Maggie asked.
No, thanks. Im just dropping by.
They sat at the kitchen table, Maggie eyeing Emily keenly.
I wanted to talk about us, Emily began. Youve probably noticed things havent been smooth lately.
Maggie nodded. James has mentioned it.
Thats why Im here. Could you perhaps ease off the meddling?
Maggie raised an eyebrow. Meddling? Hes my son. I have every right to be interested in his life.
Interest is fine, but not turning him against me.
What do you mean? Maggies tone hardened.
I heard what you said on the balcony yesterday.
A heavy silence fell. Maggies face went pale, then flushed.
You were eavesdropping?
I didnt mean to. I was just airing the room and heard you saying I should keep you in steelgloves.
What of it? Maggie snapped. I was being honest. Youre too soft, youve gone off the rails, just as I said.
Emily felt a surge of anger. I work from dawn till dusk, I look after our family, I even have that parttime library job!
Is that why the house is always a mess? Why James looks thin as a rake? You cant even cook properly, and that library job A womans place is the kitchen.
We dont live in the 1950s!
Thats why families fall apart. Women want careers, independence. Result? Unhappy husbands and neglected children.
Poppy isnt neglected! I give her all my time!
Please, Ive seen how you interact with her always rushing, always on edge. A child needs a calm mother.
Realising the conversation was going nowhere, Emily stood.
Fine. Im not giving up. This is my family, and Ill fight for it.
Maggie smirked. Remember, James is my son. Hell always listen to me, not you.
Emily left, tears finally spilling as she reached her own flat. She fell onto the kitchen chair and sobbed until the tears ran dry.
That evening James came home, sullen and tense.
Were you at your mothers? he asked.
Yes.
Why?
I wanted to talk.
He sighed heavily.
She called me, said youd been rude to her.
I wasnt! Emily snapped. I just asked her not to meddle.
Shes just giving advice.
James, cant you see whats happening? Shes turning you against me!
Its nonsense, he waved off. Mum just wants me happy.
Are you happy? Emily asked, looking straight into his eyes. Be honest.
James faltered, then admitted, Im exhausted the constant complaints, your tears, these endless arguments.
Then lets try to fix it. Go back to how we were.
Things cant go back, he muttered, retreating to his room.
For the first time in years, Emily considered the possibility that maybe they shouldnt stay together.
That night she lay awake, staring at the ceiling while James slept, turned away as if he were an iceberg.
Morning found James already at work, no goodbye. Emily took Poppy to school and headed to the library.
Her manager, Alison Harper, immediately sensed something was off.
Whats wrong? she asked, closing the staff cupboard.
Emily tried to keep it in, but the words spilled out: the eavesdropped balcony chat, the visits to his mother, Jamess shift.
Alison listened, then said, Men are often more impressionable than they admit, especially with a mother still pulling their strings. Your James is a classic mumboy.
But it wasnt like this before!
Before you lived separately. Now Mum lives next door, she can nag all the time. Shes exploiting it.
What do I do?
First, dont give up. Second, try to win James back by reminding him of the good times. Third, think about yourself are you willing to fight forever for someone who wont fight for you?
Those words stuck. Emily spent the day replaying their early romance, the flowers, the hospital handhold when Poppy was born, the laughter. Somewhere inside the icy James still lived the man she loved.
That evening she cooked his favourite fried potatoes with mushrooms set the table nicely, lit a few candles.
James walked in, stopped at the doorway, eyes widening.
Whats this?
Dinner, Emily said, smiling. Shall we eat like we used to?
He sat down, a tentative grin appearing as she scooped potatoes onto his plate.
Remember our first holiday to the lake? You tried to show off your swimming and nearly drowned.
James chuckled. You chased me around the shore for an hour afterwards.
It was because I was scared of losing you.
They talked a little about the past, and James actually smiled a couple of times. Hope flickered.
Then his phone rang.
Mum, he said, heading to the hallway.
Emily caught fragments of the call: Yeah, Mum No, its fine I understand
When he returned, his face was back to its usual mask.
Ive got to go to Mums. Shes feeling unwell.
Now? he asked, glancing at the clock. Its already evening.
Yes, its urgent.
He left halffinished, the candles guttering, tears slipping into the potatoes. Poppy wandered in, eyes wide.
Mum, why are you crying?
Just a bit of dust, sweetie. Off to bed now.
Poppy, clever beyond her years, gave her a hug.
I love you.
I love you too, darling.
James returned late that night, looking weary.
Hows Mum? Emily asked.
Her blood pressure spiked.
James, we need to talk. Seriously.
He shook his head. Not now. Im tired.
When? she pressed. We barely speak at all!
Its because you wont change! he snapped. Mums right, youre stubborn.
You think Im stubborn because your mother hates me! She wants to wreck our marriage!
Mum wants whats best for us!
Then why do you become a different person after every chat with her?
James fell silent, eyes dropping.
Maybe shes opened my eyes to things I ignored the mess, the bland meals, my endless complaints.
Which things? Emily asked.
That youre not the perfect wife. The house is a mess, the food is bland, youre always irritated.
Emily felt a crack in her core.
Fine, she said quietly. Maybe you should look for a perfect wife then?
James went pale.
What are you saying?
Im saying Im tired. Im tired of fighting, of justifying myself. If Im that bad, why am I still with you?
Dont say such nonsense.
Its not nonsense. Its reality. She stood, closing the bedroom door. The weight on her shoulders finally eased as she finally spoke her truth.
The next morning James left for work without a word. Emily took Poppy to school and went to her parents house three hours away by train.
Her mother, Susan, welcomed them with a warm hug.
Whats happened? she asked.
Later, Emily whispered.
That evening, after Poppy was asleep, Emily poured out everything to her parents. Her father listened, his face growing stern.
We should pay a visit to that lad, he muttered.
Dad, no, Susan replied. Its our problem.
Its our problem because youre our daughter, Susan added. Well help you.
Emily spent three days there, no phone, no worries. She walked with Poppy, helped Susan with chores, chatted with her dad. On the fourth day she finally checked her phone: thirty missed calls from James, a dozen messages, starting angry, ending desperate.
Where are you?
Why arent you answering?
Im worried!
Please tell me youre okay.
Emily, Im sorry. We need to talk.
The last one read: I miss you and Poppy. Please come back.
Emily called James back.
Emily! Thank heavens. Where are you?
At my parents.
Why didnt you answer? Ive been looking everywhere!
I needed time to think. You too.
A pause.
Ive thought a lot, James said quietly. Youre right. Mum has been steering me against you. I didnt want to admit it.
Emilys heart raced.
What else?
I tried cooking, cleaning, doing everything myself. I realised how much you actually do. Im sorry, I was a blind fool.
And your mum?
I told her I wont let her meddle any more. She was upset, but thats her issue.
JamesJames stepped through the front door, hands empty but heart full, and whispered, Lets rebuild this together, one honest day at a time.
