Dear Diary,
I woke to the clatter of the kitchen door and saw my motherinlaw rummaging through the dresser in our bedroom.
Enough, Mum! James shouted, his voice echoing through the flat. Were adults, we can sort this out ourselves!
Emma froze by the stove, ladle still in her hand. James and Margaret had been arguing for the past twenty minutes, and the argument showed no sign of ending.
I’m your mother, Emma! Margaret, or Margaret Thompson as everyone calls her, stood in the middle of the kitchen with her arms crossed. I have the right to know how you spend your money!
Mum, Im thirtyfive, I have a wife and a child! What does it matter how much I earn or where I put my salary?
Because something isnt right, she snapped. Yesterday the fridge was empty. Did you forget to go shopping again, Emma?
The name hit me like a punch. I turned to Margaret.
Mrs Thompson, the fridge isnt empty. I just havent had time to get to the market yet; I was planning to go this evening.
Evening? Margaret sneered. You sit at home all day and cant even buy the basics!
Im not sitting at home, Im on maternity leave. Little Mia is only eight months old!
In my day we stayed at home too, but the house was spotless and we made borscht for the husband every night!
James ran a hand over his face.
Mum, please, dont start again.
Im not starting, Im telling the truth! Look at hershes a mess, in a dressing gown all morning!
My cheeks flushed. Yes, I was indeed in a faded robe, hair tied in a careless bun. But wasnt that obvious? Id been feeding Mia, washing and hanging the laundry, making breakfast. There was no time left for me.
Mrs Thompson, perhaps you should go home? You must have things to do.
Ive got one thing to dowatch my son! I didnt raise him the right way!
Mum, thats enough! Go! James seized Margarets elbow. Please, stop making this harder.
Margaret snapped her hand free, grabbed her handbag from the table and declared, Fine, Im leaving! But know this, James, I see whats happening in this house, and sooner or later youll have to deal with it yourself!
She slammed the door shut with a loud bang. James stood in the kitchen, breathing heavily.
Sorry, Emma, he said, exhausted. She kept calling me from morning, then showed up unannounced.
Its fine, I replied, turning back to the stove. Im used to it by now.
But getting used to it felt impossible. Margaret had been meddling from the day we were married. She criticised everythinghow I cooked, how I cleaned, what I wore, how I raised Mia. She would appear without warning, inspect the fridge, peek into our cupboards.
James tried to defend me, but he was weak. He was still my husbands son, and I couldnt expect him to be harsh with his mother. I had to endure. What else could I do?
Wed been married four years. We met at the factorys accounts departmentJames as a department manager, me as a junior accountant. He courted me with flowers, took me out to bistros, and I fell in love for the first time in my life.
From the first meeting, Margaret had never liked me. She had inspected me from head to toe and said, Well, James chose a plain one. I was hoping for someone else. I never learned who that someone else was supposed to be.
After the wedding, the nitpicking began. Margaret would show up for inspections, find dust in corners, underseasoned soup, dishes left unwashed. She lectured us on how a wife should love her husband, how a home should be run.
At first James would step in, then he grew accustomed and would wave his hand dismissively, Its just Mum, what can you do?
But how could I ignore it when she called every day? What are you making for dinner? What are you feeding James? Why does he look tired? She hinted that I was a bad wife, that I didnt take care of my husband.
When I became pregnant, things got worse. Margaret monitored every stepwhat I ate, which vitamins I took, how often I saw the doctor. After Mia was born, Margaret practically moved invisiting daily, teaching me how to swaddle, how to bottlefeed, how to rock the baby.
I endured it allfor James, for the family. But my strength was fading.
That night, after Mia finally fell asleep, James and I lay on the sofa.
James, this is too much, I whispered. Your mother has no sense of boundaries.
I know, he said, squeezing my shoulders. But she lives alone, shes lonely.
Loneliness isnt an excuse to intrude.
Im her son, he replied.
And Im just the wife.
James sighed.
Emma, lets not fight. Im exhausted.
I stayed silent. He was tired, but so was Ihours of caring for a baby, cooking, cleaning, laundry, then Margarets endless complaints. Yet James seemed detached; work and stress occupied his mind.
I got up, went to the kitchen, finished the cold dinner, washed the dishes, checked on Miashe was sleeping peacefully, snoring softly. I returned to the bedroom.
James was already asleep. I lay beside him, pulled the blanket over myself, closed my eyes, but sleep eluded me. Margarets voice and her sharp remarks swirled in my mind, and I imagined her returning the next day.
At half past five in the morning, a rustle woke me. The room was still dark. I glanced at the clock5:30am. Something was moving.
A faint shuffling came from the bedroom. It sounded like someone rifling through papers or rummaging through belongings. It couldnt be Miashes still too tiny, and James was lying still beside me.
I propped myself up on my elbow. The sound came from the dresser in the corner, where I keep my underwear, documents, odds and ends.
In the dim light, a figure bent over an open drawer, pulling at things. My heart hammered.
It was Margaret. She was digging through my dresser at six in the morning, in our bedroom.
I sat up, eyes locked on her. Mrs Thompson? What are you doing?
She turned sharply. Fear flashed for a split second, then she composed herself.
Oh, youre awake, she said lightly, as if nothing had happened. Didnt mean to wake you.
What are you doing in my dresser? I asked, standing.
I was looking for napkins. My nose is stuffed, I needed to blow my nose.
The napkins are in the kitchen. There arent any in the bedroom.
I didnt know that, she snapped the drawer shut. I thought Id have a look.
How did you even get into the flat? I demanded.
I have a spare key. James gave it to me when Mia was born, just in case.
And you decided to show up at six in the morning?
Im an early riser. I wanted to help with the baby so you could get some rest.
Help by rummaging through my things?
Margaret straightened, a defensive edge to her voice.
I wasnt digging! I was just looking for napkins!
What napkins? You were pulling my underwear!
Youre out of line! How dare you speak to me like that?
James stirred, opened his eyes.
Whats going on? he mumbled.
Ask your mother! I snapped, feeling a hot fury rise. Shes in my dresser, going through my things at six in the morning!
James sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Mum? What are you doing here?
I came to help, Margaret said, feigning hurt. And now youre accusing me of theft!
I never called you a thief! I asked what you were doing in my dresser!
Looking for napkins!
What napkins?! I could no longer hold back. Do you think Im an idiot? You came here on purpose to snoop through my belongings!
Mia started crying in the next room, roused by our raised voices. I rushed to her, cradling her tightly, whispering, Its okay, love, everythings fine.
The argument continued in the bedroom. James tried to mediate, Margaret insisted she was merely helping, and I insisted my privacy had been invaded.
Eventually, James stood, Enough. Im going to talk to my mother. He left the room, slamming the door behind him. I stayed on the bed, holding Mia, feeling the weight of everything pressing down.
The rest of the day passed in a haze. I went through the motions: feeding Mia, washing dishes, tidying up, each task feeling mechanical. The thought of Margarets intrusion lingered, a sour taste in my mouth.
Later, I called my own mother.
This isnt right, Mum, she said. You need to put a stop to it.
How? James protects his mother.
Talk to him seriously. Explain that its unacceptable.
Ive tried. He thinks Im making it up.
Maybe change the lock? She shouldnt have a key.
I considered it, but James would likely balk. Hed argue that the key was for emergencies.
That evening, after James returned from work, I served him dinner and then sat down opposite him.
James, we need to talk about your mother.
He put down his phone.
What about her?
About what happened this morning.
He sighed, Emma, weve already been over this.
No, we havent. You just brushed it off.
It was just a misunderstanding. She was looking for napkins.
Napkins in the dresser? In the drawer with my underwear?
Yes, maybe she didnt see clearly.
Emma, youre overreacting.
I saw it with my own eyes.
He rubbed his face, Fine, suppose she was looking for something else. What do you want me to do?
I want you to take the spare key away.
What? Why?
Because she cant just barge in at dawn and rummage through my things.
I wont. She needs the key for emergencies.
Ill change the lock.
Silence hung between us. He stared at me, disbelief in his eyes.
Change the lock? You want to lock my mother out of our home?
Yes, I want my privacy respected.
He laughed bitterly, Emma, this is absurd.
I felt tears prick my eyes, but I swallowed them. Im serious. I cant live like this.
He stood, grabbed his coat, Im going to speak to my mother now. He left, the door clicking shut behind him.
When he returned late, around eleven, he looked weary.
Did you talk to her? I asked.
Yes.
And?
She says she was looking for napkins, didnt find any, went into the dresser, thought she saw something, and got startled when I was awake.
James, shes lying.
Why would she lie?
Because shes spying on me, trying to find something to use against me.
He sat on the edge of the bed, eyes searching mine. Emma, do you think Id let my mother betray you?
I felt the walls closing in. I just know what I saw.
He sighed, Alright, Ill keep the key for now, but Ill ask her not to come unannounced.
I nodded, exhausted, but the relief was fleeting.
The next morning James left for work without a goodbye. I was left alone with Mia, the flat feeling emptier than ever. I anticipated another surprise visit, but none came.
That evening James called. I heard fragments of his conversation: his mother apologising, saying she didnt mean to hurt anyone, that she only wanted to help.
When he hung up, he looked at me, Shes sorry. Shell return the key if you want it.
Thank you, I whispered, a tiny spark of hope flickering.
Just one condition, he added, youll apologise to her for accusing her of stealing.
I never accused her of stealing!
You said she was rummaging through your things. That sounds like an accusation.
I clenched my fists, feeling the old resentment rise.
Fine, Ill apologise.
The next day I called Margaret.
Im sorry, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. I overreacted.
There was a pause.
I accept your apology, she finally replied. I wont come over at six in the morning again.
And youll return the spare key?
Yes. Ill give it back through James.
She kept her word. After that, Margaret only visited by appointment, offering to look after Mia but never imposing herself. A tentative peace settled over our home.
Our relationship is still a work in progress. Margaret no longer criticises everything; she helps when asked and stays out of our private space. Ive learned to invite her in more often, to ask for advice, to share small joys. Trust isnt fully restored, but respect has taken root.
James seems relieved, seeing the two most important women in his life finally getting along.
For me, the lesson is clear: you must guard your boundaries, even when it hurts. If you dont, youll be stepped on and lose yourself. Yet once those limits are set, healthier relationships can grow.
I am still learning to speak up, to demand what I need, to protect my family without shying away from conflict. Its a painful path, but its the only way to keep my sense of self intact.
Emma.
