“Mum Decided for Us”

“How do you mean decided?” Emily leapt up from the sofa, dropping the half-finished baby jumper onto the floor. “Margaret, have you lost your mind? This is our flat!”

“Was your flat,” her mother-in-law replied calmly, spreading papers across the table. “Now it’ll be James and Lucy’s. They’re planning for children—they need the space.”

“But Tom and I are your children too!” Emily’s voice trembled with indignation. “And your granddaughter lives here!”

Margaret adjusted her glasses and looked at her daughter-in-law as if explaining to a particularly slow child.

“Of course you’re my children. But James is the eldest son—the heir. And, Emily, love, no offence, but you married the younger one. You knew what you were getting into.”

A cold shiver ran down Emily’s spine. Eight years of marriage, eight years in this flat they had renovated, furnished, where their little girl, Sophie, had been born. And now, just like that, they were meant to leave it all behind?

“Where’s Tom?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Does he know about this?”

“Of course he knows. He’s in the bedroom sulking like a boy, not a grown man.”

Emily rushed into the bedroom. Tom was lying face-down on the bed, hands clutching his head.

“Tom, tell me this is some awful joke,” she whispered, sitting beside him and touching his shoulder.

“It’s not,” he muttered. “Mum’s right. The flat’s in her name—she decides.”

“She decides? And what about us? We’ve got a child! Where are we supposed to go?”

Tom turned to her. His eyes were red, exhausted.

“Mum says we can stay in her spare room. Just until we figure something out.”

“One room? For all three of us?” Emily couldn’t believe her ears. “Where will Sophie sleep?”

“We’ll fit her cot in. There’s space.”

Emily stood and paced the room.

“I don’t understand! We’re family! You work, I work, we pay rent on time, we buy our own food! What’s changed?”

Tom sighed heavily.

“James and Lucy got married yesterday. Went straight to Mum, said they’ve nowhere to live. Renting’s too expensive, and they can’t get a mortgage yet. So Mum’s helping them.”

“And not us? We’re strangers now?”

“Mum thinks we’re young, we’ll manage. James is thirty-five—time he settled down.”

Margaret’s voice carried from the living room:

“Emily, come here! You need to sign some papers.”

Emily walked out. Her mother-in-law sat at the table, pen in hand, documents laid out.

“What papers?” she asked warily.

“Just a formality. Confirming you’ve no claim to the flat.”

“I’m not signing anything!”

Margaret pursed her lips.

“Suit yourself. But without your signature, this’ll drag on. And James and Lucy can’t wait—their rental’s paid only till month’s end.”

“But we can wait, can we?” Emily snapped. “You’d toss us out?”

“Who’s tossing anyone? You’re welcome in my spare room! Sort yourselves out from there.”

Just then, James arrived with his new wife. Emily had only met Lucy a handful of times at family gatherings. A delicate blonde with a girlish smile, she spoke little, always hovering politely.

“Mum, we’re here!” James hugged Margaret. “How’s the paperwork coming?”

“Well, Emily’s refusing to sign.”

James frowned at his sister-in-law.

“Em, what’s the issue? Mum’s offering you a place to stay. It’s not like you’re being thrown onto the street.”

“The issue,” Emily said tightly, “is that this is our home! We’ve lived here eight years!”

“But it’s Mum’s flat,” James shrugged. “Her choice who she leaves it to.”

Lucy tucked her arm into her husband’s.

“James, maybe we shouldn’t… If they’re not happy—”

“Nonsense, Luce. Mum’s right. We need to start a family, and Tom and Em will manage.”

Rage boiled inside Emily.

“Start a family? Sophie’s right here—born in this flat! This is her home!”

“So?” Margaret cut in. “She’s too young to remember. James and Lucy need stability.”

A cheerful squeal echoed from the hallway—Sophie, back from the park with their neighbour, Mrs. Higgins.

“Mummy!” The little girl hurtled into Emily’s arms, babbling about a big dog she’d seen.

“See?” Margaret smiled at her granddaughter. “Children adapt quickly.”

“But she knows her room, her toys!” Emily cradled Sophie’s head.

“Take the toys. The room… well, she’ll adjust.”

Tom emerged silently, glancing between his brother, his mother, his wife.

“Mum, maybe we should… reconsider?” he ventured.

“Too late. I’ve already spoken to the estate agent. James, start bringing your things in.”

James nodded and headed out. Lucy scurried after him, throwing Emily an apologetic look.

Silence choked the flat. Sophie dozed in Emily’s arms. Tom sat stiffly on the sofa, staring at nothing. Margaret stacked her papers.

“Margaret,” Emily tried, “let’s talk this through. There must be another way.”

Her mother-in-law barely glanced up.

“Decision’s made.”

“But why so sudden? Why weren’t we consulted?”

“Why would I consult you? My flat, my rules. I choose to give it to my eldest.”

“And your youngest means nothing?”

Margaret sighed.

“Of course he matters. But James is responsible—always has been. Tom?” She eyed her son. “Tom hides behind others. Now it’s you, Emily.”

Tom shot up. “That’s not fair!”

“Isn’t it? How many times have I told you to stand on your own feet? Start a business? Yet you cling to that dead-end job.”

Emily cut in. “Tom works hard. He provides.”

“Provides?” Margaret scoffed. “Eighteen hundred a month? That won’t feed a family.”

“I work too!”

“In a salon. Hardly a career.”

Emily’s cheeks burned.

“I’m good at my job! I have regular clients!”

“Cutting hair. Lucy’s an accountant—degree, prospects.”

“I have a degree!”

“In education. Which you don’t use.”

Tom stepped between them.

“Enough, Mum! You’re being cruel.”

“Cruel? I’m stating facts. James earns well. Lucy’s got connections. They need this flat—it suits their standing.”

Emily laid Sophie in her cot, then faced Margaret.

“Tell me honestly—do you even like me?”

Margaret blinked.

“What a question! I tolerate you well enough.”

“Tolerate?”

“As one does a daughter-in-law. Tom chose you—his mistake.”

“And if he’d chosen Lucy?”

Margaret considered.

“Lucy’s different. Refined, educated. Good family.”

“And I’m not?”

“Well… Your mum raised you alone. It shows.”

Emily clenched her fists.

“How?”

“You lack… backbone. Lucy will support James’s career. You? You’ve made Tom soft.”

Tom finally snapped.

“That’s it! Emily, let’s pack.”

Margaret paled. “Don’t be foolish, Tom!”

But Emily was already filling a suitcase. Tom hesitated, torn.

From the living room came gleeful chatter—James and Lucy arranging furniture, Margaret offering advice.

“They’re planning their new life,” Emily said coldly. “While you still waver.”

Tom swallowed. “Mum’s right—it’s her flat.”

Emily whirled around.

“Mum, mum, mum! What am I? What’s Sophie? Are we nothing?”

He said nothing. She zipped the suitcase, lifted Sophie.

“Tom, choose. Us or her.”

“You can’t mean that!”

“I do. I won’t be second-best anymore.”

She marched out. The room fell silent.

“Emily, where are you going?” Margaret demanded.

“To my mother’s. Thanks for nothing.”

Tom stood frozen as the door slammed.

On the landing, Emily paused. Muffled voices bled through the door—someone was crying. Probably Tom.

She didn’t look back. Cradling Sophie, she descended the stairs. Ahead lay uncertainty, struggle, perhaps loneliness.

But at least now, no one would decide for her. **Sometimes, losing a battle teaches you how to win the war.**