“You’ve lost your mind, Daniel! That’s my room!” William Thompson stood in the doorway, keys clutched in his hand, unable to believe what he was seeing.
“Was yours, Uncle Will,” the teenager didn’t even glance up from his phone, sprawling across the sofa. “Now it’s mine. Mum said so.”
“What do you mean, ‘Mum’?!” William exploded. “I’m not your uncle! And where’s my bed? Where are my things?”
Daniel shrugged, still staring at his screen. “Bed moved to the conservatory, your stuff’s in boxes. Mum says you’ll manage fine out there.”
William felt the ground shift beneath him. He’d lived in this house for twenty years—that room was his refuge, his sanctuary. And now some cheeky eighteen-year-old was rearranging it as if he owned the place.
“Eleanor!” he bellowed, storming toward the kitchen. “Eleanor, get in here now!”
His wife emerged, wiping her hands on her apron. Not a trace of guilt flickered across her face. “What’s got into you, Will? Why all the shouting?”
“What’s got into me?!” William was beside himself. “Your son’s taken over my room! My things are in boxes on the conservatory floor! What on earth is this?”
“Will, calm down,” Eleanor spoke softly, but her tone was firm. “Daniel’s at university now—he needs space to study. You’ll be perfectly comfortable in the conservatory. I’ve made it cosy.”
“The conservatory?!” William gaped at her. “Ellie, have you gone mad? This is my house! My name’s on the deeds, I live here!”
“Our house,” she corrected. “And Daniel lives here too now. Permanently.”
William sank onto a chair. When they’d married two years ago, Eleanor had mentioned her son lived with his dad, visiting occasionally on weekends. He was quiet, never any trouble. William had even hoped they might bond.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was weary.
“What was there to say?” Eleanor sat opposite. “Daniel’s grown. He needs his own space. You’ll adjust.”
“Adjust…” William echoed. “Ellie, I work shifts—I need proper sleep. The conservatory’s freezing in winter, stuffy in summer.”
“You’ll get used to it. Danny’s a good lad—he won’t bother you.”
William studied his wife. Two years ago, she’d been his lifeline—a kind-hearted, striking woman in her mid-forties, an accountant who cooked like a dream. They’d met in the park, where she fed pigeons as he read his paper.
“I have a son,” she’d said then. “Lives with his father, but visits sometimes.”
“That’s fine,” William had replied. “I like kids.”
And he did. He rarely saw his own daughter, Emily—his ex made sure of that. At first, Daniel seemed decent—polite, unobtrusive.
“Listen, Ellie,” William tried again, keeping calm. “Maybe we could reorganise? A pull-out sofa in the lounge for Daniel, my room stays mine?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Daniel needs quiet for his studies. All you do is watch telly.”
“All I do is watch telly…” Something inside him cracked. “Ellie, I come home exhausted—I need proper rest.”
“You’re selfish, Will. Always thinking of yourself. I have a son—he comes first.”
William stood and walked to the conservatory. There it was: his bed, boxes stacked beside it. The room was glazed, but damp seeped through. He sat on the mattress, head in hands.
That evening, Daniel wandered into the kitchen for dinner. William sipped his tea.
“Daniel,” he began evenly. “Let’s talk, man to man. Maybe we can sort this properly?”
“Sort what?” Daniel grabbed yoghurt from the fridge. “I’ve got my room, you’ve got yours. Fair’s fair.”
“My room’s a glorified greenhouse,” William pointed out.
“So? More space for you and Mum.”
“Daniel, I get university’s important. But you can’t just bulldoze people. We could’ve discussed this.”
Daniel smirked. “What’s to discuss? You’re not family—just Mum’s husband. For now.”
“For now?” William stiffened.
“Well, you’re not exactly forever, are you?” Daniel shrugged. “Mum’s still got her looks. Could do better.”
William’s face burned, but he held back. No use making a scene.
“Daniel, I respect your mum—and you. But this is my house.”
“Not anymore.” Daniel yawned. “Mum says everything’s joint after marriage.”
“We married in my house,” William reminded him.
“Law’s the law.”
William gave up. The boy wasn’t budging.
Next day, he tried Eleanor again. “Ellie, I’m serious. The conservatory’s unbearable. Can’t we—”
“Will, stop whinging,” she cut in, stirring soup. “Daniel’s a student—he needs stability. You’re a grown man—cope.”
“Cope?!” William snapped. “I’m a plant supervisor—if I’m sleep-deprived, people could get hurt!”
“Don’t be dramatic.” She eyed him coldly—a look he’d never seen before. “My son matters more than your comfort.”
“Ellie—”
“That’s final. Don’t like it? Leave.”
He stared, heart sinking. Where was the woman who’d rubbed his shoulders after late shifts? Who’d laughed over shepherd’s pie and called him her rock?
That night, Daniel blasted music while William tried sleeping post-nightshift.
“Turn it off!” He knocked.
“Can’t hear you!” Daniel shouted back.
“I said turn it off! People are trying to sleep!”
The door swung open. Daniel grinned.
“Sleep in the kitchen, then. Quieter there.”
“I can’t sleep on the bloody kitchen floor!”
“Then buy your own place,” Daniel said. “This one’s taken.”
“You little—!” William stepped forward—but Daniel slammed the door, yelling, “Mum! He’s trying to hit me!”
Eleanor rushed in. “Will! Why are you shouting at a child?”
“A child?!” William choked. “Ellie, he’s eighteen—a grown bloke! And he’s kicked me out of my own bedroom!”
“He’s studying!”
“He’s gaming all night!”
“Not your concern,” she said icily. “If you’re unhappy, go.”
“This is my home,” he whispered.
“Our home. And my son lives here.”
Defeated, William sat on the sofa. How wrong he’d been about her.
The next evening, he found new locks on his old bedroom door. Daniel smirked from inside.
“Why the locks?” William asked Eleanor.
“Danny wanted privacy. Says you barge in.”
“I walked into my own room.”
“His room now.”
William sat silently at the kitchen table. Then he stood, heading to the conservatory to pack.
“What are you doing?” Eleanor asked.
“Leaving.”
“Don’t be silly. It’s just the conservatory.”
“I won’t sleep in a greenhouse in my own house,” he said flatly. “Seems it’s not mine anymore.”
“Where will you go?”
“My dad’s. He’s got space.”
“And the house?”
“Enjoy it. You’ve already claimed it.”
Eleanor said nothing. Daniel peeked out.
“About time,” he said. “Always in the way.”
William looked at them both. Eleanor turned away.
“Right,” he murmured. “Best of luck, then.”
He slung his bag over his shoulder. At the door, he paused.
“Ellie… I really loved you.”
“And I loved you,” she said, not meeting his eyes.
“Loved,” he repeated. “Now Daniel comes first.”
“Children always do.”
“Even before family?”
“Family’s me and Danny,” she said. “You were… temporary.”
William nodded and stepped out. The lock clicked behind him.
On the landing, he swallowed hard. Yesterday, he’d had a home, a wife, a life. Now he stood with a bag like some evicted lodger.
He dialled his father.
“Dad? Can I stay a while?”
“Course, son. What happened?”
“Tell you when I get there,” William said, trudging downstairs.
Inside, Daniel was already phoning mates, planning a party to celebrate the “annoying stepdad’s” departure.
