A Home Without Welcome: When Mother Turned the House into a Battlefield
The flat where we were no longer welcome: How a mother made a home into a battleground.
James sat in his office when the phone rang. His wifes name flashed on the screenunusual for her to call midday.
“Hello, Emily. Is everything all right? Im a bit busy,” he said, eyes still fixed on the monitor.
“Something terribles happened,” her voice trembled, choked with tears. “Weve been thrown out. Weve no home left!”
“What?!” James shot up from his chair. “Has something happened to the flat? Fire? A break-in?”
“The flats fine but were not allowed to live there anymore,” she whispered.
“Not allowed? Who could possibly forbid us from our own home?!”
“Who else? Your mother!” The words burst out, laced with pain, fury, and despair.
Years ago, theyd moved to London with their childrenthe eldest seven, the youngest five. Theyd started from nothing, worked tirelessly. Then came a stroke of luck: Emilys father had 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 namebut we wont disturb you.”
They renovated, bought furniture, made it theirs. Though the flat wasnt legally theirs, it felt like home. Only Emily carried a lingering unease.
“Were pouring everything into this place, but our names arent on the deed,” shed told James.
“Dont worry. My parents are here. Whod throw us out? Were family.”
But the worst camethey were evicted. Not by strangers, but by their own blood.
The trigger was his fathers birthday. They visited, celebrated. The next day, his mother stood at their door unannounced.
“Weve decided: your cousin Olivers moving in. Hes at university, the halls are full. Youve space. And,” she added coldly, “the flats ours anyway, so we decide who lives there.”
Emilys breath caught. But James only nodded.
“No problem. Theres room.”
She bit her lip, holding back a scream. Not the right moment. But something shattered in her that day.
Oliver moved inand acted like lord of the manor. Ate on the sofa, shouted, never cleaned. Everything he touched turned filthy. Then Jamess parents visitedto see their “grandson.” The nightmare began.
“Olivers shoes are muddy!” his mother scolded. “Why isnt his jacket washed? And wheres the cake?!”
She commanded like a sergeant, cooked, cleaned, then turned to Emily abruptly.
“I dont see how my son lives with someone like you! You should leave. Let the flat stay with us.”
“Where would I go? Rents are high, the girls have their lives”
“Not my problem. Pack your things.”
When Emily refused, his mother snapped.
“Ill persuade James. Hell sign the divorce papers.”
Silent tears rolled as Emily packed.
James stormed in later.
“Mum, whats this?! Throwing my wife out?!”
“Shes unnecessary. Andshe drinks!”
“What?!”
“I heard bottles clinking. Why hide it? I wont have that under my roof. The flats mineI decide.”
“Mum, that was Oliver with the recycling!”
“Dont blame the boy! If she shows her face againdont complain.”
“Then Ill go with her.”
“Even better. Olivers got a girlfriendshell move in.”
James clenched his fists, silent.
“Fine. Two days.”
Later, he told Emily, “Dont cry. Well empty itHenrys helping, weve a garage. Itll be fine. Well buy our own place. Maybe not as we dreamed, but ours.”
Three days later, his mother arrived with his sister Margaretladen as for a siege. Meat, fish, tins, sacks of potatoes
“Have they really left?!” Margaret gasped.
“Empty No kitchen No fridge No furniture”
“Put it on the balcony.”
“But its raining! Mum, you cant even sleep here!”
Agatha Schmidt dialled her sonno answer. Her granddaughters the same.
“Agatha here Grandma” she tried one granddaughters number, but the line only hissed:
“Dont call here again!”
The flat held only a grubby old sofa. A bucket in the bathtubthe symbol of a broken dream.
Six months later, Emily cooked in their new flat. The phone rangunknown number.
“James, its me Mum You wont answer Im sorry. Come back. Live here.”
“We already do. In our home.”
“Your home? Why need another? Youve got ours!”
“Yours is yours. Ours is ours.”
“And the girls? Theyve cut me off!”
“They want for nothing. Weve all we need. Forget that flat. Were never coming back.”
James ended the call. That chapter was closed. And it would never be reopened.
