— My mother-in-law suddenly decided she had a claim to the house I inherited. My husband took her side. On the day of her anniversary, I showed them both the door.
It was the kind of evening when the sky seemed to sag low over the rooftops like a damp blanket, and even the cat—usually a tiny engine on paws—had apparently concluded that life was overrated. He crawled under the throw and pretended to be a decorative pillow.
Victoria was coming home from work with the feeling that she was reporting for another shift. Only instead of silence and a cup of tea, her apartment promised the usual welcome: a lifelong grievance in a skirt who called herself a mother-in-law, and a husband whose dissatisfaction might as well have been stamped into his driver’s license between his name and address.
Her phone rang right on schedule, just as she reached the turn toward the building.
She glanced at the screen and sighed.
Of course. Nancy. The personal alarm clock of bad moods.
“Victoria, good evening, it’s me,” came her mother-in-law’s voice, raspy and tired, as if she had spent half the day roasting seeds over a campfire. “You do remember tomorrow is my birthday, don’t you?”
“I remember,” Victoria replied evenly. “Congratulations in advance.”
“Well, good. Ethan and I thought it would be more convenient to have the guests at your place. It’s spacious, cozy…”
Victoria stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Snow crunched under her boots, as though quietly backing her protest.
“Does it matter that I’ll be working until eight tomorrow night?”
“Oh, come on, you’re the hostess! You’ll manage everything quickly. We’ve already made the guest list.”
Victoria nearly said, And I suppose you’ve already written the grocery list for me too. But she swallowed it. Instead, her voice turned cool.
“Nancy, there won’t be any celebration at my home tomorrow. Host it at yours.”
A thick, gelatinous silence settled on the other end of the call—the kind that doesn’t mean agreement, only that someone is selecting sharper words.
“Victoria, you’ve changed. A woman should be happy when the whole family gathers at one table. But you’re always talking about work, that business of yours…”
“When my business starts feeding all of you, I’ll consider it,” Victoria said, and ended the call.
Snow dusted her hair, and her mood fell as fast as her card balance after the utility bills.
Ethan was already waiting at home. He looked like a judge who had delivered the verdict before the trial began.
“Mom said you were rude to her,” he started before Victoria had even taken off her boots.
“No. I said no. Those are different things.”
“It’s her big anniversary. You could have given in a little.”
“The apartment, however, is mine,” Victoria said calmly.
Ethan snorted like a kettle about to boil over.
“There it is again…”
“It started when you both decided my home was a banquet hall with free service.”
He stepped in front of her, blocking the way.
“Why do you have to make everything so complicated? It would be easier just to agree.”
“Of course it would,” she answered. “Especially for the people who aren’t preparing anything.”