Look after my mum, its not that hard, Margaret pressed, her voice edged with fatigue.
Emily, you understand, right? she went on. Mum isnt the same any moreage, dementia, her memorys slipping. The doctors say she needs supervision. Id do it myself, but work, deadlines And youre home, youre on a remote job. It cant be a bother, can it?
Emily pressed her lips together. She really was working from the flat, translating documents and occasionally holding online consultations. Her schedule was flexible, but that didnt mean she had endless spare time.
Margaret, Im not sure what to say, Emily began cautiously. Ive never dealt with something like this. Maybe we should hire a carer? Or put her in a care home where professionals look after her
Margarets eyes flashed with outrage.
A care home? How can you even suggest that! Shes my mother! I wont hand her over to strangers who wont watch her properly. Were family.
Emily glanced at James, hoping for support, but he kept his eyes glued to his phone.
Emily, its not a huge ask, James finally said without looking up. Just pop in in the mornings, in the evenings. Feed her, help a little. Nothing difficult, youll manage.
Emily let out a sigh. Arguing was useless. Besides, they were still living in Margarets flat shed generously let the young couple stay after their wedding while they saved for their own place. Refusing now would seem ungrateful.
Alright, Emily whispered. Ill try.
Margarets face brightened. She rose, walked around the kitchen table and embraced her daughterinlaw tightly.
Thank you, love. You have no idea how much this means. Ill give you the keys and write down the address. Mum lives just a fifteenminute walk away. But, Emily, she can be a bit you know, nervous. If she says something odd, just ignore it, okay?
Emily nodded, thinking the task would be simple. What could be so hard about watching an elderly woman?
The next morning she learned the answer.
The flat where Doris Thompson lived was in an ageing Victorian block, walls flaking and stairs that complained with every step. Emily climbed to the third floor, knocked, and waited. Inside, a thud followed by shuffling feet, then a click as the lock turned.
The door flew open, revealing a stooped old woman in a faded housecoat, eyes clouded.
What do you want? she rasped.
Good morning, Doris. Im Emily, Jamess wife. Margaret asked me to help you. May I come in?
Doris snorted, then shuffled aside. Emily stepped into the hallway and nearly gagged at the smell a mix of mildew, medicine, and something sour. The flat was a mess: magazines, battered slippers, empty boxes everywhere. On a small table by the mirror sat bottles of pills, and from the kitchen drifted the scent of something burnt.
What would you like for breakfast? I can make it, Emily offered.
Doris snapped, I dont want anything! Who sent you? Val? Again, youve sent a spy!
Emily blinked. A spy?
Im just trying to help, she said.
Help! the old woman scoffed. All of you pretend to care, but youre just waiting for me to go so you can claim the flat!
Emily stood frozen. The venom in Doriss words left no room for a reply. She moved to the kitchen, turned on the kettle and opened the fridge. Inside were a few eggs, a slice of ham, and stale bread. She thought, Eggs will do.
As she fried the eggs, Doris plonked onto a stool by the door, muttering nonstop.
Youre always late. Yesterday Val promised to come and never did. Youre all liars. Youll eat me out of house and then say theres nothing left.
Emily kept her stare on the pan, trying to ignore the tirade. When the eggs were ready, she placed the plate before Doris. The old woman peered at the food, took a bite, winced, and pushed the plate away.
Disgusting. Too salty. Can you even cook?
Emily bit her lip. She tried a bite herself the seasoning was fine.
Doris, you need to eat, otherwise you cant take your medication, Emily said gently.
Dont tell me what to do! I know when Im hungry! the old woman shouted, stumbling back into her bedroom and slamming the door. Emily stared at the untouched plate, frustration simmering beneath her calm façade. The day had just begun.
That evening, the scene repeated. Doris refused dinner, spat out her pills, and accused Emily of trying to rob her. Emily pleaded, explained, but nothing changed. By nightfall her head throbbed.
James met her at the kitchen doorway.
Hows it going? he asked casually.
Hard, Emily admitted, sinking into a chair. Your mum shes impossible. She yells, insults, wont eat.
James shrugged. Age, love. She warned me. Hang in there, Em. It wont be forever.
Emily wanted to ask what he meant by forever, but she stayed silent. He disappeared into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.
The weeks blurred together. Emily visited Doris twice daily, cooking, cleaning, trying to keep some order. She worked late into the night on translations, then rose at dawn to tend to the flat again. Doris never softened. Instead, she criticized everything: the food was cold, then too hot; Emily spoke too loudly, then too softly. She tossed objects, shouted, called her a freeloader and a parasite. Emily clenched her fists, kept quiet, but patience has limits.
A month later Doriss health collapsed. She could barely rise, ate hardly anything, and complained of constant pain. Emily called a doctor, who examined her, prescribed new medication, and warned that her condition was serious.
That evening Emily staggered home and collapsed onto the sofa, exhausted to the point she couldnt even cry. She stared at the wall, breath shallow.
The next day Margaret inquired, Emily, hows your mum doing?
Not well, Emily replied, voice weary. The doctor says she needs constant care. I cant do this anymore, Margaret. Im burnt out. I need to work, I need rest. Im failing.
Margarets tone turned icy.
So youre refusing?
Im not refusing, Im asking for help. Lets hire a carer or
Hire a carer! Margaret snapped. On what, my pennies? Do you think Im rolling in money? Besides, its your duty, Emily. We gave you a roof, a place to stay. Show a little gratitude, at least a drop!
Emilys hands curled into fists.
Margaret, Ive spent a month looking after your mother. Ive cooked, cleaned, endured her abuse, worked nights to keep up. I cant go on.
You cant? Then get out! Out the door, all four ways. James, did you hear that?
James stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Emily, Mum is right, he said evenly. Youre a woman, you should support the family. Were grateful for the flat.
Emily rose, her breathing easing.
Fine, she said calmly. I understand. Everything.
Margaret gasped, James blinked as if the words hadnt landed.
Emily, where are you going? James asked, bewildered.
She was already in the bedroom, pulling a small suitcase from under the bed. She packed the few belongings she owned a coat, documents, a laptop everything that had come with her when she moved in.
James followed, watching her load the bag. Confusion turned to irritation on his face.
Emily, stop. You cant leave.
I can, she replied, fastening the strap.
Where to? Back to your parents?
Yes. Then Ill find a place of my own, get a divorce. This flat isnt ours.
James opened his mouth, but no words came. Emily passed him, heading for the hallway where Margaret stood, pale and bewildered.
Emily, where are you going?
Im leaving. Thank you for the hospitality, she said, stepping out of the flat. She inhaled deeply, a wave of relief washing over her.
The divorce was processed swiftly; James didnt even attend the hearing. Emily received her decree, tucked it into a drawer, and never thought of him again.
She moved into a modest onebedroom flat of her own, learning to live for herself calm, steady, free from shouting and constant tension. A year slipped by unnoticed.
One afternoon she met her friend Mabel at a café, chatting about work and summer plans, when Mabel dropped a bombshell.
By the way, did you hear what happened to your exmotherinlaw?
Emily lifted her cup.
No. Whats up?
She died three months ago, after a miserable illness. Margaret caused a scene across the whole town. Turns out the old womans flat was left to a distant relative a niece, I think. Margaret tried to sue, claiming the mum was unsound, but the will had been made five years earlier when Doris was still lucid.
Emily froze.
She left the flat to someone else?
Mabel nodded.
Yes. Margaret had been pushing to keep the flat, pretending she cared for her mum just to inherit. She wanted you as a freerange carer so she could claim she was looking after her. It never worked.
Emily leaned back, a strange warmth spreading through her chest. Justice, at last, had turned the tables.
Emily, why are you smiling? Mabel asked, puzzled.
Nothing, Emily said, shaking her head. Just justice feels right.
Mabel snorted.
True. Margarets still living with James, barely making ends meet. Shes as miserable as ever.
Emily finished her tea, stood up.
Mabel, lets get some cake, a glass of champagne, and a good cup of coffee. Something nice.
Celebrating something? Mabel teased.
Just celebrating that life can be wildly unpredictable, Emily replied with a grin.
They left the café, strolling down the street. Emily walked light, almost buoyant. Perhaps shed been a bit too pleased with someone elses misfortune, but the cruelty Margaret had shown was repaid in kind. The flat went to the distant relative, not to Margaret; James stayed put, but happiness never followed him. And that, simply, was the whole story.
