Dear diary,
Tonight I finally heard what Emily whispered, and it still feels like a halfheard echo. She stared at me, disbelief etched across her face, as if the words had come from a stranger. I let out a heavy sigh, ran my hand across my forehead, trying to erase the fatigue that has settled over me.
Mom sold her little cottage in the Lake District, I repeated more quietly. She only has enough from the sale to cover a part of her flat. Shell move in with us until she decides what to do next.
Emily clutched her mug, the coffee gone cold without her even noticing. One thought kept thumping in my head: how could she possibly move in here, into our tiny twobedroom flat?
Max, you remember were renting a flat, right? Theres only one spare room, and its a small one. I turned to her, my face tight, my eyes carrying a resigned look.
And what am I supposed to do? leave her out on the street?
She set the mug down.
Im not talking about that. We just need to sort out how to make it work. Its not for a week, is it?
A flicker of hope slipped into my voice. Maybe three or four months at most. Shell figure something out and well be back to normal.
Emily fell silent, remembering how her motherinlaw always found something to nitpicktoo much salt in the soup, a skirt too short, a job not respectable enough. And now that same woman would be under our roof.
I stepped closer, took her hands; my fingers were cold.
Emily, love, shes my mum. I cant just abandon her in that situation.
She met my gaze, seeing the plea, the neardesperation there, and nodded, though inside she was shouting against the decision.
Fine, she exhaled. But no more than four months. Agreed?
Agreed, I said, relief washing over me.
Three days later Dorothy Harper arrived with three massive suitcases and two duffel bags. The moment she crossed the threshold, she pursed her lips as if shed just tasted something sour.
This flat is tiny. And its rather dark in here, she remarked.
I hurriedly grabbed the suitcases, trying to smooth over the moment.
Mum, youll sleep in the bedroom. Emily and I will take the sofa. Itll be fine.
Emily froze in the doorway, shocked. I hadnt even consulted her; Id simply taken the bedroom for her.
Max, can we discuss this? she whispered once Dorothy disappeared into the bedroom to unpack.
I waved my hand, not even looking at her.
Emily, whats there to discuss? Mum cant sleep on the sofaher back hurts. Well manage for a bit, its only temporary.
She nodded silently and went to gather our bedding. Inside, anxiety grew like a knot, but I tried to push it aside. Just a few months, I told myself, and Dorothy would find her own place.
But the next morning Dorothy began testing my patience. Every comment dropped like a stone from a well.
The porridge isnt right, dear, she said, frowning at my bowl. It should be fluffier. Add a splash more milk, a pinch more sugar.
I clenched my teeth, swallowing my breakfast in silence. She was my wifes mother, after all; I had to endure.
One evening she leafed through a magazine and, without looking up, asked, Are you still doing that marketing thing? It sounds odd. A teacher or an accountant makes sensewhat do you actually do?
I answered calmly, I create strategies to boost sales, help companies attract customers.
She snorted, Well, as long as theres some use to it.
I tightened my fists under the table until my nails dug into my palms, repeating to myself: a few months, then shell go. I could bear it.
When rent was due, I lowered my eyes and muttered, Emily, I cant pay my share this month. I gave my salary to Mom; she needs the money more.
Emily froze, phone in hand.
She still has the cash from selling the cottage, she said.
I stared at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. She doesnt want to spend it. Its for her future home, you understand?
She nodded, paid the full rent from her own wages. It was possible, but the weight of it lingered like a sour taste.
The following month was even worse. I contributed nothing. Food vanished twice as fastDorothy ate a lot and was particular, demanding pricier cottage cheese, fancy yogurts, and more. Cleaning supplies disappeared at a frightening rate. Emily ended up hauling heavy grocery bags herself, while I was busy running errands for my mother, never offering a hand.
At the end of that month we sat down for dinner: Emily, me, and Dorothy. The stew on the stove already bore her criticism for lacking herbs and garlic.
Emily set down her spoon, drew a deep breath, and said, Max, we have to pay the rent tomorrow.
I tensed, the muscles on my cheeks tightening.
I dont have the money.
Her voice rose, angry. How can you not? This is the second month in a row, Max!
Dorothy frowned. Why are you pressing him for money?
That was the breaking point. My patience snapped like a stretched rubber band.
Im fed up paying everything alone! I shouted, the words spilling out uncontrolled. Rent, bills, groceriesits all on me! There are three of us in this flat, and Im carrying the load alone!
Dorothy sprang up, her face flushing. You should understand my situation! I need a proper flat, not this cramped room! You could take a loan and cover the shortfall! Youre young, healthy, you both work!
Emily stared at me, the room spinning. I sat, staring at the floor, silent, not daring to argue with my mother.
Did you talk to Mom about this? she asked.
I nodded, not lifting my head.
Everything fell into place like a puzzle finally completed. They had been waiting for the right moment to push a loan onto me, to make me shoulder both my wifes and my mothers debts, without a single thankyou from her.
Ive had enough! I declared, standing from the table. I began stuffing belongings into a bag, the fire inside me blazing, yet I kept filling it.
Emily rushed after me, trying to grab my arm. Emily, wait. We need to talk!
I pulled away. Let go of me. I have nothing to discuss with you.
You know Mum needs help now! she pleaded.
I turned and looked at her, forcing her to step back.
Your mum needs the money! She doesnt care about me! And youre ready to sacrifice our future for her! I shouted, slamming the bag shut, grabbing my coat, and heading for the door.
Dorothy stood in the hallway, smug as if shed won a prize.
Well, good luck leaving, she sneered. Max needs a proper wife, not a selfish one.
I walked past her without a retort, out onto the stairwell, and breathed deeply.
My motherinlaw met me at the bottom, arms open, no questions. She simply hugged me and led me to a spare room.
Rest, love, she whispered. Well talk in the morning if you like.
The next day I filed for divorce. Max called, texted, begged me to come back, promising that everything would change, that Dorothy would move out, that he finally understood.
But I saw the truth: there was no future with a man who chose his mother over his own family. He had picked his mothers endless demands, not me, not us.
The divorce was swift. In the final hearing Max looked exhausted and quietly said, Im sorry.
I nodded, left the courtroom, and walked down the street. A sense of lightness lifted from my shoulders, as if a heavy stone had finally been set down.
Im freefree from Max and from his mothers grip. Now I can start anew, for myself, not for anyone else.
Lesson learned: love should never demand you to sacrifice your own wellbeing; when it does, the only sane choice is to walk away.
