Are you serious? Emma asked, repeating her husbands words.
James nodded and took another sip from his mug. The tea was still scorching, and he winced.
Exactly that. My sister demanded that Mom transfer the twobed flat to her name and move out. Harrys proposed to her, and a young couple needs a place, you understand? James said in a high, affected tone, mimicking his sister.
Emma stared at him, unable to believe what she heard. It was absurdto demand a parents home outright.
What did Mom say? Emma asked cautiously.
James shook his head.
Theres no clear answer yet. But I know Mom well; she dotes on Emily. So anythings possible.
Could a daughter really force her mother out of the family home? Emma would never have imagined asking her parents for something like that. She had refused to take a loan from them for a deposit, saved every penny herself, bought a flat and paid off the mortgage before she even married. She took pride in thatit was her house, her property.
Listen, James continued, looking off to the side, Mom sold the cottage last year to pay for Emilys tuition. And what happened? Emily dropped out after the second year. Apparently you still have to study at university, can you imagine?
Emma snorted.
Your sister never was a model student, she said.
James fell silent. Emma saw the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers clenched the mug. What could she say? What advice could she offer? Family matters are never simple.
Days turned into weeks. James called his mother several times, but each conversation was brief and strained. Emma stayed out of it, knowing this was his pain to bear.
One weekend they decided to visit Jamess mother.
James unlocked the front door with his key. Emma paused on the threshold. The flat was buried under boxes, bags, rolledup blankets. Belongings were stacked against the walls, on the sofa, on the kitchen tabletotal chaos of a move.
Mom? James called as he stepped inside.
Margaret emerged from a room, her face drawn, dark circles under her eyes. Emma had never seen Jamess mother look so exhausted.
James, Emma, come in, Margaret whispered.
James scanned the room and asked straight away, Are you giving the flat to Emily?
Margaret sighed, shifted a dishbox aside and sat on the edge of the sofa.
Itll be easier, love. A young couple needs their own place. Harry is a good lad, steady job. I can manage.
Emma stood nearby, feeling a knot tighten in her chest. How could anyone hand over their only home? Where would Margaret go?
What about you? James asked hoarsely.
Ill rent a room. My pension isnt much, but itll cover me. Dont worry about me, she replied.
Emma saw Jamess face go pale, his hands tremble, but she said nothing. This battle wasnt hers.
Two months later Margaret lived in a modest rented flat in another district. James visited often, bringing groceries, medicine, helping with chores. Emma didnt object; she understood he was coping.
One evening James returned home looking dejected, sitting silently at the kitchen table.
Whats wrong? Emma asked, pulling up a chair opposite him.
James lifted his eyes slowly. Mom cant make ends meet. The pension barely covers the rent, and shes just scraping by.
Emma frowned. Then she should move back into her flat.
The flats already in Emilys name. Emily wont let Mom back in; she says theyre planning renovations and Mom would be in the way.
Emma sensed where this was heading. As if reading her thoughts, James said, We could take Mom in. We have a spare room in our twobed flat. Itll be enough space.
Her own flat, her own moneyJamess words echoed in her mind. Yet Emma stayed silent, allowing him to keep bargaining, while inside she felt every word clash with her sense of fairness. She couldnt simply let a daughterinlaw drive her mother out.
Four days after that, Margaret moved in with them. At first she was like a gentle dandelionsoft, apologetic, promising not to be a nuisance.
Emma tried to convince herself that everything would be fine. They had never fought with Margaret before; why would this be any different?
A week later things began to shift.
First, Emmas favorite blue mug vanished.
Margaret, have you seen my mug? The one with the flowers? Emma asked.
Margaret winced. Oh dear, Im sorry. I accidentally dropped it while washing up. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
Emma shrugged it off.
The next day the expensive face cream Emma kept in the bathroom was gone.
Margaret, have you seen my cream? Emma asked.
Margaret held up an empty tube. I used it on my feet. The air is so dry these days, my skin was cracking. Its a good cream, you know.
Emma clenched her jaw. She would replace it.
The final straw was the meat. Emma had bought a pricey steak to make dinner, but when she got home she found a pan of greasy meatballs on the stove, the meat mixture mostly breadcrumbs.
Margaret, Emma said calmly, this is expensive beef, not for meatballs.
Margaret turned from the stove. I always do it this way. The meatballs turned out lovely, try them. Whats wrong?
James, sitting in the living room, pretended not to hear.
Over the following weeks Margaret set her own rules. Breakfast became strictly porridge and a boiled egg. She organized a weekly deep clean every Saturday at eight a.m. Lights were out by nine, even on weekends. Emma walked around the house suppressing a growing fury. James tried to soothe her, promising to talk to his mother, but nothing changed.
During dinner Emma spread cottage cheese on toast, added a slice of tomato. She was exhausted from work and didnt want to cook anything elaborate. Margaret grimaced.
You have no taste, Emma. Thats nonsense you eat.
Emma lifted her head slowly. Im fine with it.
Youre ruining my sons habits, Margaret shot back sharply. James sees you slackingno dishes right away, clothes left unironed. I raised him with order and neatness, and youre tearing that away.
Emmas patience snapped.
Ive endured enough, she said coldly. I tried to respect your age, stayed quiet while you broke my things, used my cosmetics, spoiled my food. No more. If its this terrible, move back to the flat you handed over to your daughter. Dont stay in my house, which I bought with my own money.
Emma! James leapt up. What are you saying?
What I think! Emma turned to him. I have my own rules, too. First ruleyour mother will not live in my house!
Margarets face turned ashen.
James! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her! James begged.
Enough! Emma shouted at Margaret. Pack up and leave. I dont care where you go.
We cant throw my mother out! James raised his voice. Do you understand what youre saying?
Emma laughed hoarsely, a bitter sound. You cant, but I can. By evening she wont be here.
James straightened, his expression hard as stone. If she leaves, Im leaving too.
Emma stared at him for a long moment. Oh, have we really come to ultimatums? You promised to calm your mother down. You asked me to be patient, and now youre setting conditions? Well, good luck, James.
Margaret burst into tears and fled down the hallway. James stood in the kitchen, stunned.
They began to pack, slowly, in silence. Emma stayed in the kitchen, staring out the window at the empty street, a strange, cold calm settling over her.
An hour later James and Margaret emerged from the hallway with suitcases, bags, parcels. James opened the front door, letting his mother step out first, then turned to Emma.
Emma, lets
Emma cut him off. If you still dont get that my mother loves only her daughter and is using you, wed better part ways now, before she completely eats us alive.
She walked to the door and slammed it in front of Jamess face.
Taking Margaret in had been a mistake, but now Emma saw clearly that James could never stand up to his mother. Their marriage had no future.
The divorce was quiet. There were no children, no joint assets. James looked at her with sorrowful eyes, begging for forgiveness, promising never to involve his mother again. Emma had learned that some people never earn a second chance.
In the end, she realized that love built on compromise must still respect each persons boundaries; otherwise, even the strongest ties can unravel.
