Today, however, Margaret decided to wrap up her workday about an hour and a half earlier than her usual schedule. It was a special occasion—her husband Nick’s birthday—and she had a long list of preparations to ensure the evening’s celebration would be perfect. “Sarah,” she called out to her coworker, her voice carrying a hint of urgency, “I’m heading out early today. It’s Nick’s birthday, so I’ve got to get things ready. Just a heads-up, okay?” With a familiar flick of her wrist, she untied her apron, shaking off stray hairs that clung to the fabric.

Sarah, her fellow stylist, was in the middle of crafting an elaborate updo for a curvy regular client, her hands moving deftly through the woman’s thick locks. She gave a curt nod, her expression a mix of focus and indifference. “Got it,” she mumbled, barely looking up. But as Margaret began packing her scissors and combs into her worn leather case, Sarah caught the movement out of the corner of her eye.

She paused, her comb hovering mid-air, and called out, “Hey, Margaret, just keep your cool tonight, alright? Don’t let that mother-in-law of yours—Patricia—get under your skin. You know how she is.”
Margaret managed a small, tight smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t let her,” she replied, though her tone betrayed a flicker of doubt.

Patricia, or “Gargoyle Patty” as Margaret privately nicknamed her, was Nick’s formidable mother. She had an unparalleled talent for dismantling anyone’s confidence with a few well-aimed words, her sharp tongue slicing through egos like a hot knife through butter. Margaret had been on the receiving end of Patricia’s verbal assaults more times than she cared to count, each encounter leaving her feeling like a scolded child. Yet, there was no escaping Patricia today. It was Nick’s birthday, a day she knew her mother-in-law would never miss, and Margaret was bracing herself for the inevitable clash.

Despite the looming challenge, Margaret was determined to make the day special for Nick. She wanted to be the perfect wife, to create a celebration that would bring a smile to his face and perhaps, for once, earn a nod of approval from Patricia. Being the perfect wife, however, meant catering to Patricia’s every whim, fussing over her like a doting servant, and anticipating her endless demands. It was exhausting, but Margaret was used to it. After tidying her station, she grabbed her purse and headed out, her mind already racing through the tasks ahead. Her first stop was a bakery on the far side of town, where she needed to pick up the specific cake Patricia had insisted on for “her precious boy.”

Patricia’s health issues—chronic back pain and strict doctor’s orders—prevented her from making the trip herself, so the task fell to Margaret. “You’re young, you can handle it,” Patricia had said dismissively over the phone the previous day, her voice dripping with entitlement. Margaret didn’t argue; she never did. She was used to being the one to “handle it,” whether it was fetching cakes, running errands, or enduring Patricia’s critiques. As she stepped onto a crowded city bus, clutching her purse tightly against the jostle of passengers, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She fished it out, glancing at the screen. It was Nick.

“Hey, honey,” Nick’s voice came through, smooth and warm, like a familiar melody that could still make her heart skip. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up. I invited Laura and Victor over tonight for the party. Hope that’s okay with you.”

Margaret froze, nearly dropping her phone as she wedged herself into the last empty seat. Her stomach churned. Laura was Nick’s ex-wife, and Victor, Laura’s current husband, was Nick’s boss at the supply company where they all worked. The invitation was a bombshell, and Margaret’s mind raced with objections. Of course, she minded.

The thought of Laura in her home, with her smug smile and polished demeanor, made Margaret’s skin crawl. And Victor, always looming with his corporate authority, only added to the tension. But she couldn’t say no—not when Nick’s promotion to head of the supply department was on the line. A promotion meant more stability, a better life for them and their son, Charlie. Swallowing her frustration, she forced her voice to stay even. “Fine, let them come,” she said, her tone flat, almost hollow.

Nick sensed her unease. “Margaret, come on, don’t overthink it,” he said, his voice softening. “You know Laura and I are ancient history. That’s all done. Victor’s the key to my promotion right now, and this visit could seal the deal. Besides, you’re my secret weapon. Your cooking’s going to blow them away. You always make everything perfect.”

Margaret’s cheeks flushed at the compliment, despite herself. Nick had a way of slipping past her defenses, his voice carrying a hypnotic charm that could soothe her doubts, if only for a moment. “Alright, fine,” she relented, her tone warming slightly. “It’s your day, after all. I’ll make it work.”
“Love you,” Nick said before hanging up, leaving Margaret staring out the bus window at the blur of Chicago’s streets.

The news of Laura and Victor’s visit gnawed at her as the bus rumbled along. The three of them—Nick, Laura, and Victor—worked at the same company, though in different roles. Nick had started as a supply clerk, back when he was married to Laura, the company’s sharp-minded accountant. Their marriage had seemed solid, built on shared ambitions and late-night talks about their future. But when Victor arrived as the new manager, with his tailored suits and commanding presence, Laura saw a better opportunity. She left Nick for Victor, believing he offered greater prospects for her own career and lifestyle. The divorce had shattered Nick, who had loved Laura deeply, leaving him to pick up the pieces of his broken heart.

That was nearly eight years ago, a lifetime in some ways. Back then, Nick was a regular at Margaret’s salon, coming in twice a month for a trim. He’d sit in her chair, his broad shoulders slumped, and pour out his heartbreak—Laura’s betrayal, the humiliation, the loneliness. Margaret, with her warm smile and natural gift for listening, became his confidante. She’d coax him out of his despair, offering gentle advice and a steady presence.

“You’re stronger than this, Nick,” she’d say, her hands working through his hair. “You’ll find your way.” Over time, her kindness and empathy worked their magic, helping him heal. Somewhere along the way, Margaret fell for him, captivated by his vulnerability and charm. Nick seemed to return her feelings, and they built a life together, complete with their son, Charlie, now seven years old.

But a lingering question haunted Margaret: did Nick truly love her, or was he simply letting himself be loved? The doubt crept in during quiet moments, especially at company parties where she accompanied him. She’d catch Laura’s piercing glances at Nick, her eyes lingering too long, and worse, she’d notice Nick’s gaze following Laura across the room.

The unspoken tension between them was palpable, and it fueled Margaret’s insecurities. Did Laura still hold a piece of Nick’s heart? Was Margaret just a consolation prize, a safe harbor after the storm of his divorce? These thoughts swirled in her mind as she stepped off the bus, the heavy cake box in her arms, and made her way home.

At her apartment building, Margaret struggled to balance the cake while fishing for her keys. Just as she reached the entrance, the door swung open, nearly knocking her over. It was Veronica, her nosy, redheaded neighbor, her eyes wide with her usual frenetic energy. “Margaret, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” Veronica exclaimed, steadying her. “Didn’t see you there. Why so grumpy today?”
Margaret sighed, her patience fraying. “Just watch where you’re going, Veronica. I almost dropped this cake.”

Veronica’s grin widened, undeterred. “Still cutting hair at the salon? Haven’t quit yet?”
“Yeah, still there,” Margaret said, adjusting the box. “Why would I quit?”
“Oh, just something Patricia told me,” Veronica said, her voice dripping with gossip. “She said your last haircut made her look like a mangy dog. Said you might be burning out or something. You know, when you do the same thing too long, it happens.”

Margaret’s jaw tightened. Veronica, realizing she’d overstepped, flashed another toothy smile and scurried off. The comment stung, not just because of its cruelty but because Patricia had spread it to the neighbors. Patricia had never approved of Nick’s choice to marry a “mere hairstylist” after leaving Laura, the “classy accountant.” Yet, hypocritically, she only trusted Margaret to cut her hair—free of charge, with results so impeccable no one could complain. So how had Margaret supposedly botched her latest haircut? The accusation didn’t add up, but it was classic Patricia, always finding a way to undermine her.

Exhausted from the weight of the cake and the day’s mounting frustrations, Margaret trudged up to the third floor. Inside the empty apartment, she set the cake box on a table and sank into a chair, her mind a tangle of emotions. She pushed the negativity aside, determined to focus on Nick’s birthday. It was his day, and by extension, hers too. She refused to let Patricia or anyone else ruin it. She’d spent the previous evening and morning prepping food—salads, appetizers, a pork-and-potato dish that was Nick’s favorite. All that was left was to set the table and pop the main course in the oven. She got to work, arranging the mimosa salad with care, placing a final sprig of dill just so.

The front door slammed open with a force that shook the walls, a signature move that could only mean one thing: Patricia had arrived. Margaret braced herself as her mother-in-law stormed in, dragging a flushed Charlie by the collar. “Here, take your little troublemaker!” Patricia barked, her voice dripping with disdain. “He was sliding down hills at school, tore his backpack to shreds. Either he did it himself or the whole school used it as a sled. It’s beyond repair, that’s all I know. Like father, like son.”

Charlie, looking guilty, shoved the ruined backpack under a table with his foot. Margaret peeked out from the kitchen, her eyes narrowing at her son. “We’ll deal with you later, Charlie,” she said sternly. “Go change.”

Relieved to escape a scolding, Charlie darted to her side. “Mom, I’m starving! Can I eat something?”
Before Margaret could respond, Patricia, now rummaging through the fridge, pulled out a pot of soup and sneered. “What’s she gonna feed you? This place is a mess.” She stirred the soup with exaggerated disgust, her nose wrinkled as if it were toxic. Charlie, ignoring her, grabbed a caviar sandwich from the table and wolfed it down, glancing warily at his grandmother. “Mom, can I have another?”
“Wait for the guests, sweetie,” Margaret said, her patience thinning. “Have some soup for now.”

Patricia seized the moment to pounce. “Margaret, how can you let him run wild like this? It starts small—wrecking things, disrespecting you, then beating his future wife, and next thing you know, he’s in jail. Is that what you want for him?”

Margaret froze, her hands clenching the edge of the counter. Patricia was in rare form today, her venom sharper than usual. “Stop talking nonsense,” Margaret snapped, her voice low but firm. “I’ll handle Charlie. But tell me, why didn’t you like your last haircut? Veronica said you told her I butchered it.”
Patricia’s eyes glinted like cold steel. “So what if I did? You’ll lose clients, big deal. You need a real job, like an accountant. This hairstylist nonsense won’t do.”

Margaret’s blood ran hot. It all clicked: Patricia’s obsession with Laura, the accountant who drove a sleek SUV and lived a life of apparent glamour. She watched in disbelief as Patricia grabbed a fork and began stabbing at the mimosa salad, ruining the carefully arranged dill and turning the dish into a chaotic mess. The sight was infuriating, a deliberate act of sabotage. Wordlessly, Margaret yanked the plate away and shoved it into the fridge. “I’m not Laura,” she said, her voice sharp with defiance.

Patricia cut her off, her tone venomous. “Of course you’re not. Laura helps her husband succeed. You? You drag Nick down with you. She turned Victor into a big-shot director. You’ve got Nick under your thumb, ruining his career.”

Margaret shot up from her chair, fury coursing through her veins. She wanted to scream, to hurl something at Patricia’s smug face. But before she could, the front door creaked open, and a wave of sweet, floral perfume filled the air, followed by a woman’s laugh. Nick was home—and he wasn’t alone. “Hey, everybody! We’re here!” he bellowed, his voice echoing through the apartment. Margaret, dodging Patricia’s imposing figure, stormed to the entryway. Nick was kicking off his shoes, while Laura stood at the mirror, reapplying a bold shade of red lipstick. Victor was nowhere in sight.

“Victor’s tied up with clients,” Nick explained, catching Margaret’s questioning look. “Laura’s car is in the shop—timing belt issue—so I gave her a lift. Margaret, babe, could you whip up some coffee for us? We’re beat.”

Laura gave Margaret a barely perceptible nod before sashaying into the living room, pulling Nick along by the arm. Patricia, her face lighting up, greeted her like royalty. “Laura, darling! You look like a runway model! That lipstick is stunning!”

“Thanks, Patricia,” Laura purred, soaking up the praise.

“What’d you get Nick for his birthday?” Patricia asked, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. Laura launched into a glowing description of an expensive laptop, detailing its features with exaggerated enthusiasm. Patricia gasped when she heard the price, her admiration for Laura palpable. Margaret, standing off to the side, felt like an outsider in her own home. The air was thick with tension, and she was painfully aware of how out of place she seemed among them.

Nick’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Margaret, come on, the coffee? I asked five minutes ago. We’re exhausted.”

“Fine,” she muttered, pushing past him to the kitchen. “Want coffee? Take Laura to a café.”
“Margaret, don’t start,” Nick said, his tone carrying a warning. “Just make the coffee, and we’ll help with the table.”

As Margaret set the coffee pot on the stove, she overheard Laura’s voice from the living room, dripping with disdain. “Patricia, really? This spread? You should’ve booked a restaurant for Nick’s birthday. Decent people don’t eat this… stuff.” She pointed at the mimosa salad with a manicured nail, her nose wrinkled. “What even is this?”

Margaret’s face flushed with anger, her hands trembling as she gripped the counter. She was about to storm out and confront Laura when the doorbell rang. Nick bolted to answer it, Laura trailing behind, her hips swaying provocatively. Patricia jabbed Margaret’s side with a sharp elbow. “What’re you standing there for, huh? This food’s an embarrassment. Redo it—now. Nick’s almost a department head, and you’re serving this garbage?”

Before Margaret could respond, Patricia grabbed a trash bin and began dumping the carefully prepared dishes into it—appetizers, salads, everything Margaret had spent hours preparing. Stunned, Margaret watched as her work disappeared, leaving only the mangled mimosa salad on the table. “What the hell are you doing?” she shouted, grabbing Patricia’s arm to stop her.

“If you don’t like it here, take your precious Laura and get out!”
Patricia didn’t hesitate, landing a stinging slap across Margaret’s face. Tears sprang to Margaret’s eyes, but she refused to back down. She swung back, catching Patricia’s nose with a quick jab. Patricia shrieked, clutching her face. “Nick! Help! She’s attacking me!”

Nick rushed into the living room, his face a mix of confusion and alarm. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. But Margaret’s eyes locked onto his face, and her heart stopped. From his neck to his forehead, Nick’s skin was smeared with smudges of Laura’s bright red lipstick. “Go look in a mirror,” she said, her voice cold as ice, shoving him toward the hallway mirror. “She’s all over you.”
Nick glanced at his reflection and stammered, “Margaret, stop it. She just hugged me to say happy birthday. It’s nothing.”

“Hugged? She practically painted you!” Margaret tore off her apron and threw it at him, her voice trembling with rage. “Celebrate without me. You’ve got your perfect little family here.”

She stormed to the bedroom, her mind racing. Fortunately, her bags were already half-packed for a planned visit to her mother’s countryside home. She grabbed Charlie’s clothes and called, “Charlie, pack up! We’re going to Grandma’s!”

“Yay!” Charlie cheered, oblivious to the chaos.
As she headed to the kitchen for road snacks, Nick blocked her path. “Margaret, what’s this? The guests are here!”

“Everyone you need is right here,” she shot back, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. “Charlie and I are leaving.”

In the living room, Laura stood by a window, smoking a slim cigarette, her posture relaxed and smug. Margaret, clutching the mimosa salad, marched over and smashed it into Laura’s face, the yellow and green layers splattering across her pristine makeup. “Enjoy your café,” she laughed, brushing salad bits off her hands. “Find somewhere ‘decent people’ can eat.”

Victor, who had slipped in unnoticed during the chaos, stood frozen in the doorway. His eyes moved from Laura’s salad-smeared face to Nick’s lipstick-stained one, and a grim realization settled over him. He’d long suspected Laura’s infidelity, and now he had proof. By morning, he’d decided: Nick was out of a job. No need for disloyal employees.

Margaret, hand in hand with Charlie, left the apartment, her heart heavy but resolute. “Good thing I kept my old place from Grandpa,” she thought, stepping into the cool evening air. “The tenants will have to go, but I’ll manage with my salon work.” As for Nick, Laura, and Patricia, she wouldn’t see them again—until the divorce hearing. She tightened her grip on Charlie’s hand, determined to start anew, free from the weight of their judgment and betrayal.