James arrived in a rickety bus, bouncing along the dusty roads toward his parents’ cottage on the outskirts of York. His chest tightened with dread—he was about to deliver news that would shatter their world. He was divorcing his wife, Emily. But what awaited him at home struck him like a thunderbolt. His elderly parents, whom he’d always seen as the picture of a stable marriage, announced their own divorce, eclipsing his confession entirely. Now, James stood frozen, a storm of guilt, fear, and confusion raging inside him.
Telling them about the divorce hadn’t been easy. He could’ve stayed silent, but gossip in their small village spread like wildfire. Emily might call them in anger, or his siblings might let it slip. Better to tell them himself, he reasoned—no apologies later. Life was unpredictable, and mistakes happened.
James climbed the familiar porch steps and rang the bell. His father, William Carter, opened the door, face grim, as if he already knew why James had come.
“Evening,” William muttered. “About time you showed up. Come in.”
“Hi, Dad,” James replied, unease prickling his neck. Had someone already told them? “Is Mum home?”
“Right here,” William snapped. “Where else would she be? Sat there like Lady Muck.”
“What’s going on?” James frowned. “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’ve had enough!” William suddenly barked, turning on his heel and storming into the living room.
Bewildered, James followed. His father collapsed onto the sofa, arms crossed. His mother, Margaret, wasn’t in her usual spot knitting. He peeked into the bedroom—there she was, by the window, face like a thundercloud.
“You’re back?” she said coldly. “Have you left Emily, or just planning to?”
“How do you know?” His heart lurched. “Why are you asking?”
“Because I need to know if you’ve already rented a flat!” she snapped.
“What flat?” He was lost.
“The one you’ll live in after the divorce!” she said sharply.
“Not yet,” James admitted. “But how did you hear about the divorce?”
“We heard,” Margaret said darkly. “Well, son, hurry up and find a place—I’m moving in with you!”
“What?” He stared, stunned.
“No!” William bellowed from the living room, appearing in the doorway, red-faced. “I’m the one living with James! You stay here—the house is in your name!”
“Over my dead body!” Margaret shrieked. “I won’t stay in this place another day, stinking of your stubbornness!”
“Hold on!” James looked between them. “What are you on about? Where are you going?”
“Wherever you go!” William declared. “Good on you, son, thinking of divorce now! Bloody brilliant timing!”
“Why brilliant?” James felt the ground shift under him.
“Because your mother and I are divorcing too!” William blurted.
“What?!” James went rigid. He’d expected lectures, not this bombshell.
“Enough!” William roared. “You’re a grown man—I don’t owe anyone anything. Your mother and I are sick of each other, just like you and Emily. I’m moving in with you—just us men!”
“No, I’m moving in with James!” Margaret cut in. “You’re useless, but he still needs me. He’ll starve without a woman. Right, love? You still like my roast dinners?”
“And I can’t cook?” William scoffed. “I’m better than any chef—full Sunday roast, shepherd’s pie, no problem!”
“Ha!” Margaret sneered. “When’s the last time you cooked? Before the Queen’s Jubilee?”
“So what? Men can manage just fine—all we need’s a washing machine, microwave, and a big fridge to stock up!”
“You’re teaching him nonsense!” Margaret hissed.
“Stop it!” James roared. “Have you lost your minds? You’re nearly eighty, squabbling like toddlers! Look at yourselves!”
“And what about you?” they shouted together. “Pushing fifty, acting like a schoolboy! Don’t you dare scold us! Pick who you’re taking with you!”
“Who said I’m leaving anywhere?” James snapped. “Emily and I have our own house!”
“What?” Margaret blinked. “But you’re divorcing!”
“Says who?”
“Emily did! Your sister said you called and told her!”
“I’m not divorcing!” James said firmly. “It was a joke!”
“A joke?” William deflated. “So your mother and I got all worked up over nothing? You ruined our plans?”
“Yes, James,” Margaret grumbled. “Not funny at all. Got us all excited for a fresh start, and now—just a joke? Fine, we’ll stay put… for now.”
“But listen,” she added, “if you change your mind and *do* divorce, your father and I are first in line to move in. Got it?”
“Got it,” James muttered. He understood now—divorcing Emily was off the table. “I’ll head off.”
“Where?” Margaret fussed. “You didn’t come just to chat. Fancy some tea?”
“Not hungry,” he waved her off. “Just wanted to check on you. Seems I was right to. Stop fighting. You’re supposed to be our role models, and look at you. Christ. See you later.”
As soon as the door clicked shut, his parents exchanged glances and sighed in relief.
“Did it work?” William whispered.
“Think so,” Margaret said uncertainly. “Long as Emily doesn’t take too long to make up with him.”
“She won’t,” William sighed. “Your sister said *he* wanted the divorce. Means he’ll be the one crawling back.”
“God willing,” Margaret murmured, picking up her knitting. “Now off you pop.”
“What for?”
“You bragged about your cooking. Prove it. Fry me some chips—haven’t had proper ones in ages.”
“Fine,” William grinned. “I’ll make ’em so good, you’ll lick the plate.”
James trudged home, mind racing. *Did they fake all that to stop me leaving Emily?* Their love—their cunning—had given him a second chance. But fear lingered: *What if I lose my family anyway?*
