Your mother thats your responsibility! he barked, and I could feel my jaw tighten around the words. I was buttoning my sons coat, teeth clenched, trying not to let the fury spill over. Today I faced the ordeal I dread most: a visit to my motherinlaw. From the start, the relationship has been a constant battle.
Margaret Turner never accepted me as her sons wife. Whatever I did, she could find a fault, a criticism to hurl.
Again, Emily? James sighed, watching my sour expression. You dont want to go, do you?
I managed a bitter laugh.
Are you really asking me that, James? You know exactly why I dont want to go!
His eyes flared.
Shell find something to scold me for, put me down, tell me Im raising our boy wrong. It doesnt matter that I work, run the house, cook, clean and pay every bill. Im the one keeping this family afloat!
But youre at home all day, James replied, shrugging.
My stare darkened.
Oh yeah? You think I just sit around doing nothing? Or that money falls from the sky?
I work too, he growled. Its not my fault Im not paid more.
The truth was that my freelance design earnings were three times his salary. I was the main provider.
Cant you go alone? I asked, hoping for a way out.
Its Mothers Day, Emily. You cant just ignore my mother! he snapped.
I swallowed a sigh and finished dressing him. Two hours later we were at Margarets house.
In the sitting room, Jamess niece, Charlotte, was already perched on the sofa. Id long noticed Margarets clear favouritism. She treated Charlotte like royalty, while barely acknowledging her own grandson. It made sense; Charlottes parents had died five years earlier, and Margaret had raised her as her own.
Around us, Margarets sisters were laughing loudly, clinking their wine glasses.
Then, without warning, Margaret dropped a bomb.
Ive made a decision, she announced solemnly. Im bequeathing my flat to Charlotte. You, James, already have a home.
James barely flinched, merely nodding.
A few days later the paperwork was done. The flat was Charlottes, on the condition she wouldnt move in until after Margarets death.
But life had other plans.
A sudden stroke left Margaret paralysed, unable to care for herself.
Well have to move in with Mum, James declared, voice flat. She cant be left alone.
A cold shiver ran down my spine. I knew what that meant: I would have to feed, dress, wash her while still working and looking after our son.
I said nothing.
Weeks passed and I felt myself cracking.
One evening I finally exploded.
James, Margarets flat belongs to Charlotte. Shouldnt she be the one looking after her? I demanded.
Charlotte is at university, James. She has a boyfriend. Do you expect her to bring him here? he retorted.
I laughed, a dry, bitter sound.
I cant take this any longer!
He crossed his arms.
Oh, I see. Youre already exhausted?
My hands trembled with rage.
Im suffocating! Everything is on me you, your mother, our child, my job I cant go on!
But you work from home, he muttered, smug.
My gaze cut sharper than shattered glass.
And what? You think I dont really work?
My heart hammered wild.
You know what? From now on its your turn to look after your mother!
Its my mother, but shes also your motherinlaw! Thats your role! You want me to wash her, perhaps?
A dead silence fell.
Then I said, voice calm and icy:
I owe you nothing.
James chuckled.
In that case, hire a care worker!
Oh? Youll pay for it?
Why should I foot the bill?
Then there wont be any care worker.
He crossed his arms again.
You can use Mums pension. Or your salary?
His features hardened.
So why do I even have a wife?
That was the trigger. Something inside me finally snapped. Everything cleared like a flash of light.
James had been using me for years.
And Charlotte? She hadnt even bothered to visit her grandmother.
That night I lay awake. By morning I knew what I had to do.
The moment James left the house, I packed my bag, took our son, and walked out.
I sent him a single text, then blocked his number:
I wont carry this burden alone any longer.
Later that evening James stormed in.
Either you come back, or Ill file for divorce!
I smiled quietly.
Go ahead. I was just about to.
For the first time James seemed truly lost.
I wasnt waiting for apologies. My decision was set.
A month later the divorce was finalised. James never offered an apology.
And me? I never regretted leaving.
Six months on, I received the news: Margaret had died.
And Charlotte?
She threw James out without a hint of remorse.
Only then did he understand. He had lost everything.
