One Word Against You — My Son Will Show You the Door! I Don’t Care Whose Flat This Is! — Shouted the Mother-in-Law

Just one word out of line and my son will kick you out the door!she shouted. I dont care whose flat it is!the motherinlaw bellowed.

Emma set a plate of breakfast on the table and glanced furtively at the clock. Half past seven. James chewed his scrambled eggs slowly, only occasionally looking up at his wife.

I dont know about you, but Im thrilled that Mums finally here, James said, sipping his tea. Shes come all the way from the village. A bit of country air will do her good.

Emma forced a smile but stayed silent. Maggie Thompsons short visit had already stretched to three weeks, and there was no sign of her packing up any time soon.

James, didnt you say when Mum planned to go back? Emma asked as gently as she could.

James set his fork down and sighed. Please, dont start. Shes here to relax. Its hard for her to be alone back in the village.

I understand, but

The clatter from the kitchen cut them off. Maggie was already awake and in full swing, rattling dishes and simmering porridge. Emma closed her eyes. Every morning, the same routine.

Good morning, dears! Maggie announced, bursting through the doorway. What are you two nibbling in secret? And what about me?

Mum, Ive already taken my portion, James explained. Emma needs to get ready for work.

Oh, of course, shes got a job, Maggie rolled her eyes. And who does the housework then? In the village women manage everythingfeed the cows, tend the fields, keep the husband in line.

Emma clenched her fists under the table. Shed heard that monologue a dozen times. Every day Maggie found a new excuse to remind Emma that city women were lazy and spoiled.

Mrs Thompson, Im really in a hurry, Emma said, checking her watch. I have a meeting at nine.

Ah, a meeting. Sit in your armchair all day shuffling papers. Thats not work! Maggie retorted.

James buried his face in his plate, doing his best not to intervene, as usual.

When Emma got home from work, she found her makeup bag laid out on the coffee table, the items arranged in neat rows like a shop window.

Mrs Thompson, have you been using my makeup? Emma asked, trying to keep her voice even.

Whats so special about it? Maggie replied, perched in front of the telly with the volume cranked up. Im watching this programme about city beauty creams. Back in your days we didnt need any of those bottles to look decent!

Emma quietly gathered her things and headed to the bathroom. It wasnt the first time Maggie had rifled through her belongings. Last week Maggie went through every cupboard to tidy up, and Emma spent two days hunting for an important document.

After dinner, with dishes piling up in the sink (Maggie only washed them once a weekon Sundays), she turned on a tiny radio and belted out Greensleeves. Her voice was loud, rustic, filling the whole flat.

Mrs Thompson, could you please turn it down? Emma asked. The neighbours are complaining.

What neighbours? Maggie scoffed. In the village we sing until sunrise and nobody fusses!

We live in a block of flats, Emma reminded. There are rules here.

Rules, rules Maggie muttered, switching the radio off. You city folk are all a bit sour.

When James came back from work, Emma tried to speak to him quietly.

James, could you have a word with Mum? she whispered as they were alone in the bedroom. Explain that our flat is tiny, the walls are thin

What am I supposed to say? James threw up his hands. Mums Mum. Shes 65. Im not going to raise her.

Its not about raising her, Emma sighed. Its about mutual respect.

Fine, fine, dont blow it out of proportion, James waved her off. Just bear with it a bit longer. Shes not staying forever.

Days turned into weeks, and Maggie showed no sign of leaving. In fact, she kept rearranging the flat to suit herself.

One cold evening Emma returned from work to find the flat chilly. All the windows were wide open despite the 5°C chill outside.

Maggie, why are the windows open? Its freezing! Emma shouted, hurrying to shut them.

Ventilating! Maggie declared proudly. You city folk live in a stifling heat. The village air is much fresher.

But the radiators cant cope with this cold. Were paying for heating, you know£85 a month!

Oh, there you go again, talking about money! Maggie snapped. City people only think about cash.

By the end of the third week Emma felt like a guest in her own home. Maggie had remade the bed properly, reorganised every cupboard logically, even retuned the television channels so that only proper programmes were on.

At lunch Maggie relentlessly criticised Emmas soup.

This isnt soup, its coloured water, Maggie grimaced, tasting the broth. Our village broth would make a spoon stand up! And the potatoes are undercooked, the meat is scant.

Why dont you just make it yourself? Emma snapped.

Because I will! Maggie declared, puffing out her chest. Ill show you how its done.

The next day Maggie really did. The kitchen afterwards looked like a battlefieldfatty splatters everywhere, a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, and the floor slick with oil.

This is real food! Maggie proclaimed, setting a massive casserole on the table.

The food was tasty, but Emma couldnt enjoy it. She stared at the mess, already dreading the hours of cleaning ahead.

Mum, will you wash the dishes? James asked politely.

Dishes? Maggie raised an eyebrow. In the village men dont wash dishes. Thats a womans job.

But you just cooked, James reminded.

The main job was feeding the family! The dishes can wait till Sunday. I have my own rules, Maggie replied, shrugging.

James shot a guilty look at Emma and went back to watching the football.

By the end of the month Emmas patience was frayed. She barely sleptMaggie snored so loudly the walls seemed to shudder, and in the morning she complained that the young folk were grinding the bed all night.

Maggie mixed up towels with kitchen rags, wiping the kitchen counters with a bathroom towel and mopping the floor with a dishcloth. She even used Emmas facial cream as a remedy for cracked heelsso the good doesnt go to waste.

When Emma finally tried to tell James that the situation was driving her to a nervous breakdown, he snapped.

Youre never satisfied! he shouted. Mum does what she thinks is best, and you keep complaining. She cooks, she cleans

Seriously? Emma couldnt believe her ears. She doesnt clean. Im the one who tidies up after herafter you, actually.

Here we go again, James sighed. You cant go a day without a complaint.

After that argument Emma decided to make peace. Eventually, Maggie would have to return to her cottage, her garden, her neighbours

Weeks passed, and Maggie seemed to be settling in for good.

The final straw was the new curtains. Emma had spent a small fortunealmost half her bonuson light, airy curtains that brightened the living room. That evening Maggie was making dumplings. Emma was working on a deadline when she heard the kitchen door open.

Emma, have you seen whether the dumplings are ready? I need to wash my hands, Maggie called.

Emma walked in to find Maggie wiping her hands on the fresh curtains, leaving greasy smears.

Something snapped inside Emma. She didnt raise her voice; she spoke quietly but firmly.

Maggie, these are new curtains. Use a towel for your hands.

Oh, its just a little smudge, Maggie waved dismissively. Ill tidy it up later!

Its not about the smudge, Emma continued, feeling her resolve harden. Its about respect. Youve been living in our flat for a month and a half and youve never asked before moving my things, rearranging furniture, or changing the order of the rooms.

Maggies face turned a shade of pink.

What do you mean our flat? she demanded. This is my sons home! Im not a guest!

Its our shared home, Emma replied patiently. Id appreciate it if you respected our space.

Maggie slammed a pot onto the table. One word out of line and my son will throw you out! I dont care whose flat this is!

The kitchen fell silent, the words hanging heavy. Emma stared at her motherinlaw, feeling a switch flip inside her. She didnt scream, didnt cry, didnt slam doors. She simply stayed quiet.

She turned, walked to the bedroom, and opened the wardrobe. Inside lay Maggies old suitcasethe one shed arrived with, claiming a weeks stay. Emma unzipped it, laid the suitcase on the bed, and began to pack.

Maggie appeared in the doorway, first surprised, then bewildered, then angry.

What are you doing?! she shouted.

Emma kept packingsweaters, blouses, skirts, nightwearfolding everything neatly, as if she were caring for a cherished wardrobe.

Ill call James! Maggie threatened, pulling out her mobile. Hell sort this out!

Emma gave a small, resigned nod. She then went to the bathroom and collected Maggies toiletriesshampoo, soap, toothbrushplacing them carefully in the suitcase as well.

Hello, James! Maggie shouted into her phone. Your wife has gone mad! Shes packing my things!

Emma didnt hear Jamess reply, but his indifferent face was clear enough when she glanced at the hallway.

When the suitcase was finally sealed, Emma set it by the front door, opened the taxi app, and ordered a ride. The village where Maggie lived was about twentynine miles awayjust a short drive.

The taxi will be here in fifteen minutes, Emma told Maggie, for the first time addressing her calmly. Ive paid for the journey to your home.

Maggie stared openmouthed. She hadnt expected that.

Theres a neighbourMrs. Patelwho looks after the cottage, Emma added. You mentioned she helps with the garden and the goat, right?

Maggie opened her mouth to protest but found no words. The phone rang; she snatched it up.

James, love! her voice crackled with desperation. Shes throwing me out! Come quickly!

Emma knew James wouldnt come. He always avoided confrontation, preferring to hide behind the newspaper or his phone.

Fifteen minutes later the taxi pulled up. Emma lifted the heavy suitcase and headed for the buildings entrance.

Are you leaving? she asked Maggie, who stood with arms crossed in the hallway.

Maggie gave her a skeptical look. Do you think Ill just walk away?

You can stay, Emma said with a shrug. But Ill call the council if you dont. This is my flat, I have the lease. Decide.

Maggie, looking defeated, grabbed her coat and shuffled out onto the stairwell.

Emma placed the suitcase in the boot, the driver helped her load it, and Maggies angry voice crackled over the phone again, Shes evicting me! Do something!

James stayed silent, as usual.

The taxi pulled away, and Emma closed the front door behind her, leaning against it as a warm silence settled over the flat, like a cosy blanket on a winter evening. She finally washed her hands at the sink, drying them with a proper kitchen towelnot a curtain.

Looking at the clock, it was almost eight p.m. James would be home soon, but Emma didnt bother cooking. She brewed a cup of tea, sat by the window, and let her thoughts drift. There was no fury inside her, just a gentle relieflike a weight had been lifted.

Her phone buzzed with a message from James: Running late. Dont wait up. She smiled. Of course he didnt want to come back right after the drama; he feared the inevitable confrontation. But the silence was a welcome guest. No blaring TV, no clattering dishes, no endless tales of country life. Just pure, beautiful quiet.

She glanced at the new curtains. The oily smears from Maggies hands were still faint, but shed send them to the dry cleaners tomorrowor buy a fresh set, even brighter and airier.

The phone rang again. It was Maggie.

Hello? Emma answered calmly.

…you you Maggie choked, full of outrage. I knew you were a terrible woman! James will see everything now!

Maggie, Emma interjected, Im not holding James hostage. If he wants to move back to the village, thats his choice. But I will not let anyone treat my home or me with contempt.

Youll regret this! Maggie snapped before hanging up.

Emma finished her tea, slipped into the bathroom, took a quick shower, and put on her favourite nightdressone shed hidden away, ashamed to wear when Maggie was around. She settled into bed with a book, finally enjoying a night without the kitchen or the iron.

Around midnight the front door clicked; James shuffled in, clearly halfdrunk, his steps uneven.

Emma switched off the lights and pretended to be asleep. Any conversation could wait until morning.

The next morning Emma woke to the quiet shed been craving. No clanging pots, no television blaring, no impromptu folk songs from a radio. It felt strangeand wonderful.

James was already up, sitting at the kitchen table, eyes red from lack of sleep.

Mom said you threw her out, he began without greeting.

Yes, Emma replied simply, turning the kettle on.

She cried. She said you were cruel.

I called a taxi and packed her things, Emma said matteroffactly. I didnt shout, I didnt push, I didnt insult.

James fell silent, gathering his thoughts.

You could have just endured it, he finally said. Shes not young any more.

James, Emma looked him straight in the eye, your mother threatened to throw me out of my own flat. She shows no respect for me or my home. Ive put up with it for a month and a half. Enough.

What now? James asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

Now you decide, Emma answered calmly. You can pack your things and go back to Mums village. Im not stopping you. Or you stay here, but your mother will never cross that threshold again.

Youre giving me an ultimatum? James protested.

Im setting boundaries, Emma said, shaking her head. For the first time in five years of marriage Im saying no. This is my final decision.

James opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. Something new flickered in his eyesa calm confidence hed never shown before. Perhaps, for the first time, he truly respected Emma.

Ill think about it, he murmured and left the kitchen.

Emma poured herself another cup of tea, walked to the window, and watched the morning sun flood the room with golden light. The day promised to be pleasant. Whatever James chose, Emma knew she would no longer allow anyone to disturb the peace of her home.