Nothing, dear Mum! You’ve got your own house now — that’s where you should live. Don’t come over unl…

“Nothing, Mum! You have your own house, don’t you? You live there. Please, only come here if we invite you.”

My mother lives in a cosy little village nestled beside a gentle river. A stretch of woodland starts just behind her garden, and when the season is right, you can pick an impressive harvest of blackberries and wild mushrooms. Since childhood, Id run through those familiar meadows with a basket in hand, drunk on the communion with nature. I married my classmate, Thomas, whose parents live just across the lane from Mum, though unlike her, they dont have access to the woods or river. So, whenever we escaped the city, wed always stay at Mums place.

Lately, somethings changed in my mothermaybe its her age, maybe jealousy over my husbandbut our family holidays have started to dissolve into arguments. Those peaceful getaways grew tense, and it was harder and harder to settle things quietly. When we stayed a few times at Thomass parents house, Mum started on them too, picking a fight with Thomass father over the most trivial things. My mother-in-law grew so furious, she shouted so loud the whole lane could hear their grievances tumbling out.

A month passed. The dust settled, and Thomas and I finally came up with a good idea: wed build our own home. Somewhere we could come and truly feel at ease, somewhere no one could get cross with anyone else.

It took ages to sort the land, but in the end, we managed. Thomass parents threw themselves into the project. His dad was at the building site every day, hammer in hand, helping however he could.

Only my mother made trouble. She showed up unannounced, giving advice, criticising how it was coming alongin short, never leaving us in peace, even there. And so, we built our house. It was nothing short of a nightmare.

A year passed and the house was finished. We hoped for a breath of peace. But nomy mother wouldnt give up her visits, accusing us of selfishness, grumbling now that she wouldnt help us anymore. She conveniently forgot that Thomas had always looked after her gardenmowing the lawn, mending the shed roof, you name it.

Then, one day, my mother said:

Why do you even come here? Stay in your fancy town houseyou only show off how well youre doing!

That was the last straw for Thomas. He walked over to Mum, calm but with a steel in his voice that made her shrink back towards the front door.

“What is it, son-in-law?”
“Nothing, Mum! Youve got your own homelive in it. Please dont come here unless we invite you. Give us a weekend off, now and then. If you need anything, just ring us. If your house is on fire, well come running!”
“What do you mean, on fire?!”

At this, Mum bolted for the garden gate. I fought back laughter watching her glance nervously about as she hustled off down the path. Thomas, after hed cooled down, put up his hands.

“Maybe that was a bit much, mentioning a fire.”
“No, it was just right!”

And together we laughed, remembering Mums face. From then on, our house was finally peaceful. Mum stopped turning up, accepted Thomass help from afar, and now keeps conversations to yes or no. I reckon she still remembers the fire…