Emma sat at the kitchen table, eyes fixed on Eleanor Whitfield as she sliced apples for a spiced cake. The knife flashed, the scent of caramel rose, and Eleanor babbled on about some design project, completely oblivious to the silence that had settled over the room. Emmas thoughts were a knot of frustration; her motherinlaw had been living with them for a month, and every minute felt heavier than the last. Their marriage of five years had been happy, yet lately Emma wondered if shed erred in marrying the son of a woman who seemed to own every conversation.
Emily, youre not listening to me! Eleanor snapped, pausing her story and pursing her lips. Im telling you James needs a new job. That firm hes at is a joke! I spoke to a friend wholl take him on in her construction companyhigher pay, better prospects. He could be promoted within a year, and you could stay home, not work a day.
Emma inhaled deeply, fighting the sting of irritation. Mrs. Whitfield, James chooses where he works. Hes an adult.
Of course hes an adult, Eleanor retorted, but youre his wife! You must steer him, give him advice. All that design talk and those sketchesthose arent a mans business! She waved a hand, as if dismissing a fly.
Hes an architectdesigner and hes good at it, Emma said, voice trembling on the edge of a break. The firm is excellent, and he loves his work.
Loves it? And the money? They pay him peanuts! What about children? Youll need a steady income to raise them, wont you?
Were not planning children yet, Emma replied softly, though the topic had already been discussed a dozen times. We have enough saved.
No planning? Eleanor set the knife down, turning sharply toward Emma. I knew it! Five years of marriage and no children! I was raising James at your age!
Emma fell silent. She wanted childrenvery muchbut not now. She had just defended her doctoral thesis and secured a senior lecturer post in the universitys architecture department. She and James had agreed to wait three years, giving her time to cement her academic career before thinking about a family.
Eleanor, assuming silence meant consent, pressed on. Look at Lucy, my friends daughtershes already had three and her husband, a builder, put a solid roof over their heads.
Mrs. Whitfield, James and I will decide whats best for us, Emma said, trying to keep her tone respectful. I respect you, but
What do you mean well decide? Eleanor snapped. Im his mother! I know whats best for himand for you! Youre still young, naïve. A mother never steers you wrong.
Emma shook her head and left the kitchen. Arguing was futile. She climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor of the modest yet cosy semidetached house theyd bought two years earlier with a mortgage, collapsed onto the bed, and closed her eyes. Exhaustion washed over herlecturing, grading, endless motherinlaw criticism.
That evening James came home, looking weary but pleased. You wont believe itIve been made lead designer on a new development! he announced, kissing Emma.
Congratulations, love! she exclaimed, genuinely happy.
James! Whats the project? How much will they pay? Eleanor interjected, eyes alight.
Its a highend residential complex, James said, buoyant. The salary will rise, of course.
And how much? Eleanor persisted.
James winced. Does it matter? Were fine.
Fine? What about the mortgage? The car? Your old clunker is falling apart! Eleanor declared, her voice sharp. Look at Sophies son
Im not Sophies son, James cut in. Can we drop it? Im hungry.
During dinner Eleanor continued her sermon. James mostly fell silent, while Emma felt a hot coil of irritation building inside her. After the meal, alone in the bedroom, Emma finally burst.
James, I cant take this any longer! Your mother is meddling in every part of our livesyour job, our plans, everything! When is she leaving?
Emma, James sighed, she just wants the best for us. Shes always been like that.
I know, Emma said, but theres a difference between a weekend visit and living with us permanently!
Its only temporary, James tried to soothe her. Shes renovating her flat.
How long does a renovation in a onebedroom take? A month already!
Your mother likes everything perfect, James chuckled weakly. Just a little longer, okay?
Emma nodded, the only thing she could do was endure. She couldnt kick her motherinlaw out.
The next morning, as Emma rushed to prepare for work, Eleanor appeared in the bedroom doorway.
Emma, we need to talk, she said, perching on the edge of the bed.
Im in a hurrymaybe later? Emma tried to dodge.
No, its important. I think you should quit your job.
What? Emma froze, toothbrush in hand. Why?
Because you need to have children! You cant keep postponing forever. I spoke to James yesterday; he wants a baby too.
James? Emmas heart hammered. Did he actually say that?
Not outright, Eleanor hesitated, but I can read him like an open book. He dreams of a son!
Emma set the toothbrush down, meeting Eleanors stare. I appreciate your concern, truly. But James and I have already decidedwell try for a child in three years. Its not the right time now.
Not the right time? When will it be? When youre forty? I was your age Eleanors voice rose.
I know you raised James at my age, Emma interjected. Times have changed.
Exactly! Once, family came first; now everyone chases a career. Wheres the family in all that? Eleanor lamented.
Emma glanced at the clock. I have to go. Well finish this tonight with James.
The day slipped by in a blur of lectures, student consultations, and a departmental meeting. Emmas mind kept drifting back to the looming conversation. What if Eleanor was right? What if James really wanted a child now and was hiding it?
When they returned home, Eleanor had set a festive table. Whats the occasion? James asked, removing his shoes.
A family council! she announced cheerily.
Emma felt a knot tighten. She sensed the subject before it was spoken.
Eleanor poured wine, lifted her glass, and declared, I have news! I spoke to Gillian Harper, and she wants to hire you, James, as head of design in her construction firm!
James choked on his drink. Mum, what are you talking about?
Your new job! Eleanor beamed. Gillian runs a major building company. Shes offering you a departmentlead roledouble the salary!
What department? James asked, bewildered.
The design department, of course! Youre an architect, after all. Eleanor thrust a stack of printed brochures onto the table.
James pushed the papers away. Im happy where I am.
But James, think of the future! How will you raise children on this pay? Eleanor pressed, voice rising.
We dont have children yet, James reminded her.
Exactly, but theyll be here soon! Eleanor glared at Emma. Youve even talked about quitting your job.
What? I never said that! Emma snapped. Im not quitting.
We discussed it this morning, didnt we? Eleanor feigned surprise. You said youd consider my offer.
I said wed talk about it later tonight, Emma corrected. And Im not leaving my post. Weve agreed to wait three years before having kids.
James nodded, his jaw clenched. The tension was palpable.
Three years? Youre already thirty! In three more youll be thirtythreedangerous age for pregnancy! Eleanor exclaimed.
Many women have children after thirty, James countered calmly. Well decide when the time is right for us.
Because I gave birth at twentytwo and it was perfect! Eleanor shouted. I just want whats best for you both!
James reached out, placing a hand on his mothers shoulder. Mum, I love you, but you have to let us live our own lives.
Eleanors eyes welled. I just dont want you to make mistakes!
Even if we do, theyll be ours, James replied softly. We need space to make our choices.
A heavy silence settled. Emma, relieved to finally hear James speak his truth, suggested, Shall we have some tea?
Tea sounds good, James agreed, nodding at the kettle.
Eleanor sat, still trembling, but seemed to understand a little.
The following morning Eleanor announced she was moving back to her flat now that the renovation was complete. Emma felt a mix of relief and sadness; she missed the woman who, despite everything, cared deeply.
Mrs. Whitfield, youre always welcome to visit, Emma said as her motherinlaw left. Just please dont intrude in our decisions.
Ive learned my lesson, Eleanor replied, hugging Emma tightly. I only ever wanted the best.
Later that evening, after the house fell quiet, Emma and James relaxed on the sofa, sipping tea. Do you still want a child now? Emma asked gently.
James looked at her, weary but sincere. No, love. Three years is still the plan. I need to finish the project, and Im still annoyed with my mums meddling.
Then well keep pushing forward, Emma said, smiling faintly. Together.
Days turned into weeks. Eleanor behaved as if nothing had happened, asking about daily routines, never mentioning the previous nights argument. One evening, Emma found her hunched over a laptop, typing furiously.
Good evening, Emma greeted. What are you working on?
Eleanor jumped, closing the screen quickly. Just… emailing a friend, she stammered.
Emma caught the page title: How to convince adult children to have grandchildren. She sighed.
Mrs. Whitfield, we need to talk, Emma said calmly.
About what? Eleanor feigned innocence.
About your constant interference, Emma replied, steady. Were adults, we make our own choices.
Interference? Eleanor gasped. Im a mother, not a tyrant!
Youre Jamess mother, not mine, Emma asserted. We respect you, but we need autonomy.
Eleanors shoulders slumped. I just want whats right for you both.
Which is what we decide, Emma said. Thats all.
James entered, looking exhausted. A director called me today, asking about my salary and prospects. Some woman had been inquiring about me.
Who? Emma asked.
They said a woman from a construction firm was asking too many questions, James answered, frowning at his mother.
Did you call my boss? Eleanor demanded, suddenly defensive. I wanted to make sure youre secure!
You called my director? James demanded, voice tight. That crosses a line.
I was only looking out for you! Eleanor protested. Im your motherthere are no limits!
Sometimes there must be, James said, his tone measured but firm. We have a right to a private life, free from unwarranted scrutiny.
Eleanors eyes filled with tears. I just dont want you to regret anything.
Well regret nothing if we live on our own terms, James replied, pulling his mother into a gentle hug. We love you, Mum, but we need space.
The room softened. Emma offered, How about a cup of tea for everyone?
Tea sounds lovely, James agreed.
Eleanor nodded, a reluctant smile forming. The next morning she announced she was moving back to her flat permanently. Emma felt a strange reliefpeace without constant intrusion, yet a pang of compassion for a woman who truly believed she was helping.
Mrs. Whitfield, youre always welcome, Emma said as Eleanor packed. Just please respect our boundaries.
I understand, Emma, Eleanor said, hugging her tightly. I only ever wanted the best.
Three years later, as promised, Emma and James welcomed a baby girl. Eleanor, now a proud grandmother, cradled the newborn, eyes shining. Shes perfect, she whispered. You made the right choice.
Emma and James exchanged a quiet smile. The family, once tangled in overbearing advice, had finally found its rhythmcareer, love, and a new generation, all balanced on mutual respect. The house was quiet, the tea warm, and the future bright, because everyone finally learned that the best advice is the one that lets you choose your own path.
