A Terrifying Discovery in the Stepmums Pot
Stepmum peeked into the saucepan and let out a horrified scream.
Margaret woke at dawn and, as usual, headed to the kitchen of her home in the outskirts of Manchester. To her surprise, her daughter-in-law was already bustling by the stove.
“Morning,” smiled Emily, stirring something in the pot.
“Morning,” grumbled Margaret, wrinkling her nose. “Whats that youre making?”
“Pea and mint soup,” replied her daughter-in-law without looking up. “Oliver adores it.”
“Pea and mint soup?” Margaret sniffed suspiciously. “Does it usually smell like this?”
“Hows it meant to smell, then?” Emily shrugged, covered the pot, and walked out of the kitchen.
Margaret didnt waste a secondshe rushed to the stove, lifted the lid, and peered inside. What she saw made her shriek in horror.
“What on earth is this concoction?” she muttered, stepping back as if it were poison.
Emily returned with bowls and, noticing her stepmothers reaction, calmly explained,
“Its pea and mint soup, Margaret. The veg is from our own gardenfreshly picked. Cooking with homegrown ingredients, its like a little celebration.”
“A celebration?” scoffed Margaret, crossing her arms. “That gardens just a chore! Wasting time digging in the dirt when you could buy everything at Tesco? I dont get it.”
“I love it,” Emily said softly, ladling the soup. The scent of mint, peas, and spring onions filled the kitchen. “The earth gives you so much energy when you work with it.”
“Energy?” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Its a hobby for people with nothing better to do. Normal folks” She cut herself off when she saw Emily still smiling, as if the jabs didnt land. “Whos all this for, then?”
“For us,” Emily replied. “A few days worth. Oliver always has seconds.”
Margaret took an exaggerated step back, as if the smell alone made her queasy.
“I wont touch that!” she declared. “Just the stench turns my stomach! What on earth did you put in it?”
Emily sighed, avoiding her stepmothers glare. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Oliver entering the kitchen, watching the scene silently.
Margaret couldnt fathom what had happened to her son. Just two years ago, Oliver was a promising young IT professional living in London. Theyd go to art galleries together, talk about new restaurants, dream about his career. Now? This countryside life, the veg patch, this plain Emily! Even her name made Margaret bristle with irritation.
Oliver had always been a catchtall, clever, charming. How many well-bred girls had swooned over him! Why had he chosen this country girl and some tiny cottage in the middle of nowhere? Margaret hoped hed grow bored and move back to the city. But months passed, and Oliver sunk deeper into this “rural fantasy.”
She decided to act. Emilys invitation was the perfect opportunity. Stepmum had a planremind her son who he really was and pull him out of this countryside nonsense before it was too late.
Oliver stepped into the kitchen, wrapped an arm around his wife, and turned to his mother:
“Mum, try the soup. Emily makes it perfectly!”
“Oliver, you know your father and I never ate these peasant dishes,” Margaret shot back. “I remember you turning your nose up at pea soup as a boy. Called it old peoples food.”
Emily couldnt help but smile, picturing little Oliver pushing his bowl away. But now he was a man, and his tastes had changed.
“Mum, times change,” he laughed. “Emilys soup is a masterpiece. Try ityoull see.”
“A masterpiece?” Margaret gasped in outrage. “Oliver, you call a pot of mushy peas a masterpiece? Real masterpieces are in theatres, in museums, not in this… slop!”
