My brother James got married six years ago. Since then, neither I nor our parents have ever set foot in their home. Every holiday, birthday, or family gathering takes place at our parents’ spacious house on the outskirts of Manchester. Mum cooks mountains of food, sets the table, and still sends James and his wife Emily home with containers full of homemade pies and roast dinners.
When James first married, Emily’s birthday came around a few months later. Mum, full of enthusiasm, decided to surprise her: we bought a cake, picked out a lovely gift, and prepared to visit. Mum called Emily to warn her, but she coldly replied that she had no plans to celebrate. Mum, unwilling to back down, insisted:
*”We’ll just pop round for tea and cake! You don’t have to lift a finger, love!”*
In the end, we went anyway. But instead of a warm welcome, we were shocked: Emily met us outside, muttering that the flat *“wasn’t tidy,”* and refused to let us in. Stunned, we handed over the cake and gift right there on the doorstep and left. Since then, every celebration has been at Mum’s, and we’ve tried to forget that awkward moment.
Once, Emily outright told my parents:
*”You’ve got a big house—plenty of room for guests! Ours is just a one-bed—where would we even put everyone?”*
I barely held my tongue. Surely a one-bed flat isn’t too small to host your husband’s parents and sister? It’s not a crowd—just three people! But we stayed quiet, not wanting to stir trouble.
Now Emily is pregnant, five months along. This will be my parents’ first grandchild, and Mum is beside herself with excitement. She keeps calling James, asking how Emily’s feeling, if she needs anything. But we recently found out that Emily quit her job early in the pregnancy. Mum panicked:
*”Is she unwell? Does she need help?”*
James reassured her—Emily’s fine, just *”taking it easy.”* We were baffled. James and Emily have always lived lavishly: fancy restaurants, holidays abroad, designer clothes. They don’t even have a mortgage—the flat was left to Emily by her gran—so they splurged freely. But now, with Emily not working, money’s tight, and their usual lifestyle is slipping away. James tried explaining they should cut back, but Emily won’t let go of her luxuries.
She admitted she quit for fear of *”catching something at work.”* Her caution makes sense, but their budget is crumbling, and she still expects the same indulgences. Then, amid all this, James unexpectedly invited us over—to their place—for his birthday. Home! We were stunned. Dad even joked:
*”Will I finally get to taste my daughter-in-law’s cooking?”*
Mum was thrilled, imagining a proper family evening. I called Emily to sort details but was met with hysterics. Sobbing, she said she didn’t want us over:
*”I’d have to clean, cook! I’m pregnant—I can’t manage it!”*
I tried calming her:
*”Em, it’s nothing fancy. Roast some potatoes, toss a salad, bake a chicken—that’s it. We’ll bring the cake. It’s just dinner for five. What’s the problem?”*
I even suggested ordering takeaway to make it easier. But Emily kept whining about *still* having to scrub floors and tidy. I snapped:
*”Em, it’s a one-bed flat! How much cleaning could there be? Do you only mop when guests come?”*
Finally, I gave an ultimatum:
*”If you really don’t want us, we won’t come. We’ll call James and wish him happy birthday. End of.”*
Mum agreed when I told her. But when we explained it to James, he exploded:
*”Emily’s at home all day! Can’t she cook one meal and hoover for once? You’re coming! We can’t afford cleaners or takeaways—she can manage!”*
His words hung in the air like storm clouds. Now we’re all at odds. The thought of going to James’ birthday, seeing Emily sulk and roll her eyes, makes our stomachs turn. Who wants to feel unwelcome in their own brother’s home?
Yet it breaks my heart to think of disappointing James. He’s been looking forward to this, to finally hosting his family. How can we just not show up? It’s his day—he doesn’t deserve to suffer for his wife’s moods. We’re stuck: swallow our pride and go, risking a miserable evening, or refuse and crush James’ heart.
There’s no easy answer, but time’s running out. It makes you wonder—when does love for family outweigh the need for peace? Sometimes, the hardest choices aren’t between right and wrong, but between two kinds of hurt.
