Don’t Like My Mother? Then Leave!” Said the Husband, Never Expecting His Wife to Actually Walk Out
“If you don’t like my mother, then leave!” snapped the husband, never expecting his wife would actually do it.
Evening was drawing to a close, and the flat where Emily, her husband Thomas, and his mother Margaret usually lived was ordinarily quiet. But today had been difficult from the moment they woke. Two-year-old Oliver had been fussy, Margaret found endless reasons to complain, and Emily felt utterly drained. She did her bestcooking Margarets favourite meals, cleaning the flat, looking after Oliver. Yet nothing ever pleased Margaret.
“Emily, you folded the towels wrong *again*,” Margaret muttered as she passed the bathroom. “How many times must I tell you? The corner should face in, not out!”
Or:
“Youve dressed the child all wrong, Emily! Its chilly outside, and youve put him in that thin jumper! Hell catch cold!”
Each time, Emily sighed. She never argued, just endured, hoping things would improve, that Margaret would grow used to her, to Oliver, to their life together. Thomas, when things became unbearable, usually stayed silent. If Emily tried to complain, hed dismiss her with a shrug.
“Just ignore her, Emily. Mums old, her nerves are frayed.”
Emily had planned a surprise for their wedding anniversarya small cake, the leather belt Thomas had wanted for ages. She imagined a cosy evening, just the three of themOliver, of course, included.
On the day, dinner was nearly ready, Oliver thankfully asleep, when Margaret launched into another fitthis time over the soup being “too salty,” though it tasted perfectly fine.
“This is inedible!” Margaret shrieked, banging her spoon on the table. “Are you trying to poison us? Emily, you cant cook at all!”
Emily stood by the stove, gripping the ladle. The anniversary, the cake, the surpriseall ruined. She turned to Thomas, sitting at the table, eyes down. She waited for him to say *something*, to defend her, to end this madness. But he stayed silent.
“Thomas,” she said softly. “Arent you going to speak?”
He stood, walked slowly into the hallway. Emily followed.
“Mums right,” Thomas said, not looking at her. “You always do things wrong.”
Tears welled in Emilys eyes. That was the final straw. She stared at him; he stared at the wall.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Her voice trembled. “Its our anniversary! II cooked, I tried! And your mother”
Thomas turned sharply. No anger in his eyesjust weariness, indifference.
“If you dont like my mother, leave.”
The words were so casual, so matter-of-fact, Emily barely grasped their weight. Hed said them like advice, not a verdict. Then he walked away. Dinner was ruined. The celebration was ruined. Everything was ruined.
Emily sat on their bed, Oliver asleep in her arms. Her tears had dried, leaving salt tracks. She was stunned. *Leave.* Had he meant it? This was *their* home. *Their* family. Was he really ready to throw herand their sonaway so easily? She didnt pack. She couldnt believe this was real. It felt like a nightmare that would end by morning.
A day passed. Then another. Thomas didnt apologise. He was cold, distant. He came home from work, ate in silence, then vanished into his study or stared at his screen. Barely spoke to her. Played with Oliver mechanically, no joy left.
When Emily tried to talk, he brushed her off.
“Mums really upset. She says you insulted her.”
*”I* insulted *her?”* Emily couldnt believe her ears. “She screamed at me over *soup!”*
“Doesnt matter,” Thomas cut in. “Its up to you. Apologise first. Maybe then shell forgive you.”
No reconciliation in his wordsjust an ultimatum. And Emily understood. This wasnt her home. She was temporary. Tolerated only as long as she played her part. The moment she stopped being perfect, shed be tossed aside like rubbish. The fear shed felt that first night hardened into grim realisation. This wasnt a family. It was a one-sided loyalty game. She owed Thomas and his mother everything. They owed her nothing.
She looked at Oliver. He didnt belong here. Neither did she. This house, this airit was crushing her. Slowly, surely. And Thomas, her husband, just watched. Worsehed pushed her to the edge himself.
Thomas sat in a café with his friend Daniel, speaking slowly, weighing each word.
“Listen, mate, this thing with Em” he began. “Its a mess.”
Daniel sipped his coffee. “What now? Your mum?”
Thomas nodded.
“Yeah. Mums shes old, nerves shot. Emilys young, she should adapt. But she wont. Always some grievance, some complaint.”
He was exhausted by the endless arguments, his mothers nagging, Emilys resentment. He just wanted peace.
“I told her straight: if you dont like my mother, leave. What else could I say? Mums sacred. She raised me. Shes shes alone. Emilys never happy.”
No regret in his voicejust self-righteous anger, a craving to be rid of the problem. He wouldnt take responsibility. He wanted *Emily* to decide. To walk out. Then his conscience would stay clean. He wouldnt have “kicked her out.” Shed have “chosen” to go.
“Let her decide,” he repeated, as if convincing himself. “Im sick of it. I want peace. Come home to silence. No more complaints.”
He saw no fault in himself. *Emily* was the problem, failing to get along with his mother. He refused to admit his own inactionhis refusal to defend his wife. He just wanted the problem gone. And in his mind, the only way was for Emily to leave.
The next day, Emily rented a small one-bed flat nearby. She found it quickly, through friends. She moved out quietly, no scenes. Thomas was at work. A van came, a few trips took their essentialsher and Olivers clothes, some toys, a few books. Nothing extra. No shouting, no fights, no tears.
When Thomas got home, the flat felt strangely empty. He checked the bedroomher things were gone. The kitchen held his half-eaten dinner. A note lay on the table. Short, emotionless.
*You told me to leaveso I did. To make it easier for you.*
At the bottom, in small writing: *Olivers with me.*
Thomas read it twice. *Shed actually gone?* Hed been sure shed stay with her parents a few days, “get it out of her system,” then come back begging forgiveness. He waited for her call. A day, two, three. Nothing.
The next week, he came home to no laughter. Oliver didnt run to him shouting, “Daddy!” The flat was silent. Too silent.
He called Emily.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Fine,” she said, voice steady. No bitterness, no warmth. “Olivers asleep.”
“When when are you coming back?” Thomas asked, surprised at the crack in his voice.
“Why? You said it yourself: If you dont like it, leave. I left.”
“But I didnt think youd”
*”I* did,” Emily cut in. “And I decided. Easier for you. For me. For Oliver.”
She hung up. Thomas sat on the sofa, staring at nothing. Hed done this. Not by accident. Not by mistake. Hed pushed her out himself.
Months passed. Thomas lived alone with his mother now. The flat, once hed wanted so badly to free from “tension,” was indeed silent. Too silent.
Margaret, his mother, was never satisfied. Now all her complaints were aimed at him.
“Thomas, your posture at the table is dreadful!” she scolded. “Sit up straight!”
“Thomas, why didnt you put the tea on the coaster? I *told* you!”
“Thomas, must you eat so slowly? Ive already cleared up!”
Everything that had once annoyed Emily was now his reality. Endless lectures, pointless grudges, criticism over nothing. No one argued. No one challenged her. Just silence, broken only by Margarets voiceand her suffocating control.
He woke to her voice. Came home to it. Hed trapped himself. Hed wanted Emily gone for peace. And hed gotten itdead silence and constant dissatisfaction.
Sometimes, he spotted Emily from afar in the park with Oliver. She looked calm. Free. No shouting, no fights, no battles. Shed simply left, as hed told her to. And taken everything that made his life whole with her.
He was master of his house now. But it held no love, no joy, no warmth. Just silence and someone elses rule.
- Останні
- Популярні
Новини по днях
21 жовтня 2025
