A Terrifying Discovery in Mother-in-Laws Stew
Mother-in-law peeked into the pot and let out a horrified shriek.
Margaret woke at dawn and, as usual, shuffled to the kitchen of her home in the outskirts of Oxford. To her surprise, her daughter-in-law was already bustling by the stove.
“Good morning,” smiled Anastasia, stirring something in the pot.
“Morning,” grumbled Margaret, wrinkling her nose. “What on earth are you cooking?”
“Pea and mint soup,” replied the younger woman without looking up. “Oliver adores it.”
“Pea and mint?” The mother-in-law sniffed suspiciously. “Is it supposed to smell like that?”
“How else should it smell?” Anastasia shrugged, covered the pot, and breezed out of the kitchen.
Margaret wasted no time. She yanked off the lid and peered insidewhat she saw made her shriek like shed spotted a ghost.
“What *is* this concoction?” she whispered, recoiling as if from poison.
Anastasia returned with bowls and, noticing her mother-in-laws reaction, explained calmly, “Pea and mint soup, Margaret. The veg is from our gardenfreshly picked. Cooking with homegrown ingredients feels like a celebration.”
“A *celebration*?” Margaret scoffed, folding her arms. “That gardens a chore! Who digs in dirt when you can buy everything at Tesco? Ill never understand you.”
“I enjoy it,” Anastasia said softly, ladling the soup. The scent of mint, peas, and spring onions filled the kitchen. “The earth gives back when you work with it.”
“Gives back?” Margaret rolled her eyes. “Its a hobby for people with too much time. Normal folk” She cut herself off as Anastasia kept smiling, unfazed. “Whos all this for, then?”
“For us,” said the daughter-in-law. “Enough for days. Oliver always has seconds.”
Margaret stepped back dramatically, as if the mere aroma made her queasy.
“I wouldnt touch that!” she declared. “The smell alone turns my stomach! Whats even in it?”
Anastasia sighed, avoiding her gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Oliver entering the kitchen, watching silently.
Margaret couldnt fathom what had happened to her son. Two years ago, Oliver was a promising tech professional in London. Theyd visited galleries, debated new bistros, dreamed of his career. Now? This cottage, this garden, this *Anastasia* with her plain ways! Even the name made her bristle.
Oliver had always been a catchtall, clever, charming. How many well-bred girls had sighed over him! Why choose some country girl and this poky little house? Margaret hoped hed grow bored and return to the city. But months passed, and Oliver only dug deeper into this “rural fantasy.”
Shed had enough. Anastasias invitation was her chance. Her plan? Remind her son who he *really* wasbefore it was too late.
Oliver wrapped an arm around his wife and turned to his mother. “Mum, try the soup. Anastasia makes it perfectly!”
“Oliver, darling, your father and I never ate this… peasant food,” Margaret retorted. “You used to pull faces at pea soup as a boy. Called it old peoples gruel.”
Anastasia smirked, picturing little Oliver scowling at his bowl. But now he was a grown man with grown tastes.
“Times change, Mum,” he laughed. “Anastasias soup is a masterpiece. Try ityoull see.”
“A *masterpiece*?” Margaret spluttered. “Oliver, you call a pot of mushy peas a *masterpiece*? Masterpieces belong in theatres, in galleriesnot in some… rustic slop!”
