Did she really say that? Emily asked, turning the question back on her husband.
Mark gave a short nod, lifted the mug, and took a sip of the steaming tea, wincing at the heat.
Exactly that. he repeated, his voice high and a little forced, as if echoing his sisters tone. Sophie told Mum she wanted the twobed flat transferred to her name and to move out, because James had proposed. A young couple needs a place of their own, she said, as if it were that simple.
Emily stared at him, disbelief etched across her face. Demanding a parents home? As if it were a parcel of groceries to be handed over.
And what did Mum say? Emily asked cautiously.
Mark shook his head.
No clear answer. But I know my mother. She dotes on Sophie. Anythings possible.
Could a daughter really push her mother out of the only flat she owned? Emily had never even imagined asking her parents such a thing. She had refused to take a loan from them for a deposit, saved every penny herself, bought a flat and cleared the mortgage before she married. That flat was her pride, her property.
You see, Mark continued, staring off somewhere, Mum sold the country house a few years back to fund Sophie’s tuition. And what happened? She dropped out in her second year. Turns out you actually have to study at university, can you imagine?
Emily snorted.
Your sister never was the studious type.
Mark fell silent. Emily saw his shoulders tighten, his fingers clenching the mug. What could she say? What could she suggest? Family was always a tangled mess.
Days turned into weeks. Mark phoned his mother several times, each call brief, each conversation edged with tension. Emily stayed out of it, knowing it was his burden to bear.
One Saturday they decided to visit Helen, Marks mother.
Mark used his key to push open the front door. Emily froze on the threshold. The flat was a maze of boxes, duffel bags, folded blankets. Suitcases were stacked against walls, on the sofa, on the kitchen tableeverywhere lay the chaos of a hurried move.
Mum? Mark called as he stepped inside.
Helen emerged from a bedroom, her face lined, shadows under her eyes. Emily had never seen Marks mother look so exhausted.
Mark, Emily, come in, Helen whispered.
Mark swept his gaze across the rooms and asked straight away:
Are you giving the flat to Sophie?
Helen sighed, lowered herself onto the edge of the sofa, nudging a dishwasher box aside.
Itll be better that way, love. A young couple needs their own place. James has a good job, theyll need somewhere to settle. I can manage.
Emily stood at the back, her mouth dry, anger tightening her chest. How could anyone give away the only flat they owned? Where would Helen go?
And where will you live? Mark asked, his voice low.
Ill rent a room. My pension is modest, but itll cover me. Dont worry about me.
Emily watched Marks colour drain, his hands tremble, and said nothing. It wasnt her fight.
Two months later Helen was living in a modest rented flat in a different borough. Mark visited often, bringing groceries, medicines, helping with chores. Emily didnt object; she understood how much the situation weighed on him.
One night Mark came home, shoulders slumped, silence hanging heavy over the kitchen.
Whats wrong? Emily asked, settling opposite him.
Mark lifted his eyes slowly.
Mum cant get by. Her pension doesnt stretch to rent and food. Shes barely scraping together.
Emilys brow furrowed.
Then she should move back into her own flat.
Its already in Sophies name, and Sophie wont let her back in. She says she and James are planning renovations and Mum would be in the way.
Emily sensed where the conversation was heading. She waited, and Mark, as if reading her thoughts, pressed on:
We could bring Mum in with us. We still have the twobed flat. Theres enough room.
His words hit Emily like a hammer. Our flat. It was hers, hers alone. Yet she stayed silent, letting him cajole herself, even as every fibre inside her rebelled. What could she say? That she didnt want to let in a mother she had just watched her own daughter evict? That would be cruel.
Four days later Helen moved in. The first day she was a gentle, grateful wisp, apologising constantly, promising she wouldnt be a bother.
Emily told herself it would be fine. Theyd never argued with Helen before. What could possibly go wrong?
But after a week the atmosphere shifted.
First, Emilys favourite mug vanished.
Helen, have you seen my blue mug with the roses? Emily asked.
Helen hesitated.
Oh, love, Im sorry. I dropped it while washing the dishes. Ill buy you a new one, I promise.
Emily nodded, trying to brush it off.
The next day the expensive hand cream Emily kept in the bathroom was gone.
Helen, have you seen my cream? Emily inquired.
That one? Helen held up an empty tube. I used it on my legs. The airs been so dry, my skin was cracking. Its a good cream, really.
Emily clenched her teeth. Shed replace it.
The final straw was the meat. Emily had bought a premium cut of beef to make steaks for dinner. When she got home from work she found a pan on the stove covered in greasy burger patties, the meat looking more like seasoned mince than steak.
Helen, this is pricey beef. Its not for burgers, especially not like this, Emily tried to keep her voice level.
Helen turned from the stove.
I always do it this way. The patties turned out great, give them a try. Whats wrong?
Mark, seated in the living room, pretended not to hear.
Weeks passed and Helen imposed her own routines. Breakfast became porridge and boiled eggs. She scheduled a deepclean every Saturday at eight a.m., and insisted everyone be in bed by nine, even on weekends.
Emily walked the flat, fury simmering under a thin veneer of calm. Mark kept urging her to be patient, promising hed speak to his mother, but nothing changed.
At dinner Emily spread cottage cheese on a slice of bread, topped it with a tomato slice. She was exhausted from work, didnt feel like cooking anything elaborate.
Youve got no taste, Emily, Helen snapped. Thats what you eat?
Emily lifted her head slowly.
Its enough for me.
Youre ruining my son with your habits, Helen snapped back, her voice rising. Mark sees you lounging, not washing dishes, not ironing clothes. I raised him differently. I taught him order and neatness. Youre tearing down everything I built.
Emilys patience snapped.
Ive had enough, she said coldly. I tried to respect your age, kept quiet while you smashed my things, used my cosmetics, ruined my food. No more. If its this bad, move back to the flat you gave to your daughter. Dont live in this house I bought with my own money.
Emily! Mark lunged forward. What are you saying?!
Exactly what I think! Emily turned to him. I have my own rules, too. Number one: your mother will not stay in my house!
Helens face turned ashen.
Mark! Do you hear what your wife is saying? Stop her! Mark pleaded.
Mum, Emily, lets calm down, he tried to mediate.
No! Emily stared at Helen. Let her pack and leave. I dont care where she goes.
We cant throw my mother out! Mark shouted, his voice cracking. Do you understand what youre saying?
Emily let out a hoarse laugh, bitter and harsh.
You cant, but I can. By evening she wont be here.
Marks expression hardened, his jaw set like stone.
If she leaves, Im out too.
Emily held his gaze, her eyes cold.
Oh, have we come to ultimatums? Youve forgotten you promised to keep your mother in check. You begged me to be patient, and now youre issuing conditions? Well played, Mark.
Helen burst into tears and fled down the hallway. Mark stood in the kitchen, stunned.
They began packing in silence, moving boxes, suitcases, bags. Emily did not help; she sat at the kitchen table, staring out the window at the grey London sky. Inside there was a hollow emptiness, strange and cold, yet somehow calming.
An hour later Mark and Helen emerged into the hallway, luggage in hand. Mark opened the front door, letting his mother step out first, then turned to Emily.
Emily, we
She cut him off.
If you still dont get that Mum loves only her daughter and uses you, we should part ways now, before she completely seeps into our lives.
Emily slammed the door shut in front of her husbands face.
Inviting Helen had been a mistake. Now Emily saw clearly: Mark could never stand up to his mother, and their marriage had no future.
The divorce was quiet. There were no children, no shared assets. Mark looked at her with sorrowful eyes, begging for forgiveness, promising never to drag his mother into another marriage. Emily, however, was done giving anyone a second chance.
