Please Don’t Bring Mum Over, Love,” My Wife Begged

Dont bring Mum over to our place, Anna said, the edge of panic thinly veiled by her calm tone.

What if Paul began, his voice trembling. What if we took her here?

Where, Paul? Anna gestured at their modest sixroom cottage in the outskirts of Manchester, the walls barely thirty square metres. Into the nursery? With Arthur and Poppy?

Lying there, tubes and sores, a bed of decaying skin? You want the kids to see that? To breathe it in?

The family of four was winding down for the night. Anna wiped a sticky orangejuice stain from the kitchen table, nudging a toy fireengine out of the doorway with one foot. In the bathroom, steam rose as Paul bathed twoyearold Poppy, her squeals mixing with his forced, booming laugh.

Anna forced a smile, feeling the tension ease just a fraction. A good, ordinary evening. The moments she treasured most were those when the mortgage was paid on time, the holiday savings were ticking up, the fridge was full, and everyone was healthy.

The phone on the windowsill buzzed, sliding a few centimetres across the countertop before stopping. An unknown number.

Anna frowned. A spam call from a loan shark or a banks security department at this hour?

She reached for the ignore button, but her finger drifted to the green one.

Hello?

Anna? a trembling voice crackled. Its Aunt Ginny, Lauras neighbour from Littleton.

The name Littleton struck a cold chord. That was Lauras village, the one Paul and Anna had cut out of their lives two years ago.

Good evening, Aunt Ginny, Anna replied, lowering her voice so Paul wouldnt hear. How did you get my number?

I found it in Lauras diary she wrote it down herself Oh, dear the woman sobbed. Anna, theres been an accident Lauras been in a crash.

Annas hand froze, the rag still in her grasp.

What do you meancrash?

On the A57, she was heading into town at night she swerved into oncoming traffic. The windscreen the car caught fire, the documents too. The body was pulled out, but the injuries theyre terrible. Shes in the district hospital now, in intensive care.

The water in the bathroom fell silent. The door swung open and Paul stepped out, cradling a towelwrapped Poppy. He smiled, trying to tell a story, but his grin faded when he saw Annas pale face.

Anna? Whats happened?

She pressed the phone to her chest, inhaled deeply.

Aunt Ginny, I understand. Well figure something out. Thank you for calling.

She hung up, turned to Paul.

Paul, put Poppy down. We need to talk.

They sat at the kitchen table. The children, unusually quick to settle down, sensed something was wrong. Arthur and Poppy looked at their parents with wide, questioning eyes.

Paul clasped his hands together, his knuckles white.

So shes alive, he muttered, eyes fixed on the dark window.

The doctor said her condition is critical but stable, Anna said, turning the phone over in her hands. Her pelvis is shattered, the femur broken, ribs, neck theyll need multiple operations.

What but?

The doctor was blunt: shes now a longterm bedridden patient. At least six months, maybe longer, given her age and frailty.

Pauls cheeks flushed.

The car burnt to the ground?

Everything the car, the paperwork Ginny didnt understand how Laura ended up on the opposite lane. Maybe she fainted, maybe she was distracted.

Paul paced the cramped kitchen, two steps forward, two steps back.

Two years, he said, voice low, not addressing anyone. Two years we finally got our lives back, breathing easy, without constant calls, without the endless grinding How she used to twist us around, demanding we transfer the house into her name, forbidding us from ever owning it outright. She called Arthur a brat, said Id led him astray

Anna moved close, a sad smile playing on her lips.

Paul, lets not dredge up the past We need to decide what to do now. The doctors are waiting for our answer. Tomorrow theyll move her from ICU to a trauma ward. Shell need care.

The nurses there they only visit once a day for free, Paul said, his voice edged with anger.

What kind of care are you suggesting, Anna? You want me to quit my job, to shoulder the whole load? Or you want to quit yourself?

Weve just started to stand on our own feet. We have planschanging the car, paying for the kids activities.

Theres an option with a private caregiver, Anna offered cautiously.

Youve seen the price? Thirtysix pounds an hour, no less. Plus medication, diapers, food. Thats almost my entire salary, Anna. Or yours.

I know.

So what do we live on? Bread and beans again? For whom? For the woman who turned us into old folk and then chased her own life around?

His voice cracked, unleashing a buried childhood resentment. You remember how she used to throw us out in the rain when I was pregnant? How she never sent a birthday card to her grandchildren?

And you think I love her? Anna shot back, eyes flashing. I despise her. Shes the reason Ive been angry for years. I cant even feel anything but loathing.

Pauls jaw tightened.

Then why keep her?

Because were human, Paul. Not beasts. Justice says we should look after her.

He snorted, bitter. Justice? Where was justice when I was a shy kid in school, and shed swing by with a bag of sweets, acting like a doting mother to the neighbours?

Annas tone hardened. Theres no justice here, Paul. Were talking about us nowabout how well survive.

Paul rubbed his nose, an uneasy smile forming.

Alright. Lets tally what we have. The house fund? £300,000 set aside for a new car, £200,000 for a holiday. Thats half a million.

The operations covered by the NHS, but theyll likely want imported implants, pricey medication, a caregiver

He pulled out his phone, opened the calculator.

A private caregiver in the hospital costs about £2,000 a day. At a hundred a month no, thats £2,000 a day, so roughly £60,000 a month. Six months, thats £360,000.

He stared at Anna, eyes wide.

This is everything we have and more. Well be broke.

Anna stayed silent, the numbers flashing in her mind like ghosts of their hardwon earnings.

What if Paul began, voice faltering. What if we took her home?

Where, Paul? Into the nursery? With Arthur and Poppy? A bedridden woman, tubes, sores, the smell of decay? You want the kids to live with that?

No, he snapped, no, of course not.

Into our bedroom? On the sofa? When will you work then? Shell demand attention every second. Shell manipulate, guilttrip, cause endless fights. Well tear each other apart, Paul. I cant live like that.

He lowered his head, the weight of his mothers cruelty pressing down. Shell turn this flat into a nightmare.

Then theres no choice, Paul said, voice flat. Either we lose our savings or we send her to a state care home.

Social services, Anna suggested. We could apply for a residential care facility for the longterm ill. Its governmentrun.

Youve been in those places? Paul asked, grimacing. Its a oneway ticket. Shell be there for twothree months, maybe longer.

Almost free, though. The council will cover most of it, and theyll look after her on a pension.

Paul paced again, shoes scuffing the worn linoleum.

I cant I hate her, but I cant just send her to the devils doorstep. Id lose some part of myself.

Anna exhaled, the tension loosening.

Okay, heres the plan. She grabbed the notebook and pen on the fridge. We wont burn through all our savings. Well hire a private caregiver directly, not through an agency, at about £4550 a week. Its still a lot, but we can manage if we cut back on everythingno evenings out, no new clothes, no holidays for six months.

The car? Paul asked.

We hold off on buying a new one. The emergency fund goes to medication and unforeseen costs.

He watched her write, the numbers aligning under the stark kitchen light. Despite the dread, pride flickered in his chest for her resolve.

When will she be discharged? he asked. In a month or two? Where do we take her? Back to Littleton?

The village house has no proper amenities. Shell end up in a cheap studio flat, with the caregiver moving in with her. Annas lips pressed thinly. Thatll add another £1520 a week.

Paul swallowed. Well be working for her, maybe a year, maybe two, until she can stand if she ever does.

Anna placed her hand over his.

We wont bring her into our home. Thats the condition. I want to keep our family intact, our sanity, our childrens childhood. We pay for the distance, we pay for the care. Its a bitter purchase, but its honest.

Paul stared at the notebook, then at Anna. Were buying our peace, then?

It sounds cynical, he murmured. But its the truth. Well cover her medical bills, food, hygiene. Well visit every two weeks, bring supplies.

He pulled her into a tight embrace, the weight of the decision pressing down on both of them.

—

They followed Annas plan. The first meeting with Lauras sisterinlaw was tense; accusations flew, blaming each other for the tragedy. The motherinlaws harsh words cut deep, but the couple held fast, securing a caregiver, gathering the needed supplies, and hunting for a modest flat for Laura. Every day, the phone rang with new grievances, but they endured because they were still human, not beasts.