Poppy is sitting at her desk when someone knocks on the office door. James peeks in, looking at the familiar space with a strangely fresh gaze.
May I come in? he asks, though he has already crossed the threshold.
She nods without taking her eyes off the screen. The house was left to her by Aunt Margaret five years ago. Its spacious, bright, with three rooms. Poppy has turned one of them into the perfect workspace here order and quiet rule.
Listen, James begins, perching on the edge of the sofa, my parents are griping again about the city hustle.
Poppy finally turns to him. After ten years of marriage she can read his intonation. Theres a note of uncertainty in his voice now.
Mum says she cant sleep because of the noise, James continues. And Dad keeps saying hes fed up with all the running around. On top of that, the rent keeps creeping up.
I see, she replies briefly, slipping back into her work.
But the talk about his parents doesnt stop. Every evening James finds a new reason to raise their problems. Sometimes its the smog in the city, sometimes noisy neighbours upstairs, sometimes the buildings steep staircase.
They dream of peace, you know? he says once at dinner. A quiet home.
Poppy chews slowly, thinking. James has never been chatty, so his focus on his parents woes feels odd.
So what do you suggest? she asks cautiously.
Nothing special, he shrugs. Just thinking about them.
A week later Poppy notices James slipping into her office more often than usual. At first he claims hes looking for documents, then simply because. He pauses by the wall, as if measuring something with his eyes.
Nice room, he remarks one evening. Bright, spacious.
Poppy looks up from her papers. Theres a new tone in his voice, something like an appraisal.
Yes, I like working here, she answers.
You know, James says, moving to the window, maybe you should think about moving your workspace to the bedroom? You could set up a desk there too.
Something tightens inside her. Poppy puts down her pen and watches James closely.
Why should I move? Its comfortable here.
Well, I dont know, he mumbles. Just thought about it.
But the idea of moving wont leave her alone. Poppy starts to notice how James scans the office, mentally rearranging the furniture. He lingers in the doorway, as if already picturing a different layout.
Listen, he says a few days later, isnt it time to free up your office? Just in case.
The question sounds like a decision already made. Poppy flinches.
Why should I free up the room? she asks sharper than intended.
Just thinking, James hesitates. I thought we could have a spare room for guests.
She already understands. All the talk about his parents, all the casual remarks about the office theyre pieces of one plan, a plan that ignores her opinion.
James, she says slowly, tell me straight. Whats going on?
He turns away to the window, avoiding her gaze. Silence stretches. Poppy realizes something has been decided without her.
James, she repeats firmly, whats going on?
He finally turns, his face frozen in embarrassment, then a flicker of resolve appears in his eyes.
Well, my parents are really tired of the city hustle, he begins cautiously. They need peace, you know?
Poppy rises from the desk. Anxiety builds, the kind shes tried to ignore for weeks.
And what do you suggest? she asks, though she already guesses.
Were one family, James says, as if that explains everything. We have an extra room.
Extra. Her office, her refuge, her space an extra room. Poppy clenches her fists.
This isnt an extra room, she says slowly. Its my office.
Yes, but you could work in the bedroom, James shrugs. And my parents have nowhere else to go.
The line sounds rehearsed. Poppy realises this conversation isnt new; its just the latest version.
James, this is my house, she says sharply. I never agreed to your parents moving in.
But you dont mind, do you? he counters, irritation edging his voice. Were family, right?
Again that excuse. Family, as if belonging to a family automatically strips her of a voice. Poppy steps toward the window, trying to calm herself.
And what if I do mind? she asks without turning.
Dont be selfish, James snaps. Its about elderly people.
Selfish. For not wanting to surrender her workspace. For thinking the decision should be discussed. Poppy turns back to him.
Selfish? she repeats. For wanting my opinion to count?
Come on, he waves his hand. Its a family duty. We cant abandon them.
Family duty. Another pretty phrase meant to shut her down. But Poppy is no longer willing to stay silent.
And what about my duty to myself? she asks.
Stop dramatising, James brushes off. Its not a big deal, just move the computer to another room.
Not a big deal. Years of hard work creating the perfect workspace dismissed as trivial. Poppy suddenly sees James as if for the first time.
When did you decide everything? she asks quietly.
I didnt decide anything, he begins to justify. Just thinking about options.
Youre lying, she says. Youve already talked to your parents, havent you?
The silence says more than any words. Poppy sits back down, trying to process.
So you consulted everyone except me, she states.
Stop it, James explodes. What difference does it make who talked to whom?
What difference. Her opinion, her consent, her home what difference? Poppy realises James is acting like the owner, ignoring her ownership rights.
The next morning James enters the kitchen looking like a man who has made a final decision. Poppy sits at the table with a mug of tea, waiting for yesterdays conversation to continue.
Listen, he starts without preamble, my parents have finally decided to move.
Poppy looks up. Theres no room for discussion in his tone.
Clear out a room in the house, now my parents will live there, he adds, as if giving an order.
For Poppy this is a revelation. They havent even consulted her. James doesnt just fail to ask he excludes her entirely.
The mug trembles in her hands. Everything spins as she realises the scale of the betrayal. James stands waiting for her reaction as if commanding a servant.
Are you serious? she says slowly. You just decided for me? I told you yesterday Im against it!
Calm down, he waves off. Its logical. Where else can they live?
Poppy puts the mug down and stands. Her hands shake with accumulated anger.
James, youve betrayed me, she says directly. Youve put your parents interests above our marriage.
Dont dramatise, he mutters. Its family.
And what am I, a stranger? Poppys voice sharpens. Youve crossed my boundaries and ignored my voice in my own home!
James turns away, clearly not expecting such a reaction. All these years shes obediently gone along with his decisions, but now something has broken.
You treat me like help, she continues. You decided I should endure and stay silent.
Stop the hysteria, he snaps, irritated. Nothing serious is happening.
Nothing serious. Her opinion ignored, her space taken away and thats nothing serious. Poppy steps closer.
I refuse to give up my room, she states firmly. And I wont let your parents move in without anyone inviting them.
How dare you? James erupts. Theyre my parents!
And this is my house! Poppy shouts. I wont live with a man who sees me as nothing!
James steps back, seeing her truly enraged for the first time in years. In her eyes a resolve burns he has never noticed.
You dont understand, he begins, confused. My parents are counting on us.
And you dont understand me, Poppy cuts in. Ten years and you still treat me like a toy.
She walks across the kitchen, gathering her thoughts. Words that have been building for years finally burst out.
You know what, James? she says, turning to him. Get out of my house.
What? he is taken aback. What are you talking about?
Im no longer willing to live with a man who doesnt consider me, Poppy says slowly and clearly.
James opens his mouth but finds no words. He clearly didnt expect this turn.
This is our house, he mumbles.
Legally the house belongs to me, Poppy reminds him coldly. I have every right to ask you to leave.
James stands as if he cant believe what he hears. Shock hits him; he realises he has crossed an invisible line.
Poppy, lets talk calmly, he tries. We can reach an agreement.
Too late, she cuts in. The agreement should have been made before you decided.
James tries to object but sees such stubbornness in her eyes that his words stick in his throat. Poppy is no longer the compliant wife who makes concessions.
Pack your things, she says calmly.
A week later Poppy sits in her office enjoying the silence. The house feels larger without the strangers. The order she values is finally restored.
She feels no regret. A sense of rightness settles inside. For the first time in years she has defended her boundaries and selfrespect.
The phone rings. Its Jamess number. Poppy declines the call and returns to work. Love and family are impossible without respect, and no family obligation gives anyone the right to trample on the person beside them.
She finally understands that.
