Was Mum coming? Cancel! We’re having my ex over instead!
Eleanor stood by the stove as the rich scent of roasted meat and herbs filled the kitchen. It was one of those rare evenings when she had time to cook something more elaborate than scrambled eggs. Wiping her brow, she turned and called out,
“Andrew, did you forget my mum’s coming tomorrow?”
A moment later, he appeared in the doorway—disheveled, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“What mum?” Andrew blinked. “Did you say something?”
“Yes! Days ago!” Eleanor frowned. “We agreed she’d visit on Sunday.”
Suddenly, Andrew grew uneasy and blurted out,
“Cancel it. She can’t come tomorrow. Absolutely not.”
“And why not?” Eleanor tensed.
“Because… Emily’s arriving.”
“Who the devil is Emily?”
“Well… my ex,” he admitted with a sigh.
The room fell into stunned silence, broken only by Eleanor’s incredulous cough. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shout.
“Are you serious? You want your ex staying here tomorrow—the very day my mum’s visiting?”
“You’ve got it all wrong! She’s not moving in, just staying the night! She’s had a row with her bloke and has nowhere else to go. Just a couple of days, honest. We’ve been over for ages—you know that! Emily’s just in a tight spot.”
“Have you even considered how this looks? Mum walks in, and there’s your ‘old friend’ from the past lounging about. Brilliant first impression!”
“We’ll say she’s your mate. You’re a natural actress—she’ll believe you!”
Eleanor rolled her eyes, though in the back of her mind, she already imagined Emily striding in and calling her “mistress of the house” right off the bat. The thought was absurd, yet oddly intriguing.
That evening, the doorbell rang. There stood Emily—tall, poised, with a stylish bob and a designer handbag. She gave Eleanor a once-over and smirked.
“So, you’re the missus? Right then… Don’t fret—I’ll only be here a couple of nights. Won’t lay a finger on your husband.”
Eleanor bit her tongue and merely said,
“First door on the right. My mum arrives tomorrow—try not to linger.”
Emily stepped inside while Eleanor returned to the kitchen, where their supper was growing cold.
“Emily, care to join us?”
“Of course! Is that a pie? Don’t tell me you baked it yourself. Shop-bought pastry and jam, I’ll bet?”
“No one’s forcing you to eat,” Eleanor retorted, though her lips twitched with amusement.
Without missing a beat, Emily suddenly offered,
“Want me to teach you proper baking? My gran was a cook—I’ve been at it since I was knee-high.”
And so began an evening neither would forget. By nightfall, the two women chattered like old friends, swapping tales of men, recipes, even fashion. For the first time, Eleanor felt like more than just “the wife”—she felt like a woman who could hold her own. Emily wasn’t the enemy she’d expected, but an unexpected ally.
The next morning, Emily left for work, and soon after, Eleanor’s mother—Margaret—knocked at the door. The aroma of freshly roasted beef hit her the moment she stepped inside.
“You made this yourself?” Her mother’s eyes widened. “Never thought I’d see the day…”
Eleanor merely nodded, barely hiding her pride. She knew exactly whom to thank—that very “ex.”
Later that evening, Emily called.
“Ellie, I’m back with Timothy. We’ve patched things up. Cheers for the dress and the pep talk—he nearly fell over when he saw me at the gala. Said he’s taking me to every business do from now on. Oh, and we sealed the deal on the contract. You’re a gem. I’ll pop round tomorrow for my things—and give you a proper hug, mate!”
Eleanor hung up and turned to Andrew.
“You were right, you know. She’s actually lovely. And maybe… I’ve realized who I am. Not just a wife. But the lady of the house. A woman with something to offer.”
“If you’re mates with Emily now, the world’s gone mad,” Andrew said, throwing up his hands.
“Just stay out of the way,” Eleanor smiled, “and everything will be grand.”
