My mother-in-law decided she would move into my flat, leaving her own house to her daughter.
My husband, Charles, grew up in a bustling, boisterous family. My mother-in-law kept having children until at last she got her daughter. An odd approach, really, but who am I to judge?
When I married Charles, I thought Id stumbled into good fortune. He seemed so dependable, brave-hearted, and grounded. He understood what it meant to be part of a family, but there was never a question of him untangling himself from his mother or his kid sister. My mother-in-law didnt seem to care much for her sons, but her daughters comfort was the sun around which everything revolved.
Isabella was ten when I first met her. At first, she was just a child and I rather liked her. But after five years, things soured. She had no interest in school, preferred the company of troublesome lads, and my husband was left to pick up the pieces. My sister-in-law would ring Charles at all hours, seeking help with her latest dilemma.
I always hoped Isabella would mature, marry, and that would be the end of it. But no such luck. When she decided to wed, my mother-in-law insisted her sons chip in for the festivities, since she hadnt a penny to spare. The new son-in-law was penniless himself, so the newlyweds had to stay with my mother-in-law.
Then came a child, and another. Suddenly, it dawned on my mother-in-law that they simply couldnt all go on living like sardines. She hit upon a most brilliant idea: shed move in with us, Bella and her family would have her house. Except I bought my flat with my own pounds and Charles hasnt paid in a farthing. And the truly curious thinghes pleased as punch with the arrangement, assures me, Mum will help you around here.
Our flat is a cramped two-bedroom. I do love my little comforts, and Im not keen at all on sharing with someone else. My mother-in-law is certain we owe it to her, since Charles is the eldest and ought to look after his dear mums well-being.
I love my husband; divorce isnt an option. But how on earth do I make Charles see sense? How can I explain to him that living with his mother would be an absolute nightmare? Perhaps someone has a clever word of advice for me?
It all feels like wandering through an endless maze where every door leads right back to the same cramped living room, my mother-in-law perched like a peculiar garden gnome on the sofa, nodding approvingly, as if this dream logic is the only logic there ever was.
