A Home Without Welcome: When Mother Turned the House Into a Battlefield
The flat where we were no longer welcome: How a mother made home a warzone.
Oliver sat at his desk when the phone rang. The screen flashed his wifes name. He was surprisedshe rarely called in the middle of the day.
Hello, Emily. Is something wrong? Im a bit busy, he said, not looking up from his computer.
Its terrible, her voice trembled, choked with tears. Weve been kicked out. We dont have a home anymore!
What? Oliver shot up from his chair. Did something happen to the flat? Fire? Burglary?
The flats fine but were not allowed to live there anymore, she whispered.
Not allowed? Who could stop us from living in our own home?
Who else? Your mother! she burst out, her voice thick with pain, anger, and despair.
Years ago, they had moved to London with their childrenthe eldest was seven, the youngest five. They had started from scratch, working hard. Then came a stroke of luck: Emilys father unexpectedly inherited a flat from a distant relative in the countryside.
Live there, the old man had said. Im retired, the taxes are manageable, the flat stays in my name, but we wont interfere.
They renovated, bought furniture. It felt like home. Even though the flat wasnt legally theirs, it was theirs in every other way. Only Emily carried a lingering unease.
Were pouring everything into this place, but our names arent on the deed, she told Oliver once.
Dont worry. My parents are here. Who would kick us out? Were family.
But the worst happenedthey were evicted. Not by strangers, but by their own flesh and blood.
The trigger was Olivers fathers birthday. They visited, celebrated. The next day, his mother appeared unannounced.
Weve decided: James, your nephew, will move in with you. Hes at university, and the halls are full. You have space. And, she added coldly, the flat belongs to us, so we decide who lives there.
Emilys breath caught. But Oliver only nodded.
No problem. Theres plenty of room.
She wanted to scream but bit her lip. Not the right moment. Yet something inside her shattered that day.
James moved inand acted like he owned the place. Ate on the sofa, shouted, never cleaned. Everything he touched turned to mess. Then Olivers parents visitedto see their grandchild. And the nightmare began.
James shoes are muddy! his mother scolded. Why isnt his jacket washed? And wheres the cake?
She ordered them around like a drill sergeant. Cooked, cleaned, took over. Then, out of nowhere, she turned to Emily.
I dont understand how my son lives with someone like you. You should leave. Give up the flat.
Where would I go? Rent is expensive, the girls have their lives
Not my problem. Pack your things.
When Emily refused, his mother snapped.
Ill make Oliver see reason. Hell sign the divorce papers.
Emily packed in silence, tears streaming down her face.
Oliver found out and stormed over.
Mum, what is this? Youre throwing my wife out?
Shes unnecessary. And besidesshe drinks!
Excuse me?
I heard bottles clinking. Why hide it? I wont have someone like that under my roof. The flat is mine, so I decide.
Mum, that was James with the rubbish!
Dont blame the boy! If she shows her face here again, dont complain.
Then Ill go with her.
Even better. James has a girlfriend nowshell move in.
Oliver clenched his fists but said nothing.
Fine. Two days.
Later, he told Emily, Dont cry. Well take everythingToms helping us, weve got a garage. Itll be alright. Well buy our own place. Maybe not how we dreamed, but itll be ours.
Three days later, his mother arrived with his sister, Charlotteloaded like they were preparing for a siege. Meat, fish, tins, sacks of potatoes
Have they really moved out? Charlotte gasped.
Empty No kitchen No fridge No furniture
Put it on the balcony.
But its raining! Mum, you cant even sleep here!
Margaret Wilson dialled her sons numberhe didnt answer. The grandchildren ignored her too.
Margaret here Grandma she tried with one granddaughter, but the line only spat back:
Dont call here again!
The flat held only a grubby old sofa. And a bucket in the bathtuba symbol of a broken dream.
Six months later, Emily cooked in their new flat when the phone rang. Unknown number.
Oliver, its me Mum You wont answer Im sorry. Come back. Live here.
We already live somewhere. In our own place.
Your own place? Why do you need another? You have ours!
Yours is yours. Ours is ours.
And the grandchildren? Theyve cut me off!
They dont need anything. We have everything. Forget that flat. Were never coming back.
Oliver ended the call. That chapter was closed. And it would never be reopened.
Sometimes, the hardest goodbyes are the ones that finally set you free.
