If You Don’t Like My Mother, Then Leave!” Said the Husband—Never Expecting His Wife to Do Just That

“If you dont like my motherleave!” snapped her husband, never expecting his wife to actually do it.

Evening was winding down, and the flat where Nina, her husband Anthony, and his mum Vera usually lived was normally quiet. But today had been rough from the start. Two-year-old Simon had been fussy, Vera was nitpicking over everything, and Nina felt utterly drained. Shed tried her bestcooking Veras favourite meals, keeping the place spotless, looking after Simon. But nothing ever pleased her mother-in-law.

“Nina, youve folded the towels wrong again,” Vera grumbled, passing the bathroom. “How many times do I have to tell you? Corners facing in, not out!”

Or:

“Youve dressed the child all wrong, Nina! Its chilly out, and youve put him in a light jumper! Hell catch a cold!”

Nina just sighed each time. She never argued, never snapped backjust endured, hoping things would settle, that Vera would soften toward her, toward Simon, toward their life together. Anthony, when things got unbearable, usually stayed silent. If Nina ever complained, hed just shrug.

“Just ignore her, love. Mums getting on. Nerves, you know.”

Nina had planned a surprise for their anniversarya small cake, the leather belt Anthony had been eyeing for months. She wanted a cosy evening, just the three of them (well, four, with Simon).

But on the day, as dinner was nearly ready and Simon thankfully dozed off, Vera kicked off another rowthis time over Nina “over-salting the soup” (it was fine).

“This is inedible!” Vera shrieked, banging her spoon on the table. “Trying to poison us, are you? Nina, you cant cook to save your life!”

Nina stood by the stove, gripping the ladle. Their anniversary, the cake, the surpriseall ruined. She turned to Anthony, sitting at the table, staring at his plate. She waitedfor him to say *something*, to stand up for her, to end this madness. But he stayed quiet.

“Anthony,” she said softly. “Arent you going to say anything?”

He got up, walked slowly into the hall. Nina followed.

“Mums right,” he muttered, not looking at her. “Youre always doing things wrong.”

Ninas eyes welled up. That was the last straw. She stared at himbut he just stared at the wall.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Her voice shook. “Its our anniversary! II cooked, I tried! And your mum”

Anthony turned sharply. No anger in his eyesjust exhaustion, indifference.

“If you dont like my motherleave.”

He said it so casually, so matter-of-factly, Nina barely registered the weight of it. Like he was giving advice, not an ultimatum. Then he walked off. Dinner was ruined. The anniversary was ruined. Everything was ruined.

Nina sat on their bed, holding a sleeping Simon. Her tears had dried, leaving salty tracks. She was in shock. *Leave.* Did he mean it? This was their *home*. Their *family*. Was he really ready to throw her and Simon away so easily? She didnt pack a bag. She couldnt believe it was real. It felt like a nightmare shed wake from by morning.

A day passed. Then another. Anthony didnt apologise. He was cold, distantcoming home from work, eating in silence, disappearing into his study or glued to his laptop. Barely speaking to her. Playing with Simon out of duty, not love.

When Nina tried to talk to him, he brushed her off.

“Mums really upset. Says you insulted her.”

“I *insulted* her?” Nina couldnt believe her ears. “She screamed at me over *soup*!”

“Doesnt matter,” he cut in. “Its on you now. Apologise first. Then maybe shell forgive you.”

No reconciliation in his tonejust a demand. And Nina finally understood. This wasnt her home. Here, she was toleratedas long as she played her part perfectly. The second she slipped, they could toss her aside like rubbish. The fear shed felt that first night hardened into cold certainty. This wasnt a family. It was a one-sided loyalty test. She owed them everything. They owed her nothing.

She looked down at Simon. He didnt belong here. *She* didnt belong here. This house, this airit was suffocating her. Slowly, surely. And Anthony, her *husband*, just watched it happen. Worsehed pushed her to the edge himself.

Anthony sat in a café with his mate Andrew, speaking slowly, weighing each word.

“Listen, mate, things with Nina its a mess.”

Andrew sipped his coffee. “What now? Your mum again?”

Anthony nodded.

“Yeah. Shes old, nerves shot. Ninas youngshe should adapt. But she wont. Always got some grievance or other.”

He was tired of the constant tug-of-warhis mums nitpicking, Ninas resentment. He just wanted peace.

“I told her straightif you dont like my mother, leave. What else could I say? Mums sacred. She raised me. Shes shes alone. And Ninas always moaning.”

No regret in his voicejust self-righteous frustration. He didnt want the burden. He wanted *her* to choose. To walk away. Then *he* wouldnt be the villain. He wouldnt have “kicked her out.” Shed have “chosen” to go.

“Let her decide,” he repeated, like he was convincing himself. “Im done with it. I want a quiet life. Come home to *silence*. No more drama.”

He didnt see his own fault. To him, the problem was Ninaher inability to get along with his mum. He refused to admit the real issuehis own spinelessness, his refusal to stand up for his wife. He just wanted the problem gone. And in his mind, the only way was for Nina to leave.

The next day, Nina rented a small one-bed flat nearbyfound it quick through a friend. She packed quietly, no scenes. Anthony was at work. A van came, and in a few trips, they moved the essentialsher and Simons clothes, a few toys, some books. No fuss. No fights. No tears.

When Anthony got home, the flat felt oddly empty. He checked the bedroomher things gone. The kitchenhalf-eaten dinner on the table. A note, short and blunt:

*You said it. I did it. Hope its easier for you now.*

At the bottom, in tiny writing: *Simons with me.*

Anthony read it twice. Surely she wasnt *serious*? Hed thought shed storm off to her mums for a few days, cool down, then come crawling back. He waited for her call. A day. Two. Three. Nothing.

The next week, he came home to no laughter. No Simon barrelling into him yelling, “Daddy!” Just silence. *Too much* silence.

He called Nina.

“Hi. How how are you?”

“Fine,” she said, voice flat. No anger, no warmth. “Simons asleep.”

“When when are you coming back?” His voice cracked.

“Why? You said it yourselfIf you dont like it, leave. I left.”

“But I didnt mean”

“I did,” she cut in. “Its better this way. For you. For me. For Simon.”

She hung up. Anthony sat on the sofa, staring at nothing. Hed done this. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Hed pushed her out.

Months passed. Anthony lived alone with his mum now. The flat *was* quieter. *Too* quiet.

Veras nagging never stoppedjust shifted to him.

“Anthony, must you slouch at the table?”

“Anthony, whys the tea not on the coaster? I *told* you!”

“Anthony, must you eat so slowly? Ive already cleared up!”

Everything Nina had endured was now his reality. The lectures, the sulks, the nitpicking. No one argued. No one fought. Just silencebroken only by his mothers voice. And her suffocating control.

He woke to her voice. Came home to her voice. Hed trapped himself. Hed wanted Nina gone for peace. And hed got itdead silence, and endless disapproval.

Sometimes, he spotted Nina from afar in the park with Simon. She looked calm. Free. No shouting, no battles. Shed just leftlike hed told her to. And taken everything that made his life whole with her.

He was master of his house now. But there was no love in it. No joy. No warmth. Just silence. And someone elses rule. This was his punishment. Every single day.