David brought his mother to live in my tiny flat.
“Mum will stay with us for a while,” he said, shifting awkwardly in the cramped hallway. “Theres been a burst pipe in her place, and the repairs will take ages. She cant exactly live on the street, can she?”
Emily froze, a towel in her hands, fresh from the shower. Her damp hair darkened the shoulders of her old dressing gown. Behind David stood his mother, Margaret, clutching two enormous suitcases and a box tied up with string.
“Hello, love,” Margaret said cheerfully, as if she hadnt noticed Emilys stunned expression. “Dont worry, I wont be here long. Just until the plumbers finish. A month, two at most.”
A month? Two? In a thirty-square-metre flat where the kitchen was the size of a cupboard and the bathroom barely had room to turn around? Emily felt her chest tighten with anxiety.
“Margaret, it’s lovely to see you,” she forced a smile, hiding her panic. “But are you sure youll be comfortable here? Maybe one of your friends has space?”
“Oh, dont be silly, dear,” Margaret waved her off, stepping inside. “Friends my age? The ones still alive can barely look after themselves. Besides, I dont want to impose.”
*But its fine to impose on us?* Emily bit back the words.
“Lets put your things here,” David gestured to a corner by the bookshelf. “Youll sleep on the sofa. Emily and I can take the fold-out.”
“Absolutely not!” Margaret huffed. “Ill sleep on the fold-out. You two need a proper bed.”
“Mum, your backs bad. You cant sleep on that,” David said firmly.
Emily watched silently, feeling like a stranger in her own home. Technically, the flat was hersleft to her by her grandmother before they married. But that didnt seem to matter now. David had already decided without asking.
“Ill put the kettle on,” she said, retreating to the tiny kitchen where the fridge, stove, and two-person table barely fit. “Margaret, you must be hungry after your journey?”
“Dont fuss, I had a snack on the coach,” Margaret replied, already unpacking onto the armchair. “Tell me, how have you been managing here? David says everythings fine, but I can see how cramped it is. High time you got a bigger place.”
Emily pressed her lips together. Money was a sore subject. They both wanted a proper home, but between Davids mechanic wages and her primary school teacher salary, they barely scraped by. A mortgage was out of the question.
“Mum, weve talked about this,” David sighed. “Nows not the time.”
“When will it be, then?” Margaret shook her head. “Youre thirty-two, Emilys twenty-eight. You should be thinking about childrenwhere will you raise them in this shoebox?”
Emilys cheeks burned. Childrenanother sore point. Married four years, and Margaret never missed a chance to remind them she wanted grandchildren.
“Mum, not now,” David shot Emily an apologetic glance. “Emilys had a long day, and youve just travelled. Lets all rest.”
Margaret scoffed but dropped it, fussing with her things.
Emily escaped to the kitchen, taking a deep breath. She loved David, truly. But his inability to say no to his mother drove her mad. Bringing Margaret here without warning, without even asking
The kettle boiled, and she mechanically made tea. Through the small kitchen window, grey high-rises loomed under a heavy October sky. The gloomy view matched her mood perfectly.
“Emily, love, can I help?” Margarets voice made her jump.
“No, thanks, Im fine,” Emily forced another smile. “Just lost in thought.”
“About what?” Margaret perched on a rickety chair.
“Work,” Emily lied. “Tough class this year. Twenty-eight kids, half with no discipline.”
“Oh, I feel for you,” Margaret tutted. “In my day, children respected their elders. Now its all chaos.”
Emily stayed quiet, pouring tea. Margaret always romanticised the past, dismissing the present. Arguing was pointless.
“Mum, settling in?” David poked his head in. “Oh, teabrilliant. Early shift tomorrow, so Ill turn in.”
“Of course, son,” Margaret patted his arm. “You rest. Emily and I will have a little chat.”
*Just what I need.*
“Things alright between you two?” Margaret asked bluntly. “David says everythings fine, but I can tell something’s off.”
“Everythings fine,” Emily kept her voice even. “Just the usual married life.”
“Married life should be joyful,” Margaret pressed. “Hes lost weight. Are you feeding him properly?”
“I try,” Emily sipped her tea to hide her irritation. “We both work late. Proper meals arent always possible.”
“Youth today,” Margaret sighed. “In my day, wives managed work *and* home. Now its all takeaways. No wonder everyones ill.”
Emily bit her tongue. Margaret was elderly, in a difficult spot. Shed be patientfor Davids sake.
“Ill cook more,” she said. “Especially now youre here. Any of Davids childhood favourites?”
That pleased Margaret, launching her into a thirty-minute monologue about shepherds pie, Sunday roasts, and puddings David supposedly adoredthough hed never mentioned them in four years.
Finally, claiming exhaustion, Emily escaped to the bathroom. Locking the door, she slumped onto the edge of the tub and exhaled. How would they survive like this? Where was her space?
When she emerged, David was asleep on the fold-out, Margaret on the sofa flipping through a magazine. Emily crept into bed beside David. *”Twos company, threes a crowd,”* as they say. Only this crowd felt suffocating.
Morning was chaos. The bathroom, barely big enough for one, now served three. Emily, used to leisurely showers and quiet coffee, adjusted to Margarets early-riser routine.
“Emily, I washed your blouse,” Margaret announced at breakfast. “The white one on the chair. It was stained.”
“What?” Emily choked on her coffee. “I was soaking it in a special solution! It had red wineyou cant wash that normally!”
“Nonsense,” Margaret waved her off. “Ive used washing powder for sixty years. Never failed me.”
Emily stormed to the bathroom. Her favourite blouse, bought on sale at a posh shop, now had a yellow tinge where the stain had been.
“Everything alright?” David appeared. “Mum said you were upset about the blouse. Ill buy you a new one.”
“Its not the blouse,” Emily whispered. “Its your mum touching my things without asking. And Davidwhy didnt you warn me? We couldve planned.”
“Sorry,” he looked down. “I knew youd say no, so I didnt ask. But its temporary, I swear.”
It wasnt. Margaret rearranged cupboards, critiqued Emilys cooking, even commented on laundry folding. Emily stayed late at work, visited friendsanything to avoid going home.
“Youre never home,” David noted after two weeks. “Mum said you got in at nine last night.”
“Parents evening,” Emily said tiredly. “Since when does your mum track me?”
“She worries,” David hugged her. “Thinks youre avoiding us.”
“Arent I?” Emily met his eyes. “David, I cant do this. Every move I make is judged. I feel like a guest in my own home.”
“Youre overreacting,” he frowned. “Mums just trying to help.”
“Help *you*, maybe. Not me.” Emily pulled away. “I need space, David. To breathe. To be *me*.”
“Wheres she supposed to go?” His voice sharpened. “Her flats unliveable. Youd throw my mum out?”
“Of course not,” Emily shook her head. “But we couldve found other options. Her sister in Leeds. Or rented a room.”
“With what money?” David threw his hands up. “Were barely scraping by.”
Emily said nothing. Money always stung. David was kind, but unambitioushappy as a mechanic, avoiding stress.
“Fine,” she finally said. “Ill endure it. But talk to your mum. Tell her I dont need parenting.”
He promised. But nothing changed. Meals were on Margarets schedule, laundry on her days, even the tellynews first, then *her* shows.
The final straw came Sunday morning. Emily woke to find Margaret rummaging through her makeup bag.
“Margaret, what are you doing?” Emily snatched it back.
“Oh, youre up,” Margaret said breezily. “Just looking for hand cream. Ive a rash.”
“You couldve *asked*,” Emily fought to stay calm. “These are my things.”
“Dont be dramatic,” Margaret sniffed. “Were family. No secrets in my day.”
“In *your* day,” Emilys patience snapped. “I have boundaries. Respect them.”
“Selfish,” Margaret tutted. “David, hear how your wife speaks to me?”
David, watching from the sofa, coughed awkwardly. “Mum, shes right. Ask before touching her stuff.”
“*Her* stuff?” Margaret gasped. “Im *family*!”
“Its not about the cream,” Emily said wearily. “Its about respect.”
“Respect?” Margaret scoffed. “Modern nonsense. No wonder families fall apart these days.”
Emily snapped. Three weeks of swallowed anger erupted.
“You know what?” Her voice was eerily calm. “Im going for a walk.”
She dressed quickly, ignoring Davids confused stare and Margarets pursed lips. Outside, the November drizzle matched her mood. She walked blindly, just needing *away*.
In an empty park, she sat on a wet bench. Her phone buzzedDavid. She ignored it. Let him worry. Let him feel ignored for once.
An hour later, she answered.
“Emily, where are you?” David sounded frantic. “Its been an hour!”
“The park,” she said. “Thinking.”
“About what?”
“Us,” she sighed. “I cant do this, David. Either your mum leaves, or I dont know what happens next.”
“Dont be dramatic,” he snapped. “Its just makeup.”
“Its *not* the makeup!” Her voice cracked. “Im suffocating. I dont feel like a person anymore. Just an extra in your family.”
“What do you want?” he asked coldly.
“Ill rent a room,” she said firmly. “Until your mums place is fixed. Then we talk. Properly.”
“Youre serious?” He sounded stunned. “Youd leave over this?”
“Its not *this*,” she whispered. “Im trying to save myself. Maybe us, too.”
Hanging up, she felt relief. For the first time in weeks, shed made a choicewithout bending to others.
She stood. A friend had a spare room after her divorce. It was a start.
As for Davidmaybe distance would make him see. Marriage wasnt just mother and son. It was partnership. Respect.
Either way, she wasnt going back. Not today.
