You ought to be glad my mother eats your food, the husband muttered, his voice echoing through the halflit hallway.
Did you put my boots on again? Violet burst into the corridor, the wardrobe door flung wide as if it were a portal. I told you not to touch my things!
Darling, whats the tone? Margaret Whitmore adjusted her scarf in the hallway mirror. Its a drizzly morning out there and Im only wearing my evening shoes. Do you think thats a problem?
Its not about whether its a problem, Violet crossed her arms, feeling a hot fizz of irritation rise in her chest. Its about respecting my personal space. I dont wander into your room and I dont take your belongings.
Margaret pressed her lips together, casting the same queenlike glance Violet had mentally labelled royal: a slow sweep from above, a slight squint, a patronising smile.
How delicate we are, she said, drifting back to the sofa. Back in my day eight of us slept in one room and no one complained about personal space.
In your day perhaps they didnt complain, Violet muttered, but now its a different era.
What are you whispering about? Margaret leaned in, feigning deafness. Speak louder, Im not a spring chicken any more.
Violet inhaled deeply, trying to calm herself. Living with her motherinlaw for three months had been a trial, but there was no alternative. The flat they had shared with Andrew had to be let so they could meet the mortgage on the new house. The build ran over time, so they were now squeezed into Margarets twobedroom council flat.
Ill pop into the shop and buy you a pair of rubber boots, Violet forced a smile. So you wont be suffering.
Oh, no need! Margaret flailed her hands. My shoe cupboard is bursting at the seams. Better get yourself a pair, then I wont have to feel sorry for you.
Mine, Violet thought, not old or everyday but truly mine, as if the ownership itself mattered.
Very well, Margaret, she said simply. Im off to work now. Ill be late, theres a meeting.
Again? Margaret shook her head. Andrew will come home tired and hungry, and his wife will be nowhere to be found.
Andrew can heat his own dinner, Violet threw on her coat. Everythings already in the fridge.
She stepped out onto the wet spring street. Rain had ceased, but the slushy snow underfoot turned to a grey mush. Yes, she really does need boots, she admitted as she walked to the bus stop.
At the print shop where Violet worked as a designer, the day crawled. Usually she dove straight into deadlines, but today her mind kept looping back to the morning clash, to the missing packet of expensive tea, to the time Margaret had accidentally washed Violets favourite sweater in boiling water.
Youre jittery today, her colleague Natalie remarked over the lunch break, sliding into the seat opposite. Your motherinlaw again?
Violet managed a weak grin. You notice, dont you?
Obviously, Natalie patted her hand sympathetically. Whats the story this time?
Just the usual household nitpicking. It keeps piling up.
And Andrew?
Andrew loves his mother, I get that. He tries to stay neutral.
Neutral wont work forever, Natalie shook her head. Sooner or later hell have to pick a side. Itd be wiser for him to choose yours, otherwise
Otherwise what? Violet lifted her chin. Ill leave him? Because of my motherinlaw?
Not because of her, but because of his stance, Natalie corrected. Believe me, Ive been there. With my first husband.
Violet remembered a friend who had split after five years, citing endless battles with her motherinlaw, her husband always siding with his mum.
Well manage, Violet said confidently. In a few months the new house will be finished and things will settle.
Lets hope, Natalie sighed, her optimism thin.
That evening Violet bought the ingredients for a carrot cakeAndrews favourite. Tomorrow was Saturday; she could rise early and bake a surprise for the whole family.
The flat was silent. Only the kitchen light glowed. Barefoot, Violet slipped in and froze at the doorway. Margaret was at the table, devouring a casserole Violet had prepared for breakfast, a dish meant for three.
Violet! Margaret startled, as if caught offguard. Back already? I thought youd be later.
The meeting was cancelled, Violet said, eyes wandering over the nearly empty casserole dish. Wheres Andrew?
Hes out with friends, said not to wait, Margaret waved a hand. I thought Id have dinner. The store chicken didnt appeal, so I tried your casserole. Tasty, by the way!
Violet set the grocery bags down quietly. A new thought surfaced: shed now have to rise an hour earlier to make another breakfast, and shed been looking forward to sleeping in on Saturday.
Margaret, this casserole was for breakfastfor everyone, Violet began, keeping her voice even.
Oh, dear, Im sorry! Margaret flapped her hands, but there was no remorse in her eyes. I didnt realise. I thought it was just sitting there in the fridge. No matter, youll make something else tomorrow. Youre our culinary wizard!
Violets lips pressed together. Margaret knew the casserole was meant for breakfast; Violet had mentioned it the night before during dinner planning.
Fine, Violet said. Ill go change.
While unpacking the groceries she realised two bars of chocolate were missing. Shed bought them for the cake.
Margaret, have you seen the chocolate? she asked, returning to the kitchen.
Margaret gave a guilty smile. Oops, love, I took one piece for tea. Thought you wouldnt notice.
A wave of outrage rose inside Violetnot over the chocolate, but over the relentless trespassing of boundaries, the casual disrespect.
Yes, she replied shortly. It was for the cake, for Andrew.
Just buy another tomorrow, Margaret shrugged. The shops across the road. No big deal.
Violet nodded, holding back tears of anger. She didnt want a fight, but the irritation lingered like a stubborn stain.
Andrew came home late, finding Violet already in bed with a book.
Hey, sunshine, he leaned in for a kiss. How was your day?
Fine, she set the book aside. And yours?
Great! Met the lads, had a pint at the pub. Havent seen them in ages.
Violet hesitated, unsure whether to mention the eaten casserole and the missing chocolate. She didnt want to seem petty.
Is mum still up? Andrew asked, pulling his sweater over his head.
No, shes in her room watching TV.
Ill pop in, say hello, he said, heading out.
Through the thin wall she heard Margarets muffled laughter. She wondered if her motherinlaw had embellished the story for Andrews ears.
Andrew returned twenty minutes later, relaxed.
Can you believe it, mum ate your casserole, he said, sliding under the covers. She said it was fingerlicking good.
Yes, I know, Violet replied flatly. It was for breakfast.
So what? Andrew turned toward her. Make something else. At least mum liked your cooking!
Violet stared at her husband.
Andrew, it isnt about the casserole. Its that your mother keeps taking my things without asking, eats food I set aside for special occasions, ignores my opinions.
Come off it, Andrew waved a hand. Its just a casserole. Mum was hungry.
And the chocolate for your cake? She just took it.
What chocolate? he frowned.
I bought it for a surprise cake tomorrow, and your mum ate it just because.
What then? his voice edged with irritation. She felt sorry for the chocolate?
Its not the chocolate! Shes testing the limits, showing who runs the house.
Nonsense, Andrew leaned back. Youre overreacting. Mum just wanted a bite.
Yesterday it was the casserole, today the chocolate, the day before my tea, the day before that my boots, Violet counted on her fingers. Always something mine, taken without permission.
Andrew stared at her, bewildered.
Are you serious? You count every little thing? You split everything into mine and notmine? Were a family!
Family means respecting personal boundaries, Violet whispered. It means asking before you take, not raiding someones plate or cupboard.
Enough of this! Andrew snapped. You should be grateful my mother enjoys your food. Its a compliment!
Violets eyes widened, her mouth opening in disbelief. A compliment? So if I cook dinner and your mum eats it while were out, thats a compliment, not disrespect?
Stop dramatising! Andrew snapped, pulling the blanket up. Im exhausted, its been a long day, and youve started this ridiculous argument over a casserole!
He got up, grabbed a pillow, and flopped onto the sofa. Im going to crash on the couch. Ive got an early start tomorrow. Goodnight.
Violet sat alone, tears tracing her cheeks. She hadnt expected such a reaction. She had hoped Andrew would understand, would side with her, but instead he chose his mothers side without even trying to see her point.
Morning came with the scent of pancakes. Margaret was at the stove, Andrew perched at the table with a smug grin.
Awake, love? he said, as if the previous night never happened. Mum decided to treat us. Have a seat.
Violet hesitated, then sat. Margaret placed a plate of pancakes before her.
Eat, dear. Ive also made some scrambled eggs, Ill bring them over.
Thanks, Violet murmured, but Id just like a coffee, Im not hungry.
Not hungry? Margaret exclaimed, hands flailing. Ive made a feast! Youll offend me if you dont eat.
Andrew watched, his eyes flicking between them, waiting for a reaction. Refusing the food felt like declaring war.
Fine, Violet took a fork, nibbling reluctantly.
Good girl! Margaret cooed, patting Violets head. Youve gotten so skinny, youll end up in a coffin if you dont eat.
Andrew smirked, saying nothing. Violet chewed mechanically, feeling the flatness of a home that no longer felt hers.
After breakfast Margaret left for the shop. Violet finally turned to Andrew, determined to end the stalemate.
Andrew, we need to talk about your mother, she began, sitting opposite him on the couch.
Again? he winced. Everythings fine. She even made us breakfast.
Its a nice gesture, Violet replied, but the real issue is the lack of respect for my boundaries. I feel like a guest in my own flat, not a member of the family.
Andrew sighed. Violet, Mum has always been the matriarch of her house. Its hard for her to change. Bear with it; well move soon.
And after we move? Violet asked softly. Will she still pop over to our new place, commandeer my things, eat what Ive set aside for everyone?
Andrew looked away. Shell visit now and then. Shes my mother, after all.
Do you not see the problem? Violet leaned forward. Im not against your mother. Im against the constant disregard for my space. And you dont seem to understand that.
Im concerned youre dividing everything into yours and hers, Andrew countered. Were a family; we share.
We share, yes, Violet agreed. But with consent, not by taking what isnt offered.
They stared at each other, the gap between them widening. For Andrew, his mother would always occupy a privileged position, immune to criticism. For Violet, the only way forward was to step away and think.
I think Ill spend the weekend at Natashas cottage, Violet said finally. I need space to sort my thoughts.
What? Andrew raised an eyebrow. All over a casserole?
Not the casserole, she shook her head wearily. Its that you wont hear me. I need time to consider our future.
She rose, gathering her things. Andrew stayed seated, eyes fixed on the empty sofa.
When Violet reached the door with her bag, he asked, What should I tell my mum?
The truth, she answered. Tell her Ive gone to think about us. And you should think, too.
She stepped out into the crisp spring air, feeling an odd lightness. The decision felt impulsive, yet somehow right. Sometimes you have to retreat to see the whole picture.
Her phone buzzeda message from Natasha confirming the cottage key was with the neighbour. Violet inhaled the cool breeze, ready for a quiet weekend of reflection, before the inevitable conversation with Andrew about family, boundaries, and respect. Even the smallest thingslike a breakfast casserolecan reveal the shape of a home.
