I really don’t feel like it, but here I am, packing our things to take my son Daniel to stay with my mum, Irene. And all because yesterday, while I was out with him, my husband Steven decided to play the gracious host and let his relatives into our room—his cousin Olivia, her husband Thomas, and their two kids, Emily and Jack. The worst part? He didn’t even think to ask me first! Just casually said, “You and Daniel can stay at your mum’s; there’s plenty of space there.” I’m still fuming at the sheer nerve of it. This is our home, our room, and now I’m expected to clear out for strangers? Absolutely not. This is the last straw.
It all started when I got back from our walk. Daniel was tired and cranky, as usual, and all I wanted was to put him down for a nap and enjoy a quiet cuppa. But the moment I stepped inside, chaos. Olivia and Thomas had already set up camp in our bedroom—the one I share with Steven and Daniel. Their kids, Emily and Jack, were tearing around, scattering toys everywhere, while my things—books, makeup, even my laptop—had been shoved into a corner like I didn’t live there anymore. I stood there, stunned, and asked Steven, “What on earth is this?” He just shrugged, calm as you like, and said, “Olivia’s in town with the family and had nowhere to stay. Thought you and Daniel could pop round to Irene’s. Plenty of room there.”
I could barely breathe from sheer outrage. First off, this is our home! We both paid for this flat, furnished it together, picked out every piece. And now I’m expected to leave because his relatives fancied a city break? Second, why didn’t he even ask me? Maybe I’d have agreed if we’d talked it through properly. But no—he just dropped it on me like I had no say. Olivia didn’t even apologise. Just flashed a smile and said, “Don’t fret, love—we’ll only be a couple of weeks!” A couple of weeks? I don’t want strangers touching my things for a single day!
Thomas, Olivia’s husband, might as well have been a statue. Sat there on our sofa, sipping coffee from my favourite mug, nodding along while Olivia did all the talking. And their kids—good grief. Six-year-old Emily had already spilled juice on the rug, and four-year-old Jack seemed to think my wardrobe was the perfect hiding spot. I tried hinting this wasn’t a hotel, but Olivia just waved me off. “Oh, they’re just kids—what can you do?” Right, and I suppose cleaning up after them is my job now.
I pulled Steven aside, told him how hurt I was that he’d made such a decision behind my back. Explained that Daniel needs stability—his own bed, his own space. Dragging a three-year-old to my mum’s to sleep on a fold-out? Not ideal. But Steven just rolled his eyes. “Don’t make a fuss, love. Family helps family.” Family? So me and Daniel aren’t family? I was so angry I nearly cried. Instead, I started packing. If he thinks I’ll just put up with this, he’s got another thing coming.
Mum—Irene—was livid when she heard. “Since when does Steven decide who lives in your home?” she fumed over the phone. “Come straight here, love. Daniel’s welcome, and we’ll deal with your husband later.” Mum’s never been one to mince words; she’d have marched over and thrown them out herself. But I’m not after a scene. I just want my boy comfortable while I figure out what to do next.
As I packed, my mind raced. How could Steven just erase me and Daniel from our own lives? I’ve always tried to be a good wife—cooking, cleaning, supporting him. And he didn’t even stop to think how I’d feel, finding strangers in our bedroom. The worst part? Not even a proper apology. Just a dismissive, “Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill.” Sorry, Steven, but this isn’t a molehill. It’s a full-blown mountain taking up my side of the bed.
Right now, heading to Mum’s, I’ll admit—it’s a relief. Her place is always cosy, smelling of fresh baking, and Daniel loves playing in her garden. But I’m not letting this slide. Once we’re back, Steven and I are having words. If he wants us to be a family, he’d better start respecting me and our son. As for Olivia and Thomas? They can find a hotel or a rental. I don’t mind helping, but not at my expense—and not without my say-so.
Daniel tugged at my sleeve as I packed his toys. “Mum, are we staying at Gran’s long?” I hugged him tight. “Not long, sweetheart. Just a little while, then we’ll go home.” But deep down, I know—I’m not stepping foot back in that flat until it’s properly ours again. And Steven had better decide what matters more—his precious “hospitality” or his actual family.
