Am I Not Allowed to Have a Say? Well, You Won’t See a Penny from Me!” My Mother-in-Law Stood Stunned as I Slammed My Hand on the Table.

I slammed my hand onto the kitchen table, and my motherinlaws face went as white as a sheet. Dont I have a say in this? Then you wont get a single penny from me! she shouted.

Emily perched on the edge of the sofa as if it were a tightrope. Beneath her was the pricey upholstery shed bought for herselfstuff that Margaret had been calling showroom tackiness for months. James, meanwhile, lounged in an armchair, one leg crossed over the other, cracking crackers even though he was well past the age when that was excusable. Thirtyeight, a father of two, and still snapping crackers like a schoolboy in the playground.

Well, Em, Margaret said with a sly tone, loudly setting a pot of beef stew on the table, James and I have talked it over and decided: lets sell your little car. You work nearby anyway, but Lucy needs to get to the clinic somehow. She cant exactly ride the bus with a baby bump, can she?

Talked it over, Emily thought silently. So Im just the yard dog hereput on a leash and led wherever they decide.

Did you ask me? she replied evenly, her voice cold enough to freeze water, locking eyes with her motherinlaw.

Whats there to ask? the older woman sniffed, ladling herself some stew. In our family, if someones struggling, everyone helps. Thats normal. I raised my son on that principle. But youyou only ever think about yourself

Without looking up from his phone, James muttered, Emily, you know Lucys pregnant, its hard for her now It wont be forever. Once shes back on her feet, well give it back.

Give it back? Emily suddenly smirked. Will you put that in writing? Or will it be like that kitchen loanstill in your mums possession after five years of just longterm safekeeping?

What kind of person are you? Margaret flared up. Im not your enemy! Im your mother! You should be offering help yourself, not sitting here looking like some sulky princess! Everythings wrong for you, everythings unfair!

Emily stood up. No shouting, no drama. Just done. Shed spent too long pretending not to notice how lovingly this family clipped her wings. Without a word she slipped into the bedroom. Thats when the chorus started:

Shes mad? her motherinlaw stagewhispered loudly, as if Emily were deaf.

Emily, seriously? James called. Dont be so harsh. Mum probably didnt mean it that way

I spoke as a mother! Margaret declared. If she doesnt understand that, then shes not one of us. She doesnt fit in this family.

A few minutes later Emily emerged holding the car papers. She placed them on the table.

Heres the deal. The car is mine, registered in my name. The flat, by the way, I inherited from my grandmothernone of you have any claim to it. Thats my entire contribution to your version of family.

Youre going to ruin everything over some piece of metal?! Margaret cried.

Noover you, Emily said with a nod. Over your endless control, and over your cowardly compliance, James.

Emily, wait, James groaned, holding his head. We just wanted to help Lucy

Then sell your garage with the 2003 Ford Fiesta, Emily said with a sharp smile. You can definitely take taxisyou wont fall apart.

Her motherinlaw banged her spoon against her bowl.

Youre not a wife, youre a businesswoman. All you think about is property and papers. No heart, no conscience.

And youre nothing but love and compassion? Emily shot back. Funny how its always at my expense. Astonishing kind of charity youve got.

She retreated to the bathroom, shutting the door to breathe. Inside she tremblednot from fear, but from rage.

A couple of hours later James entered the bedroom. No crackers, no phone, no pride.

Emily lets talk.

Too late, James. Too late to sip Evian after your mum sold the kidneys. You didnt even flinch when she was discussing how to get rid of my car. What was that?

I didnt want a fight

You never want anythingexcept peace and quiet. And that quiet always means you stay silent while I give up my rights, my property, and my common sense.

James exhaled heavily. Lets talk tomorrow. Like adults. Well sit down, sort it out. Dont get heated.

Emily looked him straight in the eye. Are you still my man, James? Or have you been mums for a long time now?

He said nothing.

The flat was silent. Even the pot of stew had gone cold.

The next morning Emily woke earlier than usual. Sunlight streamed in through the windowbrazenly, as if it knew today was a turning point. James was snoring on the kitchen couch, as if nothing had happened. As if hed just won an argument about curtain colours, not sold her out to his mother.

She poured herself coffee, careful not to clink the cupsnot out of respect, but out of principle. Noise was emotion. Today she felt like steel.

Enough. Theyd get not one more inch of her life.

Margaret swooped into the kitchendidnt just enter, she stormed inwearing a housecoat, a hairnet, and a face full of accusations.

Well, mistress of the flat, she sneered, did you sleep well in your rightful square metres?

Emily turned to her silently, her gaze so sharp that if Margaret had been any wiser she wouldve walked right back out. But nofoolish bravery is the most destructive kind.

Ive been thinking, the older woman continued, sitting down at the table and reaching for Emilys cup. Maybe you just dont understand how a family works. Back in my day, if a man was struggling, his wife stood behind him like a rock. Youre more like a cemetery clerkcounting who gets what.

Lovely metaphor, Emily said calmly, taking her cup back. Except Im not at a cemeteryIm in a marriage. Or I was.

Oh, the drama, Margaret snorted. Like in a soap opera. Dont you think youre overdoing it, Em?

At that moment James shuffled in, scratching his head, wearing the sweatpants Emily had wanted to throw out two years ago.

Mum, are you starting again? he mumbled.

And youre silent again? Emily snapped, turning to him. No, Jamesright now. Choose. Right now.

Dont dramatise, he muttered, trying to sound wise. We can work this out. Like adults.

Then act like one. Im asking: who are you? My husband, or an extension of your mothers kitchen?

Margaret stood, her voice icy. Son, tell me plainlyis she more important to you than your mother? I raised you. Fed you. Married youto her. And this is how it is?

James stood there like a donkey at a crossroads, as if choosing between two supermarkets with only one coupon.

Emily stepped closer. You know what hurts the most? Not that you dont defend me. That you defend them. And you stay silent, as if youre not even part of itjust a spectator. As if this marriage is a TV show, not your life.

I didnt want a war he mumbled.

This isnt war. Its an escape. Im leaving. Actuallyyoure leaving.

We?

Emily opened the hall closet, pulled out his bag, tossed in his shirts. Five minutes. Or I start throwing things out myself. What matters moreyour mum, or this flat? Leave the keys on the table. And take the stewits hers. You can taste it.

James looked at her like a cat staring at a closed fridgehoping someone might come back and open it.

Emily

Too late, James. I no longer believe youll ever grow up. Forty and still under the skirt. I dont need a son like that. Certainly not a husband.

Margaret slammed the bedroom door, then returned with her own bagstuffed with blood pressure, control, advice, and the eternal line: In our house, we never did things that way.

Fifteen minutes later they were gone. Emily stood by the door like after a fire. It smelled of stew, but she wanted a cigarette.

She went to the kitchen, took a wineglass from the cupboard, poured herself a drink, looked out the window. It was rainingjust like in the movies.

And suddenly it was funny. She smiledfirst a flicker at the corner of her mouth, then a full laugh.

And noIm not a cemetery clerk. Im the mistress of my own life. Finally.