One Wrong Word and My Son Will Show You the Door! I Couldn’t Care Less Whose Flat This Is!” – Cried the Mother-in-Law.

Dont you dare cross me, or my son will throw you out the door! I dont care whose flat this is! shouted the motherinlaw.

Emily set a plate of breakfast in front of her husband and glanced furtively at the clock. Seven to five. Mark chewed his eggs slowly, only occasionally looking up at his wife.

Im thrilled about my mums visit, Mark said, sipping his tea. Shes from the country. A breath of fresh air will do her good in the city.

Emily forced a smile but said nothing. Her motherinlaws weeklong stay had stretched to twenty days, and there seemed to be no end in sight.

Mark, didnt you say when Mum plans to go back? Emily asked as gently as she could.

Mark laid his fork down and sighed. Please, dont start. Shes here to rest. Its hard for her to be alone out in the village.

I understand, but

A clatter erupted from the kitchen. Martha, the motherinlaw, had already woken and was already in her morning routineclanking dishes and stirring porridge. Emily closed her eyes. Every morning was the same.

Good morning, dears! Martha shouted, stepping into the doorway. What are you nibbling in secret? And what about me?

Mum, Ive taken it for myself, Mark explained. Emily needs to get ready for work.

Oh, of course, work for her, Martha rolled her eyes. And who does the housework? In the village women do everythingfeed the livestock, tend the fields, look after their husbands.

Emily clenched her fists under the table. Shed heard this lecture a dozen times. The villagefolk were supposed to be industrious, while city women were lazy and spoiled.

Mrs. Martha, Im really in a hurry, Emily said, glancing at the clock. I have a meeting at nine.

A meeting, dear? Sit in that chair all day and shuffle papers. Thats not work! Martha retorted.

Mark buried his face in his plate, trying not to intervene as usual.

When Emily returned from work she found her cosmetics case spread out on the coffee table in neat rows, like a shop window.

Mrs. Martha, did you take my cosmetics? Emily asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

Whats there to be fussed about? Martha replied, perched in front of the television with the volume at maximum. Im watching what youre slathering on with that city chemistry. In my day we didnt need those little jars to have a decent complexion!

Emily quietly gathered her things and headed to the bathroom. It wasnt the first time Martha had rummaged through her belongings. The previous week Martha had emptied all the cupboards to tidy up, leaving Emily unable to find important documents for two days.

After dinner, as the sink filled with dishes (Martha washed them only once a week, on Sundays), she turned on a tiny radio and began to sing The Flowers in the Field. Her voice boomed, full of country gusto, throughout the whole block.

Mrs. Martha, could you please keep the volume down? Emily asked. The neighbours are complaining.

What neighbours? Martha snapped. In the village we sing until dawn and nobody minds!

We live in a flat block, Emily reminded her. There are different rules here.

Rules, rules Martha muttered, then switched the radio off. You city folk are all so gloomy.

When Mark came home, Emily tried to speak to him quietly.

Mark, could you talk to your mum? she whispered once they were alone in the bedroom. Explain that the flat is small and the walls are thin

What am I supposed to say? Mark shrugged. Mums mum. Shes sixtyfive. Im not going to raise her.

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

Dont exaggerate, Mark waved her off. Just bear with it a little longer. She wont be staying forever.

Days passed and Martha showed no sign of leaving. In fact, she kept making the flat feel more like a country cottage.

One evening Emily came home to find the flat icy. All the windows were wide open despite the fifteendegree chill outside.

Martha, why have you opened the windows? Its freezing! Emily exclaimed, hastily pulling them shut.

Ventilating! Martha declared proudly. You have that city stuffiness. The country air is cleaner.

But the radiators cant cope with that cold. Were paying for heating, Emily protested.

Ah, there you go again about money! Martha replied. City folk only think about money.

By the third week Emily felt like a guest in her own home. Martha had rearranged the bedding just so, reorganised every cupboard sensibly, even retuned the TV channels to what she called proper programmes.

At lunch Martha invariably criticised Emilys cooking.

This isnt borscht, its coloured water, she frowned, tasting the soup. In my village a spoonful of borscht would be enough! Youve undercooked the potatoes and skimmed the meat.

If you want, you could make it yourself, Emily snapped.

Ill show you how! Martha shouted, puffed up with pride.

The next day Martha really did a dinner. The kitchen afterwards resembled a battlefieldgrease splattered every surface, a mountain of dirty dishes piled in the sink, the floor slick with oil.

Now thats a proper meal! she announced, placing a massive pot that barely resembled a stew on the table.

The food was tasty, but Emilys mind was on the cleaning that awaited her. Mark asked, Mum, will you wash the dishes?

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

But you just cooked, Mark reminded her.

I fed the family, thats the important part. The dishes can wait until Sunday. Those are my rules.

Mark cast a guilty look at Emily and went back to watching the football.

By the end of the month Emilys patience was frayed. She barely slept; Marthas snoring rattled the walls, and in the morning she complained that the young ones were grinding the bed all night. Martha mixed towels with kitchen cloths, used her face cream on cracked heels, and generally turned the flat upside down.

When Emily tried to tell Mark that the situation was driving her to a nervous breakdown, he snapped.

Youre never satisfied! he shouted. Mum wants whats best, and you keep nagging. She cooks, she cleans

Seriously? Emily couldnt believe her ears. She doesnt clean. I clean up after her every day, and after you too.

Its started again, Mark sighed. You cant go without complaining.

After that argument Emily decided to make peace. Eventually the motherinlaw would have to return to the village with her farm, garden, and neighbours.

Weeks went by, and Martha seemed determined to settle permanently in the city.

The final straw came with the curtains. Emily had spent weeks choosing fabric, ordering a tailor, and using almost half her bonus. The new light curtains brightened the room, making it feel larger.

That evening Martha was kneading dumplings. Emily was at her desk working on a deadline when the front door swung open.

Emily, have you seen if the dumplings are ready? I need to wash my hands, Martha called.

Emily entered the kitchen to find Martha wiping her hands on the fresh curtain fabric, leaving greasy stains on the light material.

Something snapped inside Emily. She didnt shout, she didnt fling her arms. She spoke calmly but firmly:

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

Oh, its just a little mess, Martha waved away. Ill clean it later.

Its not about the stains, Emily continued, feeling resolve rise. Its about respect. Youve lived in our flat for a month and a half and never asked before moving my things, rearranging furniture, or changing the order of the rooms.

Marthas face flushed. What do you mean our flat? This is my sons home! Im not a guest!

This is our shared home, Emily said patiently. I would like you to respect our space.

Martha slammed a pot onto the table. Cross me and my son will throw you out! I dont care whose flat this is!

The kitchen fell into a heavy silence. Marthas words hung in the air like a storm cloud. Emily looked at her, and something inside her clicked, like a switch being flipped.

Emily didnt scream back. She didnt burst into tears. She simply stood still.

She turned, walked to the bedroom, and with measured steps opened the large suitcase Martha had arrived with. She unzipped it, laid it on the bed, and began to pack Marthas clothescoats, sweaters, dresses, undergarmentsfolding each piece carefully so nothing would crush.

Martha appeared in the doorway, surprise turning quickly to anger.

What are you doing? she shouted, watching Emily methodically fill the suitcase.

Emily said nothing, just kept placing items in the case.

Ill call Mark! Martha threatened, pulling out her phone. Hell see what youve done!

Emily nodded silently, as if agreeing. She then went to the bathroom, collected Marthas shampoo, soap, toothbrush, and placed them in the suitcase as well.

Hello, Mark! Martha yelled into the receiver. Your wife has gone mad! Shes packing my things!

Emily could not hear Marks reply, but the look on Marthas face showed that he was not rushing to her aid.

When the suitcase was finally zipped, Emily set it by the hall door, opened a taxiapp, and booked a ride back to the villageabout twentyfive miles away.

The taxi will be here in fifteen minutes, Emily said, finally addressing Martha directly. Ive paid for the journey back to your home.

Marthas mouth fell open. She had never imagined such a turn.

You you have no right to do this! she finally managed. Ive been here for a month and a half! The house is cold!

Theres a neighbour, Mrs. Betty, who looks after the house, Emily replied calmly. You said she helps with the garden and the goat, didnt you?

Martha opened her mouth to argue but found no words. Her phone rang again; she snatched it up.

Sweetheart! her voice broke. Youre kicking me out! Come back quickly!

Emily knew Mark would not come. He always avoided confrontation, preferring to hide behind the newspaper or his phone. He would stay silent, as he always had.

Fifteen minutes later the taxi pulled up. Emily lifted the heavy suitcase and walked to the front door.

Are you leaving? she asked Martha, who stood there with arms crossed.

Do you think Ill just walk out? Martha challenged.

Youre welcome to stay, but Ill call the council if you dont respect the lease, Emily said. This is my flat, I have the tenancy documents. Decide.

Something in Emilys voice made Martha believe she was serious. She grabbed her coat, gave a scornful look, and shuffled down the staircase.

Outside, the driver helped load the suitcase into the boot. Martha shouted into the phone again, Shes throwing me out! Do something!

Mark remained silent. He never spoke up when a clear decision was needed.

The taxi drove off, disappearing around the corner. Emily closed the flat door behind her, leaned against it, and felt the quiet wrap around her like a warm blanket on a winter night. For the first time in weeks she could simply stand and listen to the kitchen clock ticking.

She washed her hands at the sink, dried them with a proper towelnot the curtains. The clock read just before eight. Mark would be home soon.

Emily didnt cook dinner. She brewed a cup of tea, sat by the window, and let her thoughts drift peacefully. No anger rose, only relief and a quiet joy, as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted.

Her phone buzzed: a message from Mark, Running late. Dont wait.

Emily smiled. Of course Mark didnt want to return to the flat after everything that had happened. He feared the confrontation, the awkwardness, the shouting. But shouting would no longer be necessary. Emily felt calmer than ever.

For the first time in two months the flat was silent. No blaring television, no clanging dishes, no endless tales of country life. Just pure, beautiful silence.

She glanced at the new curtains. The greasy marks from Marthas hands darkened the light fabric, but that was fineshe could take them to the dry cleaners tomorrow, or perhaps buy an even brighter set.

The phone rang againthis time it was Martha.

Hello, Emily answered calmly.

you you I knew you were a bad wife! Martha gasped. Mark will see everything now!

Mrs. Martha, Emily interjected, Im not holding Mark hostage. If he wants to move back to the village, thats his choice. But I will no longer allow anyone to treat my home or me with disrespect.

Youll regret this! Martha shouted before hanging up.

Emily finished her tea, took a long shower, put on the soft nightgown shed hidden away for fear of Martha, and settled into bed with a booktruly reading for pleasure for the first time in ages.

Around midnight the frontdoor lock clicked. Mark shuffled in, clearly halfasleep and smelling of the nightout. Emily switched off the lights and pretended to be asleep. Any conversation could wait until morning.

The next morning, Emily awoke to the quiet. No clanking pots, no television blaring, no folk songs from a radio. It was unusualand wonderful.

Mark entered the kitchen, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.

Your mum said you threw her out, he began without greeting.

Yes, Emily replied, setting the kettle on.

She cried. She said you were cruel.

I booked a taxi, packed her things, didnt shout or push, Emily said evenly. I just set boundaries.

Mark fell silent, gathering his thoughts.

You could have just put up with it, he finally said. She isnt young any more.

Mark, Emily looked him in the eye, your mother threatened to throw me out of my own flat. She disrespected me and my home for a month and a half. Enough is enough.

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

Now you decide, Emily said calmly. You can go back to your mums village, thats your choice. Or stay here, but your mother will never again step over the threshold of this flat.

Youre giving me an ultimatum? he snapped.

Im setting limits, Emily replied, shaking her head. For the first time in five years of marriage Im saying no. This is my final decision.

Mark 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 felt genuine respect for Emily.

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

Emily poured herself another cup of tea, walked to the window, and watched the morning sun flood the room with light. The day promised to be good. Whatever Mark chose, Emily knew she would never again let anyone disturb the peace and safety of her home.

The lesson was clear: setting firm boundaries protects both the heart and the hearth, and a quiet home is worth defending.