“My mum deserves to celebrate her milestone birthday at the cottage, and your parents can just clear off for a bit!” the man snapped.
The country house, with its sloping roof and carved window frames, stood nestled among old apple trees. It had been passed down to Olivia after her grandmothers passing. Her childhood had unfolded within these walls, every corner steeped in memories. Now, Olivia lived here with her husband, Simon, for the past three years.
An autumn evening painted the sky crimson. On the porch, Olivia arranged teacups for their evening tea. Through the open door drifted the voices of her parentsPeter was telling his wife how hed picked the last of the tomatoes from the greenhouse.
“Margaret, we ought to dig up the carrots tomorrow,” her father said, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Frostll be setting in soon.”
“Of course, Peter. Olivia, love, could you lend a hand tomorrow?” her mother asked, turning to her daughter.
Olivia nodded, pouring steaming tea into the cups. Her parents had arrived at the start of summer, helping with chores ever since. Her father had mended fences, tended the vegetable patch, while her mother made jams from the gardens blackcurrants and gooseberries. The house hummed with warmththe creak of floorboards, the scent of baking, quiet conversations over supper.
Simon appeared at the door, shaking raindrops from his coat. He worked as an engineer in the city, commuting daily by car.
“Peter, hows that shed roof holding up?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.
“Needs new boards, I reckon. The old ones are rotting through,” Olivias father replied.
Simon sipped his tea in silence, occasionally nodding at his father-in-laws remarks. Olivia noticed hed been distracted lately, scowling for no reason. After her parents turned in for the night, hed linger by the telly, flicking channels.
“Everything alright?” Olivia asked one evening, settling beside him on the sofa.
“Fine. Nothings wrong,” Simon muttered, eyes fixed on the screen.
She didnt press. Men got moody sometimes, especially in autumn. Maybe he was just tired.
But days later, his behaviour shifted. When her father offered to help fix the garage, Simon refused sharplyuncharacteristically. At dinner, he barely spoke. Margaret asked if he was feeling poorly, but Olivia brushed it off.
That Saturday morning, while her parents were out gathering mushrooms, Simon cornered her in the kitchen as she washed breakfast dishes.
“Liv, we need to talk.”
She dried her hands and turned. His expression was grim.
“Mums turning sixty soon. A proper milestone. She wants to celebrate hereinvite family, friends. You know how she loves hosting.”
Olivia nodded. Her mother-in-law adored entertaining. Every holiday meant a houseful of guests, days of cooking.
“Whatre you suggesting?”
Simon hesitated, then met her eyes.
“Your parents would need to stay elsewhere. Just for a week. Mum wants to rearrange things, decorate her way. Guests’ll be staying over. There wont be room.”
Olivia stilled, the tea towel clutched in her hands. His words felt like a verdict.
“Stay elsewhere? Where? This is *my* home. Theyve every right to be here.”
“Not forever! Just a few days. They could visit your aunt or book a B&B. Theyve got options.”
Olivia slowly hung the towel, thoughts tangling.
“Simon, youre serious? Kick my parents out for a *party*? Theyve done nothing but help us. Wed be lost without them.”
He stepped closer. “Liv, *think*. Mums dreamed of this. Relatives are coming from all over. We cant disappoint her. And your parents wouldnt a break do them good?”
“*My* parents?” Her voice hardened. “Peter and Margaret live here because they *belong* here. No ones evicting them for a birthday.”
Simons jaw twitcheda sure sign he was irritated.
“Youre not listening. Mums already booked caterers, a band. Its too late to cancel.”
“Then she can host it at hers or rent a hall,” Olivia shot back, crossing her arms.
Simon flushed, fists clenching.
“Bloody hell, Liv! Stop being difficult! Mum *deserves* this. Your parents can find somewhere else!”
Olivia gaped. Shed never expected such cruelty from him.
“Say that again.”
“I mean it!” he raised his voice. “Mums worked her whole life, raised us. Shes earned a proper celebration. But yours? Whatve *they* ever done? Scraping by on pensions, living off *you*!”
Heat flared in Olivias cheeks, her breath catching.
“*Say that again*.”
“Mum deserves her party at the cottage, and your parents can *sod off* for the week!” Simon snapped.
Silence rang like shattered glass. Olivia stood frozen, hands trembling, but her voice stayed steady.
“Theyre staying. This is *their* home. If your mum needs a venue, shell find one.”
Simon slammed a fist on the table. A cup jumped, smashing on the floor.
“Youre impossible! Mums planned *everything*! Guests, music, food! Youd ruin it over *principles*?”
“Principles?” Olivia bent to collect the shards. “Its called *respect* for the people who gave me this home.”
“And what about *me*? My mum? Dont I get a say?”
“You *had* a say. But throwing my parents out isnt a *request*its disgraceful.”
Simon glared, face contorted.
“Fine. Sort it yourself. Go explain to Mum why her partys ruined!” He whirled toward the door. “Im leaving. At least *there*, Im *wanted*!”
The door slammed, windows rattling. The car engine roared, tyres spitting gravel. Olivia stood amid the wreckage of their argument, shards of porcelain in her palms.
Half an hour later, her parents returnedher father with a basket of mushrooms, her mother clutching rowan branches for a vase.
“Wheres Simon?” Margaret asked, glancing around. “His cars gone.”
“Gone to his mums,” Olivia replied, forcing calm.
Peter set the basket down, studying his daughter.
“Something wrong, love?”
Olivia nearly confessed but stopped herself. Why upset them? Let them think it was just a visit.
“Nothing serious, Dad. His mums birthdays coming up. Theyre planning a do.”
Margaret nodded. “Ah, milestones matter at that age. We ought to get her a gift.”
“Yes, Mum. We will.”
Olivia retreated to her room, clutching a pillow. Simons words echoed like hammer blows: “*Sod off*.” How could he say that? About the people whod welcomed him, fed him, *helped* him?
Peter had worked his whole life as a mechanichonest, hard graft. Margaret had been a nurse, tending patients through endless nights. Decent, humble people whod never burdened their daughter.
And now her husband called them *penniless*, demanded they *leave*?
Olivia rose, gazing out the window. Her father stacked firewood in the yard, movements steady. Her mother pegged laundry on the line. An ordinary autumn scene.
These people had raised her, given her an education, a home. Never a burden*never*. Since arriving, theyd shouldered the work: her father fixing roofs, painting fences, digging plots; her mother cooking, cleaning, *caring*.
Without them, she and Simon wouldve drowned in chores. He came home exhausted from the city; the housework fell to her. Her parents had been her lifeline.
And now he wanted them *gone*? For a *party*?
Her mother-in-law, Barbara, lived comfortably in town, running a fabric shop. Sociable, fond of gatherings, yet cold to her son and daughter-in-law. Rare visits, nitpicking over dust, meals, the bed.
Now shed decided *this* house*Olivias* homewas her perfect venue. And expected her parents to *vacate*?
Olivia clenched her fists. *No*. The house was hersher childhood, her familys history ingrained in every beam. No one dictated terms here but *her*.
If Barbara wanted a lavish bash? Fine. Rent a hall, a hotel, *anything*. Simon earned wellthey could afford it. But ejecting family? *Unthinkable*.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Simon: *”Think it over. Mums devastated.”*
Olivia deleted it, unanswered. Nothing *to* think over. Her decision stood.
At dinner, her parents asked when Simon would return. Olivia hedged*Barbaras busy, might be a while*. Peter nodded quietly, but she saw the understanding in his eyes. Margaret fretted, suggesting she call him.
“Dont, Mum. He
