It’s your motherso its on you! he shouted, but Emily clenched her teeth and held her anger back, buttoning her sons coat. Yet another day of the nightmare she dreaded most lay ahead: a visit to her motherinlaw. From the start their relationship had been a perpetual tugofwar.
Margaret Whitmore had never accepted Emily as her sons wife. No matter what Emily did, Margaret always spotted a flaw, always had a criticism to hurl.
Again, Emily? James sighed, watching her tightlipped stare. You dont want to go, do you?
Emily let out a bitter chuckle.
You really have to ask me that? Honestly, James, you know exactly why I dont want to step through that door!
Her eyes flared.
Shell nag me again, belittle me, tell me Im raising our boy wrong! Shell say Im not doing enough, even though I work, run the house, cook, clean, and pay every bill! Im the one holding this family together by the throat!
But youre at home all day, James replied, shrugging.
Emilys gaze darkened.
Oh really? You think I just sit idle? Or that money falls from the sky?
I work too, he growled. Its not my fault Im not paid more.
The truth was that Emily, a freelance designer, earned three times what James made. She was the familys breadwinner.
Cant you go alone? she asked, hoping for an escape.
Its Mothers Day, Emily! You cant ignore my mother!
She inhaled a sigh and finished dressing her son. Two hours later they stood at Margarets front door in a weatherworn cottage in the Yorkshire Dales.
Inside, Jamess niece, Lucy, was already perched on the sofa. Emily had long noticed how Margaret treated Lucy like royalty while barely acknowledging her own grandson. It was no surprise; Lucys parents had died five years earlier, and Margaret had raised her as her own.
Around them, Margarets sisters guzzled wine and laughed loudly, their glasses clinking in a raucous chorus.
Then, without warning, Margaret dropped a bomb.
Ive made a decision, she announced gravely. I will leave my flat to Lucy. You, James, already have a home.
James merely nodded, his expression unchanged.
A few days later the paperwork was signed: the flat would belong to Lucy, on the condition she could move in only after Margarets death.
But fate had other plans.
A sudden stroke left Margaret paralyzed, unable to look after herself.
We have to move in with Mom, James declared, his tone final. She cant stay alone.
A cold shiver ran through Emily. She knew exactly what that meant.
She would have to feed, clothe, bathe her, all while keeping her job and caring for their child.
She said nothing.
Weeks slipped by, and Emily reached her limit.
One evening she finally burst.
James, the flat belongs to Lucy. Shouldnt she be looking after her mother?
Lucy is at university, James. She even has a boyfriend. You expect her to bring him here?
Emily laughed, a dry, icy sound that bordered on hysteria.
I cant take this any longer!
James crossed his arms.
Oh, I see. Youre already exhausted?
Her hands trembled with fury.
Im suffocating! Everything rests on me! YOU, your mother, our child, my work I CANT BEAR THIS ANYMORE!
But you work from home, he murmured, smug.
Emilys stare cut sharper than broken glass.
And what? You think I dont actually work?
Her heart hammered like a frantic drum.
You know what? From now on its YOUR turn to look after your mother!
Its my mother, but its also your motherinlaw! Thats your role! You want me to wash her, perhaps?
Silence fell like a tomb.
Then Emilys voice, cold and calm, slipped out:
I owe you nothing.
James snorted.
In that case, hire a care worker!
Oh? Youll pay for her?
Why should I foot the bill?
Then there wont be a care worker.
He folded his arms tighter.
You can use your mothers pension. Or your salary?
Jamess features hardened.
So why do I even have a wife?
That was the trigger. Something inside Emily finally cracked, blindingly bright.
She realized James had been using her for years.
And Lucy? She hadnt even bothered to visit her own grandmother.
That night Emily lay awake, eyes wide.
At dawn she knew what she must do.
The moment James left the house, Emily packed her bags, took her son, and walked out.
She sent a single text, then blocked his number:
I will not carry this burden alone any longer.
That very evening James stormed back, raging.
Either you come back, or Ill file for divorce!
Emily smiled faintly.
Go ahead. I was about to.
For the first time James looked lost.
She didnt wait for apologies. Her decision was set.
A month later the divorce was final. James never apologized.
And Emily?
She never regretted leaving.
Six months later she heard the news.
Margaret had died.
And Lucy?
She threw James out without a shred of remorse.
Only then did he understand.
He had lost everything.
