Jane came home from the maternity wardand there, in the kitchen, stood a second refrigerator. “This ones for me and Mumkeep your food out of it,” her husband announced.
She nudged the front door shut with her shoulder, clutching the swaddled bundle of little Jamie tightly to her chest. The October wind had managed to creep under her coat, and now all she longed for was warmth, quiet, and peace.
The hospital was behind her. Ahead lay her homethe flat shed inherited from her grandmother, the one shed put in her name before the wedding. Every corner was familiar, every crack in the ceiling a memory. This was where she should have felt safe.
Oliver was the first inside, kicking off his shoes and dropping his coat carelessly in the hallway. Jane stepped over the thresholdand froze. Something was wrong. The air carried a strange scentnot her perfume, not her hand cream. Something floral lingered, mixed with a sharp, unfamiliar tang.
“Come on, dont just stand there,” Oliver tossed over his shoulder without looking back.
Jane slipped off her shoes and moved slowly down the corridor. The living room was dim, an unfamiliar rose-embroidered cushion resting on the sofa. The coffee table held a vase of artificial flowersdefinitely not there a week ago.
In the kitchen, the clatter of pots greeted her. By the stove stood Margaret, her mother-in-law, in an apron, stirring something with enthusiasm. Her hair was perfectly styled, a string of pearls around her neck, lipstick on her lipsas if preparing for guests, not welcoming her daughter-in-law home from hospital.
“Ah, Jane! Finally!” Margaret called without stepping away from the stove. “Lets see the baby. Bring him here, quickly!”
Jane instinctively stepped forwardbut her gaze caught on something by the opposite wall: something massive and gleaming. Beside the old refrigerator that had stood there for years, a second one had appearednew, silver, still wrapped in plastic.
“Where did this come from?” Jane asked, confused.
Margaret turned, wiped her hands on her apron, and smiled as if shed just pulled off a grand surprise.
“We bought it! Oliver came with mewe picked out a good one, spacious. Finally, the kitchen will be organised. Proper nutrition matters, especially with a baby. You understand, dont you?”
“We?” Jane echoed. “Whos we?”
“Well, me, of course!” Margaret tapped the wooden spoon sharply. “From now on, Im living here tooto help. I assumed Oliver had told you.”
The blood drained from Janes face. Jamie squirmed in her arms, and she instinctively held him tighter.
“Oliver?” she called, turning toward the door.
Her husband walked in just then, two grocery bags in hand. He looked tired, his gaze distant.
“What?”
“Your mother says shes moving in?”
Oliver nodded as if discussing nothing more consequential than running out of bread.
“Of course. Youll need help. Mum agreed to stay for a while, until youre back on your feet.”
“A while?” Jane frowned. “And the fridge?”
“Oh, that.” Oliver set the bags down and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Mum got it so her food could be separate. Shes on a special diet.”
“A special diet,” Jane repeated slowly. “In my flat.”
“Jane, dont start. Im tired. Mum just wants to help, and youre making a fuss already.”
Margaret confidently opened the new fridge and began unpacking the groceriesyogurts, cheese, bottled sauces, boxes of vegetables.
“You see?” she said, closing the door. “Now everyone has their own space. No one gets in each others way.”
Jane wanted to argue, but Jamie began cryingloud, demanding. He needed feeding, changing, soothing. Her head throbbed with exhaustion. Questions would have to wait.
“Go on, feed him,” Margaret shooed. “Ill tidy up here.”
Jane walked slowly out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. Something had changed here too. Foreign items cluttered the dresserhand cream, a perfume bottle, a hairbrush. A bathrobe, clearly not hers, was draped over the chair.
“Oliver,” she called softly, sitting on the bed.
He appeared in the doorway.
“What now?”
“Why are your mothers things in our bedroom?”
“Shes sleeping on the sofa, but she put her things here so they wouldnt clutter the hall. Whats the big deal?”
“The big deal is this is my flat.”
Oliver sighed as if Jane were fussing over nothing.
“Jane, drop it. Mums here to help, and youre picking fights over every little thing. Would you rather handle the baby alone? Without any help?”
Jane said nothing. Jamie nursed, his tiny nose snuffling softly, while uneasy thoughts swirled in her mind. How had this happened? Shed left for the hospital from her own flat, where she and Oliver lived, and returnedto what? A shared house where everyone had their own fridge and rules?
When Jamie was fed and asleep, she carefully placed him in the crib by the window. It was time to understand what was happening. She returned to the kitchen.
Margaret sat at the table, sipping coffee and flipping through a magazine.
“Asleep already? Youre doing well. Babies need routine from day one.”
Jane walked to the old fridge and opened it. It was nearly emptya bottle of milk, a scrap of cheese, a few eggs. Everything else was gone.
“Margaret, wheres the food?” Jane asked.
“What food, dear?”
“The food that was in here. The chicken, the vegetables, the juice.”
“Oh, those.” Margaret took a sip of coffee. “I threw them out. They werent freshsmelled off. Didnt want you poisoning yourself.”
Jane stiffened.
“You threw out my food?”
“Jane, dont shout,” Oliver cut in, stepping into the room. “Mum did the right thing. Better safe than sorry.”
“Im not shouting,” Jane said, her voice icy. “Im asking. Margaret, did you even check the dates?”
“Why would I? I can tell by smell. Mothers instinct.” She smiled again.
Jane closed the fridge and turned to Oliver.
“Can we talk? Alone?”
He nodded reluctantly and followed her to the bedroom. Jane left the door ajar so Jamie wouldnt wake.
“Explain to me whats happening,” she said quietly. “I leave for a week, and when I come back, your mother acts like shes the lady of the house.”
“Shes not taking over,” Oliver defended. “Shes helping.”
“Helping?” Jane folded her arms. “She threw out my food, brought her own fridge, scattered her things everywhere. Thats not help.”
“Jane, Mum means well. You said yourself itd be hard with the baby. I found a solution.”
“A solution?” Jane gripped her own shoulders. “Oliver, did you even ask me?”
“When was I supposed to? You were in hospital, your phone died. Mum offered, and I said yes.”
“She offered to move into my flat and bring her own fridge?” Jane couldnt believe her ears.
“It wasnt like that.” Oliver looked away. “Mum said her neighbours were awfulalways drilling, never quiet. Then you had the baby, so I thoughtwhy not? Kill two birds with one stone.”
“Two birds,” Jane repeated. “So your mother solved her problem with the neighbours and got to control us at the same time. Is that it?”
“Whats controlling about it?” Oliver raised his voice. “Youre overreacting! Mum wants to help, and youre being hostile!”
Jamie stirred in his crib with a whimper. Jane stood, scooped him up, and rocked him gently.
“Oliver, lets agree on something,” she said calmly. “Your mother can visit, help during the day. But living here permanentlythats too much. This is my flat. I decide who stays.”
“You have the right,” Oliver conceded. “And dont I? Im your husband, remember?”
“You are. But not the owner. The flats in my name. So is the fridge. I dont need a second one.”
Oliver clenched his fists.
“So thats your argument now? My flat, my rules?”
“Just stating facts.”
“Facts.” Oliver sneered. “Fine. Lets talk facts. Who pays the bills? Who buys the food? Who paid for the renovations last year?”
“We did it together,” Jane said.
“Together?” Oliver stepped closer. “Jane, you were working part-time. I was breaking my back. Still am. Youre on maternity leave, making demands.”
Jane pressed her lips together. His words stung, but she couldnt back down.
“Fine. Ill go back to work in a month, and youll stay home with Jamie.”
Oliver scoffed.
“Youre serious? Whod take you back so soon after birth?”
“They will. Im good at
