“My mum deserves to celebrate her anniversary at the cottage, and your wretched parents can clear off for the time being!” snapped the man.
The countryside house, with its sloping roof and carved window frames, stood among old apple trees. It had been passed down to Emily by her parents after her grandmother passed away. Shed spent her childhood here, and every corner held memories. Now, shed been living here with her husband, Simon, for three years.
On a September evening, the sky blazed crimson. Emily was setting out teacups on the veranda for supper. Through the open door, she could hear her parents chattingher father, Peter Wright, was telling her mum about how hed picked the last of the tomatoes from the greenhouse.
“Margaret, you know we ought to dig up the carrots tomorrow,” her father said, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Frostll be setting in soon.”
“Right you are, Peter,” her mum replied. “Emily, love, will you give us a hand tomorrow?”
Emily nodded as she poured steaming tea into the cups. Her parents had come to stay at the start of summer and had been helping around the house ever since. Her father had fixed the fence, tended the vegetable patch, and her mother had made jam from the blackberries and gooseberries theyd picked in the garden. The house had settled into a familiar cosinessthe creak of floorboards, the scent of fresh baking, quiet conversations over supper.
Simon appeared in the doorway, shaking raindrops from his coat. He worked as an engineer in the city and drove in every day.
“Peter, hows the shed roof coming along?” he asked, sitting at the table.
“Needs new boards, I reckon,” Emilys father answered. “The old ones are rotten through.”
Simon sipped his tea in silence, occasionally nodding at his father-in-laws remarks. Emily noticed hed been distracted lately, frowning for no reason. When her parents went to bed, hed sit in front of the telly for hours, flipping through channels.
“Something on your mind?” Emily asked one evening, settling beside him on the sofa.
“Nothing,” Simon muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen.
Emily didnt press. Men got like this sometimes, especially in autumn. Maybe he was just tired.
But a few days later, his mood shifted. When her father offered to help fix the garage, Simon refused sharplyunlike him. At supper, he barely spoke. Margaret asked if he was feeling poorly, but Emily just brushed it off.
On Saturday morning, while her parents were out foraging for mushrooms, Simon cornered her in the kitchen as she washed up after breakfast.
“Emily, we need to talk,” he said, sitting at the table.
She dried her hands on a tea towel and turned to face him. His expression was grim.
“Mums turning sixty soon. Its a big one. She wants to celebrate here, at the house. Invite all the family, friends. You know how she loves hosting.”
Emily nodded. Her mother-in-law, Janet, adored throwing parties. Every holiday, shed cram her place full of guests, cooking for days.
“And what are you suggesting?” Emily asked.
Simon hesitated, then met her eyes.
“Your parents will have to stay somewhere else. Just for a week. Mum wants to rearrange things, decorate the place. Guestsll be staying over. There wont be room.”
Emily froze, the tea towel still in her hands. His words felt like a sentence.
“Stay somewhere else? Where? This is *my* house. Theyve every right to be here.”
“Its just temporary! They can stay with your aunt or book a B&B. Theyve got options.”
Emily slowly hung the tea towel back on the hook. Her thoughts tangled, refusing to make sense.
“Simon, are you serious? You want to kick my parents out of their own home for a party? Theyve done nothing but help us. We *couldnt* manage this place without them.”
Simon stood, stepping closer.
“Emily, listen. Mums dreamed of this for years. Familys coming from all over. I cant let her down. And your parentswhats the harm in them having a little break?”
“My *parents*?” Emilys voice turned hard. “Peter and Margaret Wright have every right to be here. No ones *evicting* them for a bloody anniversary party.”
Simons jaw tighteneda sure sign he was losing patience.
“You dont get it. Mums already booked caterers, hired a band. Its too late to back out now.”
“Then she can celebrate at *her* place or rent a hall,” Emily shot back, crossing her arms.
Simons face flushed red. He clenched his fists.
“Listen, Emily! Enough of this nonsense! Mums earned this. *Your* parents can find somewhere else to be!”
Emilys mouth fell open. She hadnt expected such cruelty from him.
“Say that again.”
“What? That my mum deserves a proper celebration while my parents-in-law”
“*My* parents have worked their whole lives,” Emily cut in, her voice trembling. “Theyve never been a burden. Theyve *helped* us!”
Simon scoffed. “Helped? They live off *your* goodwill while my mums actually achieved something!”
Emilys cheeks burned as if shed been slapped.
“Get out,” she whispered.
“What?”
“Get. Out.”
Simon stared at her, then grabbed his keys.
“Fine. Ill stay at Mums. At least there, people respect me.”
The door slammed so hard the windows rattled. His car roared to life, tyres spitting gravel.
Emily stood alone in the kitchen, gripping the broken pieces of a shattered cup.
When her parents returned half an hour laterPeter with a basket of mushrooms, Margaret with a sprig of rowan berries for the vasethey frowned at the empty driveway.
“Wheres Simon?” Margaret asked.
“Gone to his mothers,” Emily said flatly.
Peter studied her face. “Everything alright, love?”
Emily hesitated, then forced a smile. “Just some disagreement over Janets birthday plans.”
Margaret nodded sympathetically. “Ah, milestone birthdays are important. We ought to get her a gift.”
“Yeah. We ought.”
That night, as she lay in bed, Simons words echoed in her mind: *”Your wretched parents can clear off.”*
Her father had worked decades as a mechanic, honest and hardworking. Her mother had been a nurse, tending to patients through night shifts. Decent, humble people whod never once complained.
And now Simon called them *wretched*?
Emily clenched her fists. She wouldnt let this stand.
The house was *hers*. Her childhood, her familys legacy. No one had the right to dictate who belonged here.
If Janet wanted a grand party, fine. Rent a venue. But no one was kicking her parents out.
Simon texted once: *”Think about what I said. Mums heartbroken.”*
Emily deleted it without replying. There was nothing to think about.
The next morning, Simon returnedwith Janet in tow.
Dressed in her Sunday best, her mother-in-law smiled tightly. “Emily, darling, lets talk properly.”
Over tea, Janet laid out her plansthirty guests, a live band, overnight stays.
“Its just with so many people, itd be easier if your parents werent *underfoot*,” Janet said sweetly.
Emilys blood boiled. “Theyre not *underfoot*. This is *their* home.”
Simon slammed his fist on the table. “For Gods sake, Emily! Mums offering to *pay* for them to stay somewhere nice!”
Peter stood slowly, his voice steady. “If were in the way, well go.”
“No, Dad,” Emily said firmly. “Youre *not* leaving.”
Janet sighed. “Such a shame. This house wouldve been perfect.”
Simon grabbed his keys. “Fine. Well book a function room. But dont expect *us* back.”
As the door slammed again, Emily exhaled.
Her parents fretted, offering to leave anyway.
“Absolutely not,” she said. “This is your home.”
That evening, they ate supper on the verandahomegrown potatoes, fresh bread, jam from the summers berries. No shouting, no ultimatums. Just quiet, steady love.
As Emily lay in bed, listening to the wind rustle the apple trees, she realised: *this* was family. Not grand parties, but shared moments.
Simon mightve chosen differently. But she hadnt.
And she never would.
