Tell me, what on earth did you find in her? Margaret Hughess voice sliced through the quiet of the kitchen. A girl from some backwater hamlet, no schooling, no prospects. You could have picked anyone, yet you brought this?
Charlotte froze in the doorway of the sittingroom. Heat rose to her cheeks, a blend of shame and fury. She wanted to storm the kitchen and let loose everything roiling inside, but she was still a guest in this housea stranger.
Mum, please, Alex Turners weary voice drifted in. I asked you not to start this.
What’s the problem? Did Mum not say anything? The facts speak for themselves. George, say it to him! Margaret snapped.
Charlotte slipped into the lounge and perched on the edge of the sofa. The soft upholstery offered no comfort.
Theyd met half a year earlier at a county fair, when Alex had driven out to his grandparents village in the Dales. Hed sworn hed fallen headoverheels the moment he saw her, kissing her fingers and promising to whisk her away to a better life. Charlotte believed him.
George and Margaret hadnt taken to her straight away. From the first moment Charlotte caught the cold disdain in their eyes, it was clear they wanted her out of their sons world. They never pretended to be polite; at family lunches they ignored her, speaking to her only through Alex, as if she were a ghost.
Its just a phase for him, Margaret declared over tea, when Charlotte accidentally overheard through the cracked bathroom door. Hell play games and then dump her.
Charlotte kept quiet then, the next day, and the week after, when her motherinlaw slipped another poisonous remark about her country ways. There was nowhere to go. She couldnt afford to live on her own, and she loved Alex.
Despite his familys fierce opposition, Alex married Charlotte in August. A tiny ceremony with a handful of friends, her own mum showing up from the village in the only decent dress she owned. Alexs parents made a point of not attending, sending a brief text that they disapproved and washed their hands of the whole affair.
The first months after the wedding were a strained silence. Alex tried to bridge the gap, calling his mother, but Margaret replied with frosty oneliners. Charlotte didnt block communicationafter all, it was his family, his right to try to keep ties. She simply kept to herself, sorting out their little rented flat and hunting for a job.
When the motherinlaw finally agreed to a meeting, Charlotte donned her best blouse, brushed her hair, even bought flowers. Margaret accepted the bouquet with a look as if someone had handed her a dead fish, and promptly dropped it into the nearest empty vase.
So, have you found work yet? Margaret asked, planting herself at the head of the table.
Not yet, but Im not giving up, Charlotte replied, keeping her tone even. Im thinking about parttime study. I want an education.
Oh, how noble, Margaret cooed. Alex will have to work double for both of you!
Charlotte clenched her jaw but said nothing. Alex shifted uncomfortably, eyerolling between his mother and wife.
A month later she did enrol in a distancelearning coursenot to win Margarets approval, but for herself. She wanted to prove she wasnt just a village girl but someone with ambition. She landed a job at a small firm, handling paperwork while juggling textbooks. She ran out of steam, fell asleep over her notes, but kept at it.
In spring Alexs parents got more active. Margaret called, her voice syrupy, asking for a hand in the garden.
We need seedlings planted, beds turned over, she explained. Alex cant do it alone, and you grew up on a farm, right? You know how it works.
Charlotte stayed silent, irritated by the tone.
Ill think about it, she said, hanging up.
Come on, love, Alex nudged.
Im not going to bend over backward in their garden, she replied firmly.
Its my parents, Charlotte. Isnt it a bit much to help a little?
Help is one thing, using me as free labour is another. They think Im a farmhand who should be toiling for them? Let them dig themselves or hire someone.
Alex sighed but didnt argue. He knew hed later call his mother and apologise on Charlottes behalf. And thats what happened later that evening he locked himself in the bathroom, mumbling apologies into the phone for half an hour.
The demands kept piling up: wash the floors, launder the curtains, run errands.
Are your hands broken? Charlotte finally snapped one day. Youre adults; hire a cleaner if you cant manage.
And thats how you talk to your elders! Margaret snapped. Alex, do you hear your wife speaking to me like that?
Alex shifted from foot to foot, mumbling something about compromise and respect.
Im not going to be a servant, Charlotte declared. Remember that. Im your daughterinlaw, not your housemaid.
She turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. Alex was left scrambling, trying desperately to please everyone.
Work took off for Charlotte faster than shed expected. She earned a promotion, her salary rose, interesting projects landed on her desk. Alex pretended to be supportive, praising her, but his tone was always a shade strained, as if he were smiling out of politeness rather than genuine pride.
Sometimes Charlotte imagined walking away. She lay awake at night, replaying breakup scenarios. But there was nowhere to goher mother still lived in the village cottage, and Charlotte hadnt saved enough to afford her own place. She was stuck in the marriage like a fly in amber.
Another family dinner took place in June. Alex coaxed her out, promising his parents would be civil. Charlotte agreed reluctantly, putting on a stiff dress and pulling her hair into a low bun.
From the start it was clear peace was a fantasy. Margaret set the table with a grimace, as if each movement caused her pain. George sat at the head, brooding, casting heavy glances at Charlotte now and then.
So, are you still living off my sons neck? the fatherinlaw barked after the salads were cleared. Youre probably earning pennies, studying, and draining my sons last few coins?
I earn more than Alex, Charlotte replied calmly. I pay for my own studies.
George smirked. Sure and you think Ill believe that? Some provincial lass trying to outshine my boy?
Dad, enough, Alex muttered.
Tell the truth, George pressed. I brought her here thinking shed be grateful, obedient. Instead she sticks her nose in the garden, doesnt hand over cash.
Because Im not your maid, Charlottes voice rang, taut with tension. If you need help, ask like decent human beings. But youre used to ordering and humiliating.
How dare you speak to my husband like that? Margaret snapped.
Exactly how he deserves! Charlotte retorted, her chin lifted stubbornly.
George rose slowly, his face flushing, veins bulging in his neck.
If it werent for my son, youd still be living in your smelly village, turning cows tails! he roared. He pulled you out of the mud, and youre still acting like a petty pest!
Charlotte also stood, her heart pounding in her throat, but her voice stayed steady: No decent woman would ever tolerate a man as petty and insignificant as you. Apparently, Margaret enjoys living with a tyrant.
A heavy silence fell.
How dare you! Margaret erupted, flipping her chair. Leave this house at once! And never come back! Alex, until you divorce her, dont call us! Understand? Out!
Charlotte calmly grabbed her bag, slipped on her cardigan.
Alex, lets go.
He rose silently and followed her out.
After the split, Alex changed. He came home late, flopped onto the sofa with his back to Charlotte, and said nothing for days. Eventually he snapped.
You ruined everything, he shouted one morning, pouring coffee. Because of you I lost my family.
Because of me? Charlotte asked, deadpan. Seriously?
You should have kept quiet, endured. No, you had to be bold.
You insulted me, and you did nothing, Charlotte moved closer, meeting his eyes. You never defended me, not once in our whole marriage.
Its my parents! What could I have done?
Stand up for me. Instead you stayed on the sidelines, as always.
Alex turned away. For months he stayed gloomy, making snide comments about how a good wife should respect elders, forgive, and accommodate. Charlotte listened, realizing the love had burned out, leaving only ash and bitterness.
One day she finally spoke the truth: Your parents are petty, cruel. And you seem to have inherited that. What a worthy son
Alex exploded, hurling his mug against the wall; shards rained across the kitchen.
If it werent for me, he roared, his voice alien and angry, youd still be rotting in that village! I pulled you out, gave you a chance at a decent life! Ungrateful wretch!
Charlotte saw the same contempt in his eyes as shed seen in Georges.
Get out, Alex hissed. Right now.
She didnt argue. She fetched an old suitcase from the attic, packed in silence, and left.
She called a cab, lugged the suitcase to the door, and turned for a final glance.
Youre weak, Alex. Pathetic. Youre a carbon copy of your parents.
Six months later, Charlotte was living in a cramped council flat, the walls thin, neighbours shouting, the air stale. She worked herself to the bone, scrimped every penny, and finally filed for divorce. Alex signed the papers without a word; he seemed tired of the whole circus.
By autumn she saved enough to rent a modest onebedroom on the outskirts of the cityher own space, free of the ghosts of the past. She stood in the empty, bright room, stared out at the grey sky, and for the first time in ages managed a genuine smile. Life went on, without Alex, without his meddling parents, without the humiliation. And that, she thought, was just fine.
