Ill come in whenever I wantIve got a key, my mother-in-law announced before barging into our bedroom at five in the morning.
The scrape of the lock made me freeze, the damp cloth still in my hand. Id been scrubbing a sticky jam stainleft by Irene, of courseand I knew that sound instantly.
Paul was still asleep. Sunday, half-eight in the morning.
The door swung open, and there she stood. In one hand, a tote bag stuffed with something green; in the other, a leash attached to her tiny, perpetually trembling terrier.
Laurie, still asleep? she chirped, stepping over the threshold. Brought you some fresh dill from the allotment.
I straightened up, my back tensing.
Good morning, Irene. We *were* sleeping. Or, well, Paul was.
She ignored me and floated toward the kitchen. The dog gave a half-hearted yap and trotted after her.
I was quiet as a mouse! No need to be so dramatic. I was passing by the market and thought Id drop it off. Better than that shop rubbish full of pesticides.
I followed her, watching my one lazy morning of the week crumble before my eyes.
Wed have bought some. Or you couldve called, wed have come down.
Irene turned, her gaze sharp and assessing. It slid over my old T-shirt, bare feet, and tangled hair.
Oh, dont be silly, Laurie. Why bother you? Ive got keys.
She said it like she was bestowing some grand privilege, as if those keys werent to *my* flat but to the pearly gates themselves.
That evening, I finally worked up the nerve. Paul was sprawled on the sofa, absently scratching his stomach while some series droned in the background.
Paul, we need to talk about your mum.
He sighed without looking away from the screen.
Not this again, Laurie. She just brought some dill.
She let herself into our flat at half-eight on a Sunday. *With her own keys.* Thats not normal.
Whats the big deal? Shes family. Not some stranger.
I sat beside him, snatched the remote, and turned off the telly. The sudden silence made my next words louder.
Paul, this is *our* home. I should be able to walk around naked if I want. I shouldnt wake up to the sound of someone picking the lock.
Oh, come off it, he scoffed. Walking around naked? Mum just cares.
Then she can leave that care *outside.* Or at least call before letting herself in. Lets ask for the keys back.
Paul jerked like Id scalded him.
Are you *mad?* Take Mums keys? Thats an insult! Shes sacrificed everything for me, and you want to lock her out? Shell think were cutting her off!
Shes the one cutting *us* out! I snapped.
He stared at me like Id suggested robbing a bank. Fear and sheer bewilderment in his eyes. To him, his mum with a key was as natural as the sun rising.
A week later, I woke to the bedroom light flicking on.
Five in the morning.
Irene stood in the doorway, a raincoat thrown over her nightie, squinting in the glare. She clutched Pauls phone.
Paul, love, you forgot this, she whispered conspiratorially. Saw you drive off without it. Couldnt have you at work with no way to call, could I?
I sat up, pulling the duvet to my chin. My heart pounded in my throat. Paul mumbled something and rolled over.
Ignoring me, she tiptoed to his side of the bed and set the phone down. Then she scanned the room with a critical eye.
Honestly, Laurie, a bit dusty in here. You ought to wipe it down.
With that, she left. The front door clicked shut.
I sat under the harsh light, staring at my sleeping husband. He hadnt even stirred. He didnt get it. The line hadnt just been crossedit had been erased.
When he finally woke, I kept my voice steady as I told him about the visit.
She *meant* well, he said, waving me off. She was worried.
Paul, she walked into our *bedroom.* At *five in the morning.*
So? She wasnt naked. Mums not a stranger.
That afternoon, I called her myself. My hands shook, but my resolve didnt.
Irene, I need to talk about this morning.
Yes, Laurie? Not a hint of guilt.
Please dont come over unannounced. Especially that early. Especially into our *bedroom.*
A heavy silence. Then, icy and indignant:
I dont understand your issue, girl. I raised my son, put money into this flatmy *life savings.* So remember this: Ill come when I want. Ive got keys.
The line went dead.
I looked at Paul. Hed heard it all. But he looked away.
Youre not going to say anything? The dial tone stretched between us.
He shrugged, studying the wallpaper.
What do you want me to say? You provoked her. Pushed her. Of course she reacted like that.
Provoked her? By asking her not to break into my bedroom?
You couldve been nicer, he muttered, finally meeting my eyes. No support there. Just exhaustion. Youre never happy. Mum tries, and you
I walked away before he finished.
That night, a wall went up between us. He didnt apologise. Didnt try to talk. Just slept on the sofa, sighing loudly.
The next week was quiet. Irene stayed away. But her presence lingeredin Pauls tight lips when I suggested going out, in his hushed phone calls (Just Mum).
I felt like a stranger in my own home.
By Wednesday, I was ill. Throat on fire, head splitting. I took a sick day, dragged myself home, and decided a hot bath was the only cure. Lavender salts, steamy waterI sank in, hoping to sweat it out.
I was nearly dozing when I heard it.
The scrape of a key in the lock.
I froze. My heart dropped. Paul? No, he was at work for hours yet.
The door creaked open. Rustling. A familiar yap.
Right, lets see how our Lauries keeping house, Irene sang. Bet its a tip again.
I sat rigid, the water turning cold. She moved through the flat, opening cupboards, tutting.
Knew it. Barely any food. Poor Paul, probably starving.
She was *right there.* Just beyond the flimsy bathroom door. The thought of her barging in made my skin crawl.
Helplessness hit me like a physical blow. This was meant to be *my* home, *my* safe place. And shed waltzed in while I was vulnerable.
When her footsteps faded toward the kitchen, I slipped out, wrapped myself in a robe, and crept into the hall.
She was in the living room, studying my bookshelf.
Oh, Laurie! Youre home? Not even a flicker of shame. Brought you chicken brothproper healing stuff. Paul said you were poorly.
She nodded to a jar on the coffee table.
Thanks, but you shouldnt have, I croaked. I *asked* you to call first.
Dont be daftlike Im some stranger! She flapped a hand. Just wanted to help! Who else will look after you? Pauls at work, earning, and youre here alone, sick.
She reached for my forehead. I recoiled.
*Dont.*
That evening, when Paul got home, I was done tiptoeing.
I laid it all outthe fear, the humiliation, the mocking jar of broth.
He listened in silence. Then:
Laurie, I dont get what your problem is. Mum *brought soup.* She *cared.* You always see the worst. Maybe its not hermaybe its *you.*
I lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling. Beside me, Paul snored softly. The man who was meant to be my partner, my protector. Hed made his choice.
So I made mine.
Next morning, the second he left for work, I grabbed my phone. My hands didnt shake this time. I typed: *Emergency locksmith. 24/7.* And hit *call.*
The locksmith arrived within the hour. A burly bloke with tired eyes. He worked fast, no small talk. The drills whine was music to my ears. Every screech of metal felt like freedom.
When he finished, he handed me two shiny new keys.
All yours, love.
I took them. Solid. Real. *My* keys to *my* fortress. I paid, and the door clicked shut behind him with a satisfying thud. I turned the lock. Then again.
Perfect.
For the first time in months, I felt safe.
All day, I waited for Paul like a soldier braced for battle. Made dinner. Tidied. Rehearsed my speech.
He came home exhausted, slinging his bag onto a chair.
Hey.
Hey. I held out a key. This is yours. I changed the locks.
He blinked at it, then at me.
You *what?* Why?
Because I wont live like this. No one walks into *my* home uninvited. *No one.*
His face darkened.
Youyou did this behind my back? Youve *locked my mum out?*
Ive *protected* us. Our family. Our *home.*
Youve *destroyed* us! he shouted. What am I supposed to tell her?!
The truth. That her sons a grown man with his own life.
We yelled. I didnt back down. I poured out everythingthe fear, the hurt, the betrayal. He didnt hear it. He ranted about duty, respect, how *heartless* I was.
Then, mid-shouting, we heard it.
A scrape. A frustrated jiggle of a key that wouldnt turn. Then another. Then
*Bang. Bang. BANG.*
Paul! Laurie! Open this door! Whats wrong with the lock?!
Paul froze. Looked at me. At the door. At his mothers furious pounding. Cornered.
The banging grew frantic.
I *know* youre in there! Open up! *Laurie*, this is *your* doing, isnt it?!
Paul took a deep breath and walked to the door. I stood rooted, heart in my throat. This was it.
He opened it.
Irene stormed in, wild-eyed, face twisted with rage.
What have you *done?!* she shrieked, jabbing a finger at me. Youve *locked me out!* After everything I
Mum. Pauls voice was quiet. Firm.
She stopped, stunned.
*Mum?* You see what shes
I see, he said, steel in his tone. I see my wife had to do this because *no one* listened to her. Least of all *me.*
He turned to her fully.
This is *our* home. Mine and Lauries. And you *will not* walk in here uninvited again. Understood?
Irene gaped. She didnt believe her ears.
Paul, love
No. Im a grown man. I decide who comes into *my* home. Now *leave.*
Calm. Final.
She staggered back, shot me a venomous look, and turned on her heel.
Paul shut the door. The new lock clicked. He faced me, eyes glistening.
Im sorry, he whispered. I was blind.
He pulled me into his arms. And I knewI hadnt just changed the locks.
Id won back my husband. Our family. *Our life.*
