When Lillian returned from work, she sensed something was off immediately. The flat felt unsettling—shoes lined up too neatly, the kitchen thick with the scent of soup, the light softer than usual. But the real shock? Her husband, Edward, greeted her with a bouquet of roses. Flowers? From Edward? At night? For no reason?
“Don’t scare me like this,” she said, muscles tensing. “What’s wrong?”
He hesitated, then flashed a too-casual smile. “Just wanted to spoil my wife. Must there always be an ulterior motive?”
“There usually is with you,” she shot back.
Edward ladled soup into bowls and urged her to eat. But suspicion coiled in Lillian’s chest like a spring.
“Lil,” he blurted, “Mum’s coming.”
She froze.
“Where?”
“To town. She’s staying at a hotel, relax. Just visiting.”
Lillian clenched her jaw. His mother—Margaret—and a *hotel*? Laughable. The woman had thrown a fit at their wedding when they suggested she stay in one, screeching about filthy sheets, bedbugs, and the risk of theft—or worse. They’d given up their own flat that night just to appease her, only for Margaret to later accuse Lillian of disrespect, threaten to “whisper sense” into Edward, and demand the wedding gift back before storming off. A year later, she’d returned unannounced, lugging suitcases like an invading army.
So Lillian didn’t believe for a second this visit was harmless. And when Edward fidgeted under her gaze, she decided—time to take charge.
Tailing him was easy. He took a cab; she followed in her car. The hotel loomed ahead. She slipped inside, noted the room number, crept up to the second floor, and pressed her ear to the door.
“*Mum, Lillian won’t like this,*” Edward hissed.
“Why must she know?” Margaret trilled. “It’s just a catch-up with an old friend! You’ve not seen Charlotte since school—and she’s *stunning* now! Business, money, everything going for her. Still single, by the way. And she never got over you!”
Lillian’s blood ran cold. *Charlotte.* The girl Edward had been mad for in school. The one who’d turned up pregnant by some mystery man, prompting Margaret to force Edward to cut ties.
Then—a tap on her shoulder.
She spun to face a polished woman in her forties.
“Sorry, who are you?”
“Lillian. Edward’s wife. Margaret’s daughter-in-law.” She smiled, sharp as a blade. “And you must be Charlotte. Lovely. I’ve always adored combat sports—wrestling, sparring, boxing… Sometimes you just *ache* to clock someone. Like now.”
She eased off one shoe, weighing it in her palm. Charlotte stumbled back.
“You—you have children?”
“A daughter. At home.” Lillian’s grin widened. “Run along now.”
Charlotte fled.
The door flew open. Margaret gaped. “Where’s Charlotte?”
“Gone. Sent her regards. Her *daughter* was waiting.”
Edward appeared behind her. Lillian leveled him with a glare.
“Well? Coming with me, or do I need to fetch Charlotte back?”
He sighed. “Let’s go home.”
“*Edward!*” Margaret wailed. “You’re leaving me here?”
Lillian stepped between them, peeling Margaret’s grip from his arm.
“Yes. And if he doesn’t, he loses *both* his wife and this flat.” She leaned in, baring her teeth. “Try this again, Margaret, and I’ll bite your nose off. *With these.*”
She snapped her teeth an inch from Margaret’s face, brandished her shoe, and turned. Edward swept her into his arms.
“Hey! What—”
“Carrying my wife home,” he said, grinning. “She’s a bloody champion.”