The Baked Truth: How One Cod Turned a Family Upside Down
Thomas returned home from work, weary but content. A mouthwatering aroma wafted from the kitchen. Peering in, he rubbed his hands together:
“Mmm, smells delicious! What are you making, Emily?”
“Just baked some fish,” his wife replied calmly.
Before he could ask what spices she’d used, odd noises echoed from down the hall. Thomas frowned:
“Is that the neighbors again?”
“No, not the neighbors. There’s a surprise waiting for you in the back room,” Emily said with a cryptic smile.
“What kind of surprise?” he asked, puzzled.
“Go and see for yourself.”
Thomas walked slowly down the corridor, cautiously opened the door—and froze. Sitting in the armchair, as though it were nothing out of the ordinary, was his mother—Margaret Whitmore.
She had arrived unannounced earlier that day. Emily, thinking it was a delivery, had opened the door without hesitation.
“Margaret, hello. Why didn’t you call ahead? What if we weren’t home?”
“Thomas is at work, and you’re here. I can manage on my own—I’m not an invalid yet. Where’s my room?”
“You can wait here for now; we’ll figure it out.”
“You’ve got three bedrooms, and you can’t decide straight away? How could he not know?”
“He didn’t either. You didn’t tell him?”
“Why should I? I’m not visiting. I’ll be staying with you.”
Emily bit her tongue, though she felt something clench inside. She had work to finish and asked her mother-in-law to wait. The older woman smirked, glancing around before remarking:
“The fridge is empty…”
“The groceries will be delivered soon.”
When the food arrived, Emily quickly prepared a simple meal—sliced cheese, ham, bread, and brewed tea.
“Would you like porridge? Or maybe some pancakes?”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I can manage if need be.”
Emily nodded and stepped away. Half an hour later, her work done, she returned to the kitchen—only to find Margaret had “claimed” the spare room next to the bathroom, the very one where Thomas spent nights at his computer.
She’d already begun complaining:
“Such a mess. Dishes everywhere. Does he even clean up after himself?”
“He works hard. This is where he unwinds.”
“Works hard? With all these gadgets? You stay home, order food online, while he’s slaving away day and night.”
Emily swallowed her words. Too much bitterness had built up, but now wasn’t the time. She remembered her own mother’s advice when she’d complained about Thomas and his hobbies:
“At least he’s not out carousing. He plays quietly,” her mother had soothed.
“And when we have children?”
“He never had his fill as a boy…”
True enough. Every penny his mother had given them for the house, Thomas had spent on expensive electronics. A childhood dream, he’d called it. Still, the house was in Emily’s name, thanks to her parents’ contribution.
After lunch, Margaret dozed off in her “new” room. Thomas returned from work, heard the snoring, and frowned:
“Is that the neighbors?”
“No, your mother. Go on, talk to her.”
Margaret woke just in time. No pleasantries—straight to business:
“I’m retired now. Planning to travel, and in between, I’ll stay here. I’ve handed my money to you, so I’ve a right to my share.”
“Mum, are you serious? We wanted that room for the baby. Emily won’t agree.”
“Then give me back my money. Fair’s fair.”
“I already send you money every month. We’re starting a family.”
“Family? Emily stays home. You’re the one working. Bring me the documents—I hope everything’s in order?”
Emily left without a word, returning with a folder.
“Here. The house is in my name. My parents put in the money.”
“And mine?”
“Spent. On your precious son. On his ‘childhood.’”
Thomas stood, eyes downcast:
“I’m sorry, Mum. But I really wanted it then. Now—I’ve had my fill. No more.”
“Is that so?” Emily snapped. “If you don’t stop, I’ll file for divorce. Then you can go live with Mum and your toys.”
“Emily, don’t! I’ll sell it all. I promise. Let’s have supper. No computer tonight.”
At the table, Margaret sat in sullen silence.
“So I’m nothing here? I thought I’d be mistress of the house.”
“You’re my husband’s mother. But this is our family. I won’t be ordered about.”
“Thomas, you’re under her thumb!”
“Better under my wife’s thumb than under yours. You’ve controlled me my whole life. Enough. I’m a grown man.”
Margaret stood, grabbed her bag.
“Call me a taxi. I’m leaving. You’ll think of me again someday…”
Thomas silently saw her out. Returning, he sat at the table.
“I’ll have both fish and meat. I’m famished.”
“And about the games—did you mean it?”
“Yes. I’ll sell them. We’ll need the money for the baby. I’m ready now. And Mum… we’ll sort it out. As long as you’re here.”
Emily smiled. And deep down, she knew—that “forbidden fruit” had finally ripened.
