Oh, listen to this—Marina just had the absolute worst conversation with her husband, Oliver. He came home with this heavy sigh, like he was picking his words like he was scared they’d shatter. “Marina, love, I’ve got some bad news,” he starts. “Mum’s not doing well at all. Eighty-five—that’s no joke, is it? She needs full-time care now. She can’t manage on her own anymore.”
Marina just shook her head, staring out the window at the dreary streets of Manchester. “Honestly, Oliver, I saw this coming a mile off. Have you spoken to your brother? You’ll have to hire a carer—there’s no other way.”
“Yeah, I rang Simon this morning,” Oliver nodded, rubbing his temples. “But a carer costs a fortune. And I don’t fancy letting some stranger look after Mum. She needs family, someone she trusts.”
Marina frowned. “So you’re saying we take turns, then? What about Lydia, Simon’s wife? Is she on board? She’s so… delicate, I doubt she’d want to deal with a poorly person.”
Oliver waved a hand. “No, Simon decided not to bother Lydia. You know how sensitive she is—she’d crumble seeing Mum like this. We talked it over, and… well, we think you should quit your job and take care of her.”
Marina felt like the air had been punched out of her. The world just… stopped. She worked at the local primary school, just a few years off her pension, and the thought of throwing it all away to play nurse to her mother-in-law? Nightmare.
“Oliver, I need time to think,” she managed, voice shaky. “If I quit, I lose my pension contributions. My salary. Everything. This isn’t just—this isn’t nothing!”
“Don’t worry about money,” Oliver said firmly. “Simon and I sorted it. You’re the best option. Mum won’t accept a stranger—you know how she is.”
“Oliver, I’m not exactly in peak health myself!” Marina shot back, frustration bubbling up. “I’ve been counting down to retirement just to finally live for me. Looking after an elderly person is backbreaking work! And you and Simon just decided for me. How am I supposed to handle Vera Margaret on my own?”
“We’ll manage, Marina,” Oliver said, but he sounded exhausted. “Simon and I will help. And don’t forget—we live in the flat Mum gave us. Maybe it’s time you showed a little gratitude.”
Oh, that stung. Vera Margaret had signed the flat over to Oliver when they got married. It was only ever in his name, but she never let Marina forget she’d “married up.” “Lucky you, Marina, landing in our family! You came from nothing—your parents from some backwater village. If it weren’t for Oliver, you’d still be stuck in that dump,” she’d say, dripping with barely hidden disdain.
Oliver’s whole family treated Marina like she was… less. Too plain, not ambitious enough, not one of them. But Lydia? Oh, Vera Margaret adored her. Sweet-talking her, lavishing her with designer gifts.
Gold earrings for Lydia, cheap supermarket moisturiser for Marina. A posh handbag for Lydia, a tatty old scarf for Marina. Marina begged her to stop giving her things, but Vera Margaret insisted—always making sure the favouritism was obvious.
When Marina tried talking to Oliver about it, he’d just shrug. “Oh, come on, it’s just how Mum is. Don’t make a fuss.”
Even with the grandkids, it was uneven. Vera Margaret doted on Simon and Lydia’s son, Daniel, and barely glanced at Marina and Oliver’s daughter, Emily. Even now, with Emily off at uni in Edinburgh, she hardly called, wrapped up in her own life.
Marina refused to cave. She took a month’s leave from work to trial the caregiving, telling Oliver, “One month. Then we figure it out properly. It’s not fair to dump this all on me.”
“Fine,” Oliver agreed. “But one more thing—Mum can’t be left alone in her flat. She’s moving in with us. It’s easier.”
Marina sighed. “Fine. One month, Oliver. Don’t forget.”
The next day, Vera Margaret was installed in their home. Barely mobile, bedridden, the flat reeked of antiseptic, the air thick with exhaustion.
Oliver fussed over his mother, barking orders at Marina: “Fluff her pillows again, she’s uncomfortable!” “Make her dinner and feed her—she can’t do it herself!” “Make sure she takes her pills—that’s on you now!”
Marina tried, but she wasn’t young either, and Vera Margaret? Impossible. Knocking over soup, hiding pills, complaining nonstop.
A week in, Simon and Lydia dropped by, inspecting the flat like inspectors, barely acknowledging Marina. Simon fretted over Vera Margaret: “Mum, how are you holding up? Marina treating you alright? Tell me if she’s slacking.”
Vera Margaret sighed dramatically. “Oh, darling, who wants a sick old woman? Marina acts like I’m a burden. No care in her work. I hinted I fancied a roast, and she reheated yesterday’s pasta!”
Marina snapped from the kitchen: “We had soup left! I’ll make a roast tomorrow—no point wasting food!”
Lydia gasped. “How could you? Fresh meals every day—that’s basic! You’re not even working—what’s your excuse?”
“I’m busy enough as it is,” Marina hissed. “When it’s your turn, do it your way. Maybe you’ll do better.”
Lydia recoiled. “I can’t! I work! I’ve no clue about caregiving!”
Simon and Lydia left without lifting a finger.
Three weeks later, Marina’s leave was ending. Oliver and Simon had “decided”—Marina would quit, care for Vera Margaret full-time, and in return, she’d get the flat in the will.
“No, Oliver!” Marina exploded. “I’m done. I’m wrecked after a month—I won’t survive years! I don’t want the flat at that price—I want peace!”
Oliver scoffed. “Peace? What about Emily? Don’t you want to help her?”
“Your mum could live another decade, and I’d be dead first!” Marina shot back. “Sell the flat, split the money—Emily gets her share.”
“Half isn’t enough!” Oliver snapped. “And carers cost a fortune. Your pitiful salary’s peanuts—staying home’s better for you. Just agree.”
“No,” she said. “Final answer.”
Oliver fumed, but for once, Marina stood her ground.
Then—she did the unexpected. Quietly rented a tiny flat in Manchester and left. Emily backed her, promising to help with rent.
Oliver scrambled to hire a carer—no way was he stepping up.
And Marina? Lost the so-called “family,” but found something better—freedom. For the first time in years, she was living for herself.
