Oh man, let me tell you about this whole mess between Emily and James—started over something as silly as cat hair, but really, it was about her son all along.
“James, I’m asking you one last time—drop it!” Emily’s voice trembled with frustration as she tried to keep her cool. “You promised you’d stop ranting about my son!”
“I’m not ranting, I’m being honest!” James shot back. “He’s mooching off you, and you just let him. Can’t you see you’re raising a lazy bloke?”
“I said—conversation over!” Emily’s voice rose dangerously close to shouting. “My son is at uni. While he studies, I’ll support him. I don’t need your permission!”
“So my opinion means nothing, then?” James sounded outraged. “You only want to hear praise, is that it? No, love, you’ll have to respect what I say!”
“No, I won’t!” Emily snapped. “If you don’t shut it now, I’m walking out. Again! Two weeks ago, you swore we wouldn’t have this argument. Forgotten already?”
“Of course I remember!” James growled. “But how am I supposed to keep quiet when he acts like this? You’d give him the shirt off your back, and he doesn’t even appreciate it!”
“Who said he doesn’t?!” Emily was shaking with anger now. “Oliver loves me and thanks me for everything. I said ENOUGH!”
She stormed off to the kitchen, trying to calm down, but James, righteous and furious, followed.
“Emily, won’t you even hear me out?” His tone turned pleading. “Haven’t I earned that much?”
“First raise a child, *then* lecture me!” she fired back. “Your words are just jealous nonsense!”
James had a daughter from his first marriage, but he hadn’t seen her in years—her mum moved to another city when she was just two.
“Jealous?!” James actually scoffed. “You think I envy your layabout son? That’s rich!”
“Of course you do!” Emily snapped. “He’s only twenty, and he’s got everything you never had!”
“Oh, you mean a mum paying his rent and topping up his bank account daily? *That’s* what I’m supposed to envy?” His voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Clearly, yes!” Emily shot back. “Why else would you keep going on about it?”
“I’m just trying to tell you—you’ve spoiled him rotten!”
“I *want* to spoil him! He’s my only son, and I *can* afford it!”
“Oh, of course, you’re loaded, aren’t you?” James sneered.
The fight hadn’t even started about Oliver. Emily wasn’t sure how they’d ended up here. It had all been so peaceful—sitting on the sofa, watching telly, an ad for a massage chair came on. James got excited, found a good deal.
Emily didn’t object but reminded him,
“Let’s wait a bit, yeah? I asked to hold off big spends till my paycheck comes through. Might need to borrow from you.”
She *never* asked James for money. Her pay was rarely late, but this time was different. She worked remotely, only left the house for groceries. Typing away at her laptop all day—not millions, but enough for rent, food, and helping Oliver. More than James earned, actually.
“Emily, don’t you think if money’s tight, *someone* could get a part-time job?” James hinted.
“You mean Oliver?” She frowned. “I told you—no. I sent him to uni, not to shout ‘Next customer, please!’”
“He’s a grown man! Should know money doesn’t grow on trees!”
“He *does* know—without *your* input!”
“He doesn’t know *anything* while you spoon-feed him!”
“Not your business! I’ve had *enough*!” Emily raised her voice.
Another half-hour of bickering later, Emily, trying to ease the tension, made tea and sandwiches.
“Here,” she said, sliding a plate to James.
He wrinkled his nose, pushed it away. “Not hungry—” Then he froze. “Look! Cat hair on the plate! Your bloody cat drives me *mad*! Why’s there always fur everywhere? Do you *ever* clean?”
“I clean twice a week! That’s all I have time for!” Her anger flared again.
“You’re *home* all day! How hard is it to grab a mop?”
“I’m not just *sitting around*! I work—and earn more than *you*!”
James went pale. The fact she outearned him *already* irritated him. Her tone just poured petrol on the fire.
“So now I’m not a *real* man, is that it?” he hissed.
“I never said that!” Emily snapped. “You *pushed* me! I’d love a sterile flat too if someone else cleaned! Housework isn’t just *my* job!”
“Did I *say* it was?”
“You didn’t *have* to! How many times have *you* cleaned since we moved in? *Zero*! And it’s been *six months*!”
James paused, genuinely trying to remember—but Emily was right. He’d left it all to her. Not that he’d admit it.
“Oh, how *precious*! Sweeping floors is *heroic* now?” he sneered.
“I *told* you when we moved in—cleaning twice a week, *that’s it*. You agreed!”
“I didn’t know your cat would shed like a bloody blizzard!”
“It’s *not* that bad! You’re looking for it under a *microscope*!” She glared. “And *stop shouting*, you’re scaring Whiskers!”
The poor tabby had bolted under the sofa, wide-eyed.
“Oh, *how tragic*!” James rolled his eyes. “You can’t raise a cat *or* a son! One yowls all night, the other bleeds you dry!”
“Back to Oliver, are we?!” Emily exploded. “Maybe you should *take a walk*!”
“I’m not going *anywhere*! This is *my* flat!”
“Funny, since we split the rent!”
“I lived here *first*—it’s *mine*!”
“Then I’m *leaving* tomorrow!” Emily yelled, slamming the bathroom door behind her.
“Go on then! Who’d want you at *forty-three*?!” James shouted after her.
Emily couldn’t take his digs anymore. And to think—it all started so sweetly.
She’d grown up in a small village, married young, had Oliver, divorced six years later. Her ex moved to another town but paid child support till Oliver turned eighteen. She’d raised him alone, no degree, but wanted *better* for him. When he got into uni, she covered everything.
That summer, they went to Bristol together—Oliver’s uni city. No entrance exams, his grades got him in. Emily helped him settle, knowing how big a change it was from their quiet life.
Oliver didn’t fancy halls and convinced her to rent a flat. At first, he’d planned to share with mates, but then said—
“Mum, *stay* with me! The city’s brilliant—so much to do! Why go back to the village? You *can* work remote. We’ll be together!”
She’d thought about it and agreed. Her son nearby, company for her—and their house back home wasn’t going anywhere. Weekends were cafés, new foods, films—once, even the theatre. A first for both of them. They *loved* it.
That’s where they met James. He was sitting next to them with a mate, laughing at the show. After, they all went for drinks, James and Emily swapped numbers. Soon, dates—then moving in together a few months later.
Emily hated leaving Oliver, but living all three? Awkward. Oliver reassured her—
“Mum, I’ll *manage*! We’ll see each other loads!”
She moved in but visited weekly, cooking meals for him. Sometimes she worried he was lonely, but he insisted—friends, uni, nights out—he was *fine*.
First year flew by. Summer, Oliver worked a warehouse job for extra cash—girlfriend expenses. When term started, Emily insisted he *focus* on studies.
Everything was smooth—until James started picking at Oliver. When her son *was* working, he barely asked for money—she’d even bought new appliances. But once studies ramped up, costs rose—and James *lost it*.
After *that* row, she’d almost left—but James apologised, swore it wouldn’t happen. She believed him. He seemed sincere. But tonight—*same thing*.
Emily spent the night in the bathroom, towel as a pillow. Whiskers woke her, scratching at the door—his litter tray was inside. She letShe closed her eyes, relieved to finally be free of the constant arguments, and knew she’d made the right choice by choosing her son over a love that had turned bitter.
