You knew he was spineless, whispered the mother-in-law as he walked away.
I dont see why we need so much meat, muttered Margaret Spencer, inspecting the fridge. Half as much would do for three adults.
Emma silently continued chopping onions for the salad. Tears streamed down her cheeksnot from the onions, but from the daily remarks about her housekeeping.
And the potatoes are all soft, the older woman went on. Where do you even buy them? From some dodgy corner shop?
From the market, Margaret, Emma replied quietly. The same place I always go.
Right, right. And what good does that do? Money down the drain.
Emma set the knife down on the cutting board and took a deep breath. Five years of marriage, and every day was the same. Criticism, complaints, disapproval. And her husband, James, stayed silent, pretending not to hear.
James, lunch is ready! she called toward the living room, where he was sprawled on the sofa with his phone.
Just a minute, he replied, not looking up.
What do you mean, just a minute? Margaret huffed. The foods going cold, and hes busy with his games. James, get to the table now!
Obediently, James set his phone aside and shuffled into the kitchen. He took his usual seat beside his mother, opposite Emma.
Whats for lunch? he asked, unfolding a napkin.
Beef stew and meatballs, Emma said, ladling soup into bowls.
Stew again? Margaret wrinkled her nose. It gives me heartburn. Emma, you know I cant have anything too acidic.
You can have it without sour cream, Emma suggested. I didnt add vinegar this time.
What difference does it make? Still tastes sour. And why so much cabbage? You know it gives James indigestion.
Emma looked at her husband, waiting for him to say something. But James just slurped his soup in silence.
Next time, Ill just make plain broth, Emma conceded.
About time. No need for all these fancy dishes. Back in my day, people made do with simple meals and were healthier for it.
Lunch passed in tense silence. Margaret picked apart every dish, James nodded along, and Emma counted the minutes until it was over.
Afterward, Margaret retreated to her room to watch TV, while Emma cleared the table. James tried to slip back to the sofa, but she stopped him.
James, we need to talk.
About what? He sighed, lingering in the doorway.
About your mother. I cant live like this anymore.
Whats the problem? She doesnt mean any harm.
Emma nearly dropped a plate in disbelief.
No harm? James, she criticizes everything I docooking, cleaning, shopping. I feel like a servant in my own home.
Mums just used to being in charge. Shes been running a household her whole life.
Running it? Then what am I? A temporary lodger?
James rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly.
Dont be dramatic, Em. Shes set in her ways. Just give it time.
Five years, James. Five years of waiting for her to change. Instead, shes gotten worse.
What do you want me to do? Kick my own mother out?
I want you to stand up to her. Tell her Im the one running this houseyour wife.
James shook his head.
I cant talk to her like that. She raised me.
And what am I? A stranger? Were supposed to be a family!
We are. But shes my mum.
Emma felt a lump rise in her throat. Always the same. His mother mattered more.
Fine, she said, fighting back tears. Got it.
Dont be like that, Em. Youve got to understandshes getting older.
He reached to pat her shoulder, but she pulled away.
Go to your mum. She probably misses you.
James hesitated, then left. Emma stayed at the sink, staring at the pile of dishes and her own reflection in the window.
Shed met James at university. Hed seemed so steady, so calmunlike her exes, who were all loud and aggressive. James never raised his voice, always polite, always gentle. Too gentle, maybe, but shed thought that was a good thing. Shed had enough shouting matches growing up.
Shed only met Margaret at the wedding. Shed seemed pleasant, a bit stern but kind. Said shed always wanted a daughter-in-law, that shed love Emma like her own.
The problems started when they rented a flat near Margarets. She began dropping by dailyfor salt, for sugar, for any excuse. And always with a critical eye.
Emma, why is the floor so dull? shed ask. Youre using the wrong cleaner.
Or:
The bedroom smells musty. You should air it out more.
Emma brushed it off at first, thinking Margaret was just fussing over her son. But the remarks grew sharper.
Then James lost his job. Money got tight, and Margaret generously offered them her spare room. Just until he got back on his feet.
That was three years ago. James found a low-paying office job, but they never moved out. And Margaret no longer hid her disapproval.
My friend Barbaras daughter-in-law is different, shed say. Practical, thrifty. House like a show home, knows how to manage money. And most importantlyrespects her husband.
The message was clear. Emma didnt respect James if she dared argue with him.
Now, Emma dried her hands and went to the bathroom. She studied her face in the mirror. Thirty, but she looked forty. Stress and sleepless nights had taken their toll.
From the living room, the TV murmured, along with Margarets voice. She was telling James about a neighbor whod parked badly again.
Someone ought to tell her, Margaret said. But you know how rude she is.
Just ignore her, Mum, James replied. Not worth the hassle.
Exactly. No point dealing with difficult people.
Emma knew the conversation wasnt just about the neighbor. Margaret often hinted that Emma, too, was someone best avoided. But James had already married her, so now he had to endure it.
That evening, she tried again. Waited until Margaret went to bed, then sat beside James on the sofa.
James, I mean it. Im miserable here.
Not this again.
What else can I do? Suffer in silence forever?
Its not forever. Mum wont live forever.
Emma went cold.
So I should wait for her to die?
No! I just mean maybe well move out soon.
Where? We cant even afford a studio on your salary.
Ill find a better job.
Youve been saying that for three years.
James exhaled irritably.
Why do you keep nagging me? Ive got enough stress without this.
Youre stressed? What about me?
Emma, enough. Lets just watch something.
He grabbed the remote. Conversation over. Emma sat a moment longer, then went to bed alone.
In the bedroom, she pulled out an old notebook from her first year of marriage. Flipped through the yellowed pages.
*”I want our own place. Just us. Kids running around, me deciding what to cook, how to clean.”*
Kids. Shed dreamed of them, but James always said it wasnt the right time. Not without stability, not without their own home.
*”James is so kind and patient. Never shouts, always listens. Hell be a wonderful father.”*
A father to children theyd never havenot while living with Margaret.
Emma closed the notebook. James came to bed an hour later, careful not to wake her. She pretended to sleep.
Breakfast the next morning was interrupted by Margarets announcement.
Barbaras visiting today. Havent seen her in ages. Emma, tidy up properlyI dont want to be embarrassed.
I clean every day, Margaret.
Not well enough. I can see dust on the shelves.
Where? Emma frowned.
Everywhere! The bookshelves, the TV. And the hallway mirrors are filthy.
Emma walked through the flat. No dust, no smudges. But she didnt argue. Just wiped everything down again.
Barbara arrived at noona loud, confident woman in a floral dress.
Maggie, how are you? she boomed from the doorway. And this must be Emma! Maggies told me all about you.
Emma made tea while the two women chatted at the table.
My Lindas on her third husband, Barbara said. Says the last one was uselessno backbone at all.
Men these days, Margaret agreed. No strength of character.
Emma listened while washing dishes.
And your James? Still at that little firm?
Yes, bless him. Good boy, but too soft. Lets his wife walk all over him.
Emma nearly dropped a cup.
Really? Barbara gasped. He seems so steady.
Oh, he is. But no spine. She argues, and he just takes it. I tell him, James, youre the man of the house! And he says, Mum, stay out of it.
Hmph. And whats she like, this wife?
Margaret lowered her voice, but Emma still heard.
Average. But she doesnt respect him. A wife should know her place.
Ah. Any kids?
Not yet. Emmas too focused on her career. James wont push her, of course. Too gentle.
Emmas face burned. Margaret was airing their private life to a strangerand painting her as the villain.
Barbara left in the evening. James came home tired and hungry.
Dinner ready? he asked, hanging up his coat.
Ill heat it up, Emma said.
Over the meal, Margaret chatted about Barbaras visitconveniently omitting the gossip.
She asked after you, Margaret said. Such a lovely woman. Shame we dont see her more.
James nodded, chewing his food. Emma wondered how many people would soon hear about spineless James and his domineering wife.
Later, when Margaret went to watch TV, Emma cornered James in the kitchen.
Your mother discussed our marriage with Barbara today.
What?
That we dont have kids. That I dont respect you. That youre spineless.
James winced.
She wouldnt say that.
She did. I heard her.
Maybe you misunderstood. Shes not cruel.
She called you spineless, James! To someone elses face!
Does it matter what people say?
It matters to me! This is my family. I wont be gossiped about.
Nobodys gossiping. Women just talk.
Emma realized he didntor wouldntunderstand.
Fine. Then Ill talk to her myself tomorrow.
Dont start a row.
What choice do I have? You wont defend us.
James stood.
Im exhausted. Well talk tomorrow.
Tomorrow youll be too tired again.
But he was already gone.
The next morning, she confronted Margaret over coffee.
We need to talk. About what you said to Barbara.
Margaret set down the newspaper.
Whats the fuss? Friends share things.
Share what? That your son is spineless?
Isnt he? Margaret said calmly. Look at him. Thirty-three, acts like a boy. Lets you have your way in everything.
Emmas hands trembled.
He doesnt let mehe trusts me.
Trust is one thing. A man should lead. Not hide behind his wife.
Lead where? What problems?
Margaret studied her.
The problem where he cant stand up to you. Even when youre wrong.
I dont control him!
You do. And he lets you. Thats not how a man behaves.
Emma stood.
What do you want? For him to put me in my place?
If needed. For disrespect. For forgetting whos in charge here.
In charge? I live here, work, clean, cook. What more do I need to do?
Margaret rose slowly.
This is my house. James is my son. Youre just passing through. Remember that.
The words hit like a slap.
Passing through? Weve been married five years!
So? A ring doesnt guarantee anything. If a wife doesnt fit, shes replaced.
You want to replace me?
I want my son happy. With you, he isnt. Even if he wont admit it.
Emma sank into a chair, heart pounding.
Has James complained?
Not in words. But a mother knows. Hes worn down by your nagging.
Hes worn down by you!
Margaret tutted.
Im nothing but kind. Youre the one always picking at him.
The conversation was going nowhere. Margaret would never admit fault.
Then Ill talk to James.
Do. Though I doubt hell tell you the truth. Too soft.
Emma locked herself in the bedroom and criedproperly, for the first time in years.
James came home late, grim-faced.
Rough day? she asked.
No bonus at work. Promised, then cut.
Sorry. We need to talk.
Not now. Im shattered.
He showered and went straight to bed. Emma lay awake, replaying Margarets words. Was James really unhappy? Had he been hiding it?
The next morning, she asked him outright.
James, are you happy with me?
He blinked.
What kind of question is that? Of course.
Your mother thinks otherwise.
What did she say?
That youre tired of my nagging. That I make you miserable.
James sighed.
She worries. Thinks we argue too much.
We argue because of her!
Mums not the problem. We cant agree on anythingkids, jobs, the future.
Emma realized he was dodging.
Do you want me to leave?
A long pause. Then he shook his head.
No. But I cant keep living like this.
Like what?
Caught in the middle.
Then pick a side, she said. Your wife or your mother.
James stood.
Im late for work. Well talk tonight.
But that evening, he hid in the bathroom, then let Margaret distract him with talk of redecorating.
Emma understood. His avoidance was answer enough.
That night, she made her decision. In the morning, she packed a suitcase while James was at work.
Margaret noticed it in the hallway.
Going somewhere?
To a friends. For a while.
How long?
Dont know yet.
Margaret nodded.
Probably for the best. James could use a break.
Emma picked up her keys.
Tell James if he wants me back, he comes alone. Without you.
Well see if he wants to, Margaret said.
Emma shut the door behind her. On the landing, she paused, listening. Silence.
Outside, the air was crisp, the sun bright. She took a deep breathand felt something like relief.
That evening, James called.
Mum said you left. When are you coming back?
I might not.
Dont be ridiculous. Were married.
On paper. In reality?
Silence.
James, Im giving you an ultimatum. We live apart from your mother, or we divorce.
Dont make me choose.
Choose? Any real man would choose his wife.
What if I cant?
The question hung between them. Emma knew his answer. He just lacked the courage to say it.
Then Ill choose for us, she said quietly, and ended the call.
She slid the phone into her bag, turned, and walked down the street. Where toshe wasnt sure yet. But with every step, the weight lessened. Not because it was easy, but because now, she was choosing herself.
And no one could take that choice away.
