My mum deserves to celebrate her milestone in the country house, and your shabby parents can clear out for the occasion! the husband declared.
The cottage, with its sloping roof and carved eaves, stood among ancient apple trees. It had been passed down to Emily from her parents after her grandmothers passing. Every corner held memories of her childhood, and now, shed lived here with her husband, Simon, for three years.
An evening in September painted the sky crimson. On the porch, Emily arranged teacups for their nightly ritual. Through the open door drifted the voices of her parentsDavid was telling his wife, Margaret, how hed picked the last of the greenhouse tomatoes.
Margaret, well need to dig up the carrots tomorrow, he said, wiping his hands on a tea towel. Therell be frost soon.
Quite right, David. Emily, love, could you lend a hand tomorrow? Margaret called to her daughter.
Emily nodded, pouring steaming tea into the cups. Her parents had arrived at the start of summer and since then had thrown themselves into choresDavid had mended the fence, tended the vegetable patch, while Margaret made jars of jam from the gardens gooseberries and blackcurrants. The house hummed with the comforting sounds of creaking floorboards, the scent of fresh baking, and murmured conversations over supper.
Simon appeared in the doorway, shaking raindrops from his coat. He worked as an engineer in the city, commuting daily.
David, hows the shed roof coming along? he asked, settling at the table.
Needs new boards, I reckon. The old ones are rotten through, Emilys father replied.
Simon sipped his tea in silence, occasionally nodding at his father-in-laws remarks. Emily noticed hed been distant lately, scowling at nothing in particular. After her parents turned in, hed linger by the telly, flicking through channels.
Something wrong? she asked one evening, sitting beside him.
No, nothing, Simon muttered, eyes fixed on the screen.
Emily didnt press. Men got moodyespecially in autumn. Probably just tired.
But days later, his behaviour shifted. When David offered to help fix the garage, Simon refused sharply. At supper, he barely spoke. Margaret asked if he was ill, but Emily brushed it off.
That Saturday morning, while her parents were out foraging for mushrooms, Simon cornered Emily at the sink.
Emily, we need to talk. His face was grim.
She dried her hands and turned.
Mums turning sixty soon. A proper milestone. She wants to celebrate hererelatives, friends, the lot. You know how she loves hosting.
Emily nodded. Her mother-in-law, Cynthia, adored grand gatherings, fussing for days over menus.
And what are you suggesting?
Simon hesitated, then met her eyes.
Your parents will need to leave. Just for the week. Mum wants to rearrange things, decorate. Guests will be staying overthere wont be space.
Emily froze, the tea towel clutched in her hands.
Leave? This is their home. Legally, morallytheirs.
Not forever! A few days. They could stay with your aunt or book a B&B. Options exist.
Emily hung the towel slowly, her thoughts spinning.
Simon, be serious. Youd kick my parents out for a party? Theyve done more for this house than we have!
Simon stood, stepping closer.
Emily, understand. Mums dreamed of this for years. Familys coming from all over. We cant disappoint her. And your parents wouldnt a break do them good?
My parents, Emily said coldly, live here because they bloody well belong here. No ones evicting them for a birthday bash.
Simons jaw twitchedhis telltale irritation sign.
Youre not getting it. Mums already booked caterers, a band. Its too late to cancel.
Then she can host it at her place or rent a hall.
Simons face reddened.
Listen, Emily! Stop being stubborn! Mum deserves this. Your parents can find somewhere else for a bit!
Emily gaped. What did you just say?
You heard me! Simon snapped. Cynthia worked her whole life, raised kids, never complained. Shes earned a proper celebration. Your parents? What have they achieved? Living off their daughters goodwill!
Emilys cheeks burned as if struck.
Say that again.
My mum deserves this house for her party, and your shabby parents can sod off for the week! Simon spat.
Silence rang through the kitchen. Emily stared, hands trembling but voice steady.
My parents stay. This is their home. If your mum needs a venueshell find another.
Simon slammed a fist on the table. A cup shattered.
Youre impossible! Mums planned everything! Guests, music, food! And youd ruin it over principles?
Principles? Emily bent to collect the shards. Its called respecting the people who gave me this home.
And what about respecting me? My mother? Simon paced, waving his arms. Im your husband! Doesnt my word count?
Emily straightened, porcelain shards in her palms.
Ive always valued your opinion. But you dont evict family for a party. Thats not opinionits rudeness.
Simon glared, face twisted.
Fine. Sort it yourself. Explain to Mum why her partys ruined! He stormed out, door slamming behind him.
Half an hour later, her parents returned, David carrying a basket of chanterelles, Margaret clutching a sprig of rowan berries.
Wheres Simon? Margaret asked, glancing at the empty drive.
Gone to his mothers, Emily said evenly.
David studied her. Something happen, love?
Emily bit back the truth. No need to upset them.
Cynthias birthdays coming up. Theyre planning things.
Margaret nodded. Sixtys a big one. We ought to get her a gift.
That night, Emily lay in bed, Simons words echoing. How could he say such things about the people whod welcomed him, fed him, fixed his roof?
David had worked decades as a mechanic, honest and steady. Margaret had been a nurse, tending patients through nights. Decent, hardworking people. Never a burdenalways a help.
And now Simon called them shabby. Demanded they leave.
At breakfast, Simon returnedwith Cynthia in tow, dressed for battle in a navy dress and heels.
Emily, darling, Cynthia began, lets talk properly.
Over tea, Cynthia laid out her vision: thirty guests, a live band, tables spilling into the garden.
Its impossible with others underfoot, she said delicately.
Others? Emily arched a brow.
You know what I mean. Family gatherings need space.
Margaret quietly stood, clearing plates, hands shaking.
Cynthia, Emily said coolly, this is my home. My parents live herelegally, rightfully. Theyre not in the way.
Cynthias smile tightened. Be reasonable. A week in a spa hotelour treat! Theyd adore it.
Theyd hate it, Emily said.
Simon slammed the table. Mums offering a solution, and youre being a mule!
David set down his paper, removed his glasses.
If were in the way, well stay elsewhere, he said quietly.
Dad, no. Emilys voice was steel. This is your home.
Simon stood. Choose, Emily. Either they go, or youre not invited.
Silence. Margarets tears dripped into the sink.
Then Im not invited.
Simon left, Cynthia flustered in his wake.
That evening, Emily set the porch table with her parentsDavid slicing bread, Margaret laying out homemade sausage, pickled cucumbers from her pantry. Simon didnt call.
Maybe try reconciling? David ventured. Not worth losing a husband over us.
Emily shook her head. A husband whod abandon his wife for defending her parents isnt worth keeping.
They spoke of tomorrows chores: picking the last apples, winter-proofing the roses.
As night fell, the house settled into peaceno shouting, no slammed doors. Just the rustle of autumn leaves, the distant bark of a dog.
Simon had made his choice. Placed a party above family, his mother above his wife. Let him live with it.
Emily had chosen differently. A home was where you honoured those who truly belonged. Where principles werent traded for convenience.
Some thingsdignity, loyalty, lovewere worth standing firm for. Even if it cost you a husband.
Tomorrow would bring apples, jam-making, and her parents beside herexactly where they belonged.
