“Go back to your mother,” ordered the husband, shoving the suitcases out the door.
“Mum, stop calling him,” sighed Emily, setting her mug down heavily. “Peters at workhes in a meeting.”
“Oh, hes at work, is he?” sniffed Margaret, pursing her lips. “I know all about these meetings. Same excuse yesterday when he rolled in at midnight reeking of whisky.”
Emily rubbed her temples. Ever since she and Peter had moved in with her mum, every day started like this. It was supposed to be temporaryjust a couple of months while their flat was being renovated. But the second month was almost up, and the end still wasnt in sight.
“Mum, please,” Emily said, forcing calm into her voice. “You promised not to interfere.”
“Im not interfering,” Margaret huffed, setting her phone aside. “Im just worried about you. Youre working yourself to the bone while hes out gallivanting. What kind of man does that?”
“A normal one,” Emily snapped, standing up. “And hes not gallivanting. It was an important client meetingI told you that.”
Margaret scoffed but didnt argue further. Emily knew that lookher mother didnt believe a word of it.
“Im off to work,” Emily said, grabbing her bag. “Ill be back by eight.”
“What about lunch? I made soup.”
“No time, Mum. Meeting at one, then a client after.”
“Youre always starving yourself,” Margaret muttered. “No wonder youre not pregnant. Hows a baby supposed to grow on an empty stomach?”
Emily exhaled sharply. The topic of children was a sore spot, but her mother brought it up like clockwork. Five years married, and still no grandchildren. Unacceptable.
“See you tonight,” Emily said, kissing her mums cheek. “Peter said hed be home earlywell have dinner together.”
“If he comes home at all,” Margaret grumbled.
Emily stepped into the hallway, leaning against the wall for a moment. The damp, faintly catty smell of the buildingonce nostalgicnow just grated on her.
In the car, she called Peter first thing.
“Pete, did Mum ring you again?”
“Three times,” he said, exhaustion in his voice. “I didnt answer.”
“Sorry. Shes just worried.”
“Worried?” Peter gave a dry laugh. “She monitors my every move. Last night, it was an interrogationwhere was I, who was I drinking with, why so late? Im not a teenager, Em!”
“I know,” she said, starting the engine. “Just hang in a bit longer. The builder promised the bathroom would be done this week, then its just the kitchen. Well be back home soon.”
Peter was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow.
“What if I dont want to go back?”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. See you at work.”
He hung up. Emily stared at her phone, dread pooling in her stomach. What did he mean? Not back to their flat? Or not back to her at all?
Work dragged. Emily couldnt focusmistakes piled up. She flubbed numbers in a meeting, forgot a key contract clause with a client. Peter wasnt at the officehed gone to a site and wouldnt be back till evening.
She got home late, close to nine, after fixing her errors. The flat was quiet, just the muffled sound of the telly from the kitchen.
“Im home!” she called, kicking off her shoes.
No answer. Oddusually her mum would fuss, asking about her day. Emily walked in and froze.
Peter and Margaret sat at the table, tension crackling between them. Her mum was pointedly ignoring him, eyes glued to the telly. Peter spun a cold cup of tea in his hands.
“Whats going on?” Emily asked.
Peter looked up. His gaze was icy.
“Ask your mother,” he said. “Shes been tearing into me for the last half-hour.”
“Margaret, what happened?”
Her mum sniffed. “Nothing. Just told your husband a few home truths. That hes not much of a mancant even provide for his wife properly. Living off his mother-in-law because he cant afford his own place.”
“Mum!” Emily gasped. “We *have* our own place!”
“Some placea tiny flat in a soulless block,” Margaret waved a hand. “In my day, men built homes, supported families. And him? Some middle-management nobody…”
“Im a *project lead*,” Peter spat. “And I earn enough. Were only here because of the renovation.”
“Five years together, and what do you have?” Margaret barrelled on. “No kids, no proper home. Your wifes working herself ragged while you”
“Mum, *enough*!” Emily shouted. “We agreedno pressure, no baby talk!”
Margaret pressed her lips into a thin line. “I only want whats best. Youre thirty-two, love. Times ticking.”
Emily sank into a chair beside Peter, taking his hand. He didnt pull away, but he didnt squeeze back either.
“Pete, Im sorry. Shes just stressed.”
“Stressed?” He laughed bitterly. “She thinks Im a failure. Always has.”
Emily stayed quiet. What could she say? Her mum *had* opposed their marriage from the start. “No prospects,” shed said. “No money, no connections. Five years younger than youstill a boy.”
“Go to bed,” Margaret muttered, standing. “Ive got a doctors appointment early.”
She shuffled off, slamming her door. Alone, Peter pulled Emily close.
“I love you,” he whispered. “But I cant live like this. Shes driving me mad.”
“Me too,” Emily admitted. “I just I see it now.”
They lay in silence, listening to Margarets restless pacing. When Emily woke the next morning, Peter was already gone. Her mum sat at the table, tea untouched.
“Morning,” Emily said.
“He left,” Margaret said flatly. “Said hed come back for you and your things tonight.”
“Yeah, we talked about it.”
Margaret finally looked up, eyes dull. “So youre leaving me?”
“Im not *leaving* you. Im living with my husbandlike normal people.”
“Right. First its weekends, then holidays, then nothing.”
“Thats not true.” Emily took her hand. “I love you. But I love Peter too.”
“Youre choosing him over me.”
Emily exhaled. This was going nowhere.
“I have to work,” she said, standing. “Ill pack tonight.”
Margarets lips thinned. “Fine. Run away. Everyone does.”
At work, Emily couldnt focus. Peter texted their new addressa bright two-bed flat. She shouldve felt excited. Instead, only dread.
She came home early to pack. Her suitcases were already by the door.
“Mum?”
Margaret emerged, eyes red. “Packed for you. Dont want you dawdling.”
Emily stared. “Why?”
“What else could I do?” Margarets voice cracked. “If youre leaving, just go.”
“Im not *gone* forever”
“Go back to your mother,” Peters voice cut in. He stood in the doorway, glaring at Margaret.
“Pete, what?”
“Your mums made it clear. Youre staying.”
“No! She just”
Margaret burst into tears. “Dont leave me, love!”
Emily hugged her, torn. Peters face was stone.
“Choose,” he said quietly. “But if you stay, its for good. Im done with these games.”
Margaret clutched her tighter. “See? Hes tearing us apart!”
Emily looked between themher whole world splitting.
“I I need time.”
“There *is* no time,” Peter said. “Ive paid rent. We go now, or I go alone. Forever.”
“Dont you *dare* bully her in *my* house!” Margaret hissed.
Peter turned to leave. “Pack your things, Em. Or dont.”
Emilys voice was barely a whisper. “Im staying.”
Peter froze. “What?”
Margaret shot him a triumphant look. “A daughter always chooses her mother.”
“Fine.” Peter shoved the suitcases out. “Live with her, then. But dont expect me to wait.”
The door slammed. Margaret patted her arm. “Hell crawl back.”
Two weeks later, divorce papers arrived. Emily signed them. Margaret said nothing.
Their flat was ready a month later. Emily couldnt bring herself to go back. She rented it out instead.
She found a new job, avoided old haunts. Sometimes she took Margaret to the cinema. Her mum was softer nowscared, maybe, of losing her completely.
Some nights, Emily cried, wonderingwhat if shed chosen differently?
But life doesnt do rewinds. The choice was made. And so she walked forward, day by day, learning to live with it.
