**A Home Without Welcome: When Mother Turned the House Into a Battlefield**
The flat where we were no longer welcome: How my mother made our home a warzone.
I was at my desk when the phone rang. My wifes name flashed on the screenunusual for her to call in the middle of the day.
“Hello, Emily. Is everything alright? Im a bit busy,” I said, barely glancing up from my work.
“Something awfuls happened,” her voice shook, thick with tears. “Weve been thrown out. Weve got no home left!”
“What?!” I shot up from my chair. “Is it the flat? Fire? A break-in?”
“The flats fine but were not allowed to live there anymore,” she whispered.
“Not allowed? Who on earth can stop us from staying in our own home?”
“Who do you think? Your mother!” The words burst out, raw with hurt and anger.
Years ago, wed moved to London with the kidsour eldest was seven, the youngest five. Wed started from scratch, worked hard. Then a stroke of luck: Emilys father inherited a flat in the countryside from a distant relative.
“Live there,” hed said. “Im retired, the taxes are manageable. The flat stays in my name, but we wont interfere.”
We renovated, bought furniture. Made it ours. Even if the deed wasnt in our names, it was home. Still, Emily couldnt shake the unease.
“Were pouring everything into this place, but were not on the deeds,” shed told me once.
“Dont worry. My parents are here. Whod ever throw us out? Were family.”
But it happenedworse than we imagined. We were forced out. Not by strangers. By our own flesh and blood.
The trigger was Dads birthday. We went, celebrated. The next day, my mother appeared at our door.
“Weve decided,” she announced. “Your cousin James is moving in. Hes at university, the halls are full. Youve got space. And,” she added coolly, “the flats ours anyway, so we decide who lives there.”
Emily went pale. I just nodded.
“No problem. Theres room.”
She bit her lip, said nothing. Not the right moment. But something in her broke 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 my parents visited. To see their “grandson.” And the nightmare began.
“James shoes are filthy!” Mum scolded. “Why isnt his jacket washed? And wheres the cake?”
She bossed Emily around like a drill sergeant. Cooked, cleaned, took over. Then, out of nowhere:
“I dont know how my son tolerates someone like you! You should leave. Let us have the flat.”
“Where would I go? Rents are sky-high, the girls have school”
“Not my problem. Pack your things.”
When Emily refused, Mum snapped.
“Ill make sure William signs the divorce papers.”
Emily packed in silence, tears streaming down her face.
I found out and stormed over.
“Mum, whats this?! Youre throwing my wife out?”
“Shes unnecessary. And besidesshe drinks!”
“Excuse me?!”
“I heard bottles clinking. Why hide it? I wont have that under my roof. The flats mineI decide.”
“Mum, that was James with the recycling!”
“Dont blame the boy! If she shows her face here again, dont complain.”
“Then Im going with her.”
“Even better. James has a girlfriendshell move in.”
I clenched my fists, silent.
“Fine. Two days.”
Later, I told Emily, “Dont cry. Well take everythingToms got a garage. Itll be alright. Well buy our own place. Maybe not what we dreamed, but itll be ours.”
Three days later, Mum arrived with my sister Charlotteloaded for a siege. Meat, fish, tins, sacks of potatoes
“Have they really left?!” 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 my numberI didnt answer. Neither did the girls.
“Margaret here Grandma” she tried with one granddaughter, but the line went dead.
“Dont call here again!”
The flat held only a stained old sofa. A bucket in the bathtubthe symbol of a shattered dream.
Six months later, Emily cooked in our new flat. The phone rang. Unknown number.
“William, its me Mum You wont answer Im sorry. Come back. Live here.”
“We already live somewhere. In our own home.”
“Your home? Why do you need another? Youve got ours!”
“Yours is yours. Ours is ours.”
“And the girls? Theyve cut me off!”
“They dont need anything. Weve got everything. Forget that flat. Were never coming back.”
I hung up. That chapter was closed. And it would never be reopened.
