Simon sat in the kitchen with his wife, Emily. She busied herself with the oven, chattering away without pause. Simon, preparing for his commute, sipped coffee and gazed out the window at the rising sun, struggling to pick out the key points in his wife’s endless stream of words.
“Simon, are you even listening?” Emily’s nails suddenly dug into his shoulder.
“Of course, love!” he replied hastily, trying to ease her grip. Her manicure was always impeccable, after all.
“Then what did I just say?” Her eyes turned cold and demanding.
Simon sighed. “You were talking about selling the house again.”
“Yes. And why?”
“If we bring your mum to live with us, things will be easier. Less need to scrimp and save.”
“You do realise that place is practically worthless? There’s nothing left there for us. No reason for her to stay—her pension barely covers the bills. Why should we keep paying for it? For what?” Emily’s voice dripped with contempt.
At nearly forty, with a sharp understanding of the world, her tone bordered on sinister. That low, slightly raspy voice could still captivate him, though it was nothing like the sweet, light singing of her youth. Simon was used to following Emily’s lead—it usually worked out for the best.
“But she needs somewhere to live,” Simon mumbled weakly.
“Exactly. With us. We sell the house, clear our debts, even improve our finances. And it’ll be livelier, don’t you think?” she pressed.
Simon nodded. His engineering job paid well, but extra cash wouldn’t hurt—especially since the house was technically his. Paying for an empty property made little sense.
“Right, then. Post the listing tomorrow. Call your mum—tell her to start packing. Once she’s here, buyers will come.” Emily flashed a predatory smile, teeth gleaming.
***
Margaret began her day as usual. The sun had long since risen by the time the elderly woman woke. She stepped into the garden to tend her fruit trees when the old Nokia in her pocket buzzed.
She resisted modern technology. Even simple things, like which buttons to press on the washing machine, had taken Simon multiple attempts to explain. Out here in the countryside, time stood still. No confusion, no complications—just her cherished magazines, kind neighbours, and a modest pension at sixty-five. Life had been good.
Then her son’s voice crackled through the phone, and her heart clenched.
“Hi, Mum. Listen, Emily and I talked—it’s time to sell the house.”
“What?!” Margaret staggered to the porch, breath ragged as she sank onto the bench.
“What’s the problem? There’s no point you rotting out here. Move in with us—we’ll sort our finances, even give you your own room. One big family, just like it should be.”
“You really think I won’t be a burden?” Margaret asked.
“Mum! Of course not. We’ll take care of everything. I’ve already listed the house, so start packing. I’ll come for you and your things tomorrow—don’t bring too much, though.”
Margaret chewed her lip nervously as Simon hung up, leaving her stunned on the bench. They’d agreed he’d handle the bills, but she never imagined he’d use her meagre pension as leverage. With no choice, she surrendered.
Groaning, she rubbed her aching back and trudged inside, heart heavy for the garden she’d nurtured for years—soon to be lost forever.
***
Emily wrinkled her nose.
“Margaret, really. I told you not to cook those stews. The whole kitchen reeks.”
With sharp, irritated movements, Emily flung open the window. Margaret froze.
“What am I supposed to eat, then? I’m not used to your meals. I need something hearty.”
“Then cook properly. Pasta, a decent sauce—something presentable. For us, for guests.” Emily’s smile turned sharp.
“You expect me to cook for an entire party?”
“Just yourself if you prefer—but make it smell decent. Not that slop you call soup.”
Margaret turned and retreated to her room, defeated. This was only the beginning.
That evening, as Simon took a call about a buyer for the house, Margaret’s jaw dropped.
“Already?!”
“Of course. The price was fair, and the place needs work anyway.”
“And you, Simon?” Margaret fixed him with a hard look.
“What about him? Shouldn’t you worry about more important things?” Emily cut in. “Like inheritance, maybe?”
“Have I got grandchildren to leave it to?” Margaret shot back.
Emily faltered, then muttered, “We can’t afford kids in this economy.”
“This is a three-bedroom flat! I raised Simon in a bedsit!”
“Times change. Children need proper conditions now,” Emily snapped.
“It’s settled, Mum,” Simon said firmly. “You couldn’t manage that house alone.”
***
Margaret never adjusted. The cold, modern flat—all glass, stone countertops, and sterile colours—felt like a prison compared to her cheerful, hand-papered cottage.
One day, returning from errands, she froze. Rustling sounds came from her room. Emily stood there, stuffing her clothes into bin bags.
“What are you doing?!”
“Clearing out this mess!” Emily snapped. “I’ve already tossed a few things—ratty old dresses, mostly.”
Margaret’s heart sank. Those dresses held memories.
“You can’t just throw my things away!”
“Then keep it tidy! The dust is inches thick!”
“How am I supposed to reach?!”
“Use a chair!”
“And if I fall?”
Emily ignored her. “We’re redoing your room tomorrow. New ceiling, new lights.”
“With what money?”
Silence. Emily snatched a bag and stormed out.
That night, Simon faced an interrogation.
“She made a mistake, Mum. We’ll buy you new clothes.”
“With what? She’s planning a holiday!”
Emily barged in, grinning. “Booked for Turkey next week. Paid and everything.”
Margaret gaped. “I thought we were struggling!”
“Our money, our choice,” Emily said coolly.
“You promised me my share!”
“It’s safe in the bank. Withdraw it after my trip.”
Margaret left without another word.
At dawn, she marched into the kitchen as Simon ate takeaway pizza.
“I’m leaving. I’ll stay with Martha—maybe find work there. They hire retirees these days.”
Simon choked. “Mum, what?!”
“Your wife’s driving me out. The complaints never end. And now this—flaunting a holiday while telling me we’re broke? Keep your money.”
“Wait—I didn’t realise it was this bad!”
“Too late. You let her control you. She got what she wanted.”
As Margaret packed, Simon pleaded, but she was done. She left for her friend’s, tears in her eyes.
Emily’s triumphant smile faded when Simon snapped.
“Enough. You destroyed my mother’s trust. Get out.”
“Have you lost your mind? You’ll come crawling back!”
“Take your things. I’m filing for divorce.”
After the split, Emily vanished abroad. Simon visited Margaret, begging forgiveness, but she refused to return. Still, he waited, hoping time would mend what deceit had broken.
