And the Mother-in-Law Knew It All Along!

Emily, love, are you free this Saturday? her motherinlaws voice chimed over the handset, warm and familiar, the exact intonation Emily had learned to pick out after three years of visits. We need to get the jars of jam down to the cellar; theres no room left on the summer porch. And the loft is a right mess I cant be bothered sorting it out myself.

Of course, Margaret. Ill be there first thing in the morning, Emily said, pressing the phone to her ear while stirring a pot of soup on the stove. Should I bring Daniel with me?

Oh, no, Margaret replied. Hes got that project on the go, you know how it is. Let him stay at home and work in peace.

Emily booked a ninehour coach from Manchester to the cottage in the Yorkshire hills. She hit the stop button on the recorder, returned to the kitchen, and hummed a catchy jingle from a recent advert. Outside, the weak winter sun cast a pale glow; on the windowsill a wilted ficus drooped, the one she could never bring herself to toss.

On Saturday morning she squeezed into a jampacked bus that reeked of diesel and someones stale pasties. She claimed a window seat and rested her head against the cold glass. Beyond the town the countryside rolled out in fields dotted with strips of woodland, and Emilys eyelids grew heavy to the steady thrum of the engine.

She was jolted awake by a sharp lurch and an angry shout. The coach had skidded onto the hard shoulder, tilted onto its right side. The driver announced that a tyre had burst, the spare was rotten, and theyd have to wait for a replacement from the city.

Two hours at least, he said, arms flailing. Maybe three.

Murmurs rose among the passengers as they alighted onto the verge. Emily lingered beside the bus for about ten minutes, then, determined, stepped onto the road and raised her hand. A battered Skoda pulled up, an affable old chap behind the wheel.

Need a lift to town? he called. Hop in, love.

Emily jumped onto the front seat, typed a quick message to Margaret: Coach broke down halfway, Im heading back, well reschedule for the next weekend. She hit send. The phone buzzed with a delivered notice.

Forty minutes later Emily stood at the entrance of her fivestorey block, lifted the flatkey ring, found the right key and turned it in the lock. Her phone rang, flashing Margarets name.

Hello?

Emily! the voice crackled, a hint of panic threading through the words. Where are you? Did you get there? Are you at the cottage?

No, Ive just written that the coach broke down, Im back on the street, heading in now

Dont go in! Do you hear me? Dont open the door! Turn around and drive straight to me, now!

Margaret, are you alright? Whats happened? Emily laughed nervously, the absurdity of the scene hitting her. Why the rush? Im standing on the doorstep

Emily, please! I need your help right this instant!

She turned the key, the lock clicked, and pulled the door open. Time seemed to freeze.

Shoes were strewn across the hallway her own ballet flats, Daniels trainers and a pair of glossy high heels that werent hers. A strangers umbrella leaned in a coat rack. A cloyingly sweet perfume hung in the air, not Emilys.

And there, in the doorway of the living room, was Daniel in shorts and a Tshirt, barefoot wrapped in the arms of a woman with dark hair, narrow shoulders and bright red nail polish digging into his back. They kissed as if the world had ceased to exist.

Daniels eyes flew open, his face turning ashen at the sight of Emily. The woman, a freshfaced twentysomething with startled doe eyes, grabbed her bag, slipped on the heels, whirled past Emily, leaving a swirl of that sickly perfume, and vanished up the stairs.

Emilys phone rang again, Margarets voice shrieking. Emily! Answer! Did you get in? Emily!

How many times? Emily croaked.

What? Margaret snapped. How many times have you ignored me, Margaret? The jars, the garden, the loft How many times have you covered for your son? How many jokes have you cracked behind my back because I never knew the truth?

Silence, then a soft buzz. Margaret hung up.

Emily lowered the phone, glanced at Daniel, who stood motionless in the centre of the room.

Come on, she said, flatly. Anything to say?

Emily, I can explain he began.

She burst out laughing, a wild, hysterical sound. Explain? Seriously? Thats all youve got?

It meant nothing! Shes just

Just what? Just dropped in like a stone on my face?

Daniel stepped forward. Emily backed away.

Dont come near me, she warned. Listen

No, you listen, she snapped, surprised at the steadiness of her own tone. This flat is mine. I bought it before we married, using my inheritance from my grandmother. You have no claim here. Youve got fifteen minutes to pack your things and get out.

Emily, lets talk

Fourteen minutes.

You cant just

Thirteen.

He read the resolve in her eyes, heard it in her voice, and understood she wasnt bluffing. He sprinted to the bedroom, slammed the wardrobe doors, while Emily leaned against the hallway wall, counting her breaths. Inandout, inandout, trying not to crumble.

Twelve minutes later Daniel emerged with a halffilled suitcase and a jacket draped over his shoulder. He stopped at the door.

Keys, Emily said, flatly.

He fumbled in his pockets, tossed the key ring onto the side table and left.

The door closed softly behind him. Emily stood a moment longer, then clicked the lock twice, secured the chain, and let herself collapse onto the floor, sobbing.

On Monday she filed for divorce. The paperwork was processed swiftly; they were childless, assets split, no disputes. It was a clean, bureaucratic end.

Neither Daniel nor Margaret called. It was as if theyd never existed. Three years of shared life evaporated into silence.

A week later Emily met her university friend, Lucy, at a café. Lucy stared at her, latte cooling, mouth agape.

You mean your motherinlaw knew? she asked, shaking her head. She sent you to the cottage while he was?

Seems that way, Emily replied, a crooked smile forming.

Whats the funniest part? Lucy said, leaning forward.

Emily smirked. I used to think she was a second mother, the glue that held a real family together. Turns out it was all a performance. Both of them were acting from day one.

From the start?

Think about it. When we met, I already lived in my own flat, had a steady job and income. He was still renting a room, juggling odd jobs. I saw the chance to settle in, and he saw an easy foothold. It didnt happen overnight, but it didnt take long for him to realise he could live off me.

Lucy squeezed her hand. Im sorry, Em.

You dont have to, Emily said, meeting Lucys eyes. Ive lost three years, but Im not going to waste another day on them. I still have my flat, my job, my life. Thats enough.

She stood, threw on her coat. Outside the café a cold drizzle fell, fine and relentless. Emily smiled despite the weather. The hurt was real it gnawed at her teeth but she knew she would survive. This whole mess was just another hard lesson, painful yet valuable.

Lucy walked her to the door. You really okay?

Ill be fine, Emily replied, turning back. Give me time, and Ill be happy again.

She stepped into the rain, heading home where a new cake recipe waited, and where she could finally build a future on her own terms. The storm outside mirrored the turmoil shed left behind, but the sun would break through eventually a reminder that even the darkest clouds clear, and life, however bruised, always offers a fresh start.