James sat on the creaky bus, winding through the quiet lanes toward his parents’ home on the outskirts of Manchester, his heart heavy with dread. He was about to deliver news that would shatter their world—his impending divorce from his wife, Eleanor. But the moment he stepped into their house, the tables turned. His elderly parents, whom he’d always seen as the epitome of a steadfast marriage, dropped a bombshell of their own: they were divorcing too. The revelation left James reeling, forcing him to confront a whirlwind of fear, guilt, and confusion.
The thought of breaking the news about Eleanor had weighed on him for weeks. He could’ve stayed silent, but gossip in their tight-knit village spread like wildfire. Eleanor might call in a fit of spite, or his brother or sister might accidentally let it slip. James decided honesty was the best policy—better to face it head-on than deal with the fallout later. Life, after all, was unpredictable, and no one was immune to mistakes.
James climbed the familiar stairs and rang the bell. His father, George Wilson, opened the door with a grim expression, as if he already knew why his son had come.
“Hello,” George muttered. “About time you showed up. Come in.”
“Hey, Dad,” James replied, though a flicker of unease sparked in his chest. “Is Mum home?”
“She’s here,” George snapped. “Where else would she be? Sat there like the queen of Sheba.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” James frowned. “What’s going on with you?”
“It means I’ve had enough!” George suddenly barked, spinning on his heel and storming into the living room, fuming.
Baffled, James followed. His father slumped onto the sofa, arms crossed. His mother, Margaret, wasn’t in her usual knitting chair. James peeked into the bedroom and found her by the window, her face stormy.
“You’re here?” she said icily. “Have you left Eleanor yet, or are you still planning to?”
“How do you know about that?” James’s stomach lurched.
“Because I need to know if you’ve found a flat yet!” she snapped.
“What flat?”
“The one you’ll live in after the divorce!”
“Not yet,” James admitted, bewildered. “But how did you even hear I was getting divorced?”
“We heard,” Margaret said darkly. “Well, son, better start looking fast, because I’m moving in with you!”
“Excuse me?” James froze.
“I will not!” George bellowed from the living room, appearing in the doorway. “I’ll be the one moving in with James! You stay here—the house is in your name!”
“Over my dead body!” Margaret shrieked. “I’ll not stay another day in this house, soaked in your stubbornness!”
“Wait!” James’s head swiveled between them. “What on earth are you talking about? Where are you planning to go?”
“Wherever you go!” George declared. “Good on you, son, for thinking of divorce! A fine idea!”
“Why’s it a fine idea?” James felt the ground tilt beneath him.
“Because your mother and I are getting divorced too!” George blurted.
James gaped. He’d braced for disappointment, not this.
“That’s enough!” George went on. “I’ve lived long enough to please anyone. Your mother and I are sick of each other, just like you and Eleanor. I’m coming with you—just us blokes, like proper men!”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Margaret cut in. “He’ll need me. He’ll starve without a woman’s touch. Right, James? You still love my Sunday roast, don’t you?”
“Since when can’t I cook?” George huffed. “I make a mean bangers and mash! Full English, no problem!”
Margaret snorted. “When was the last time you even boiled an egg? The ’70s?”
“Men adapt! All we need’s a fridge, a washing machine, and a microwave! Who needs women cluttering the place?”
“You’ll teach him nothing but bad habits!” Margaret shot back.
“ENOUGH!” James roared. “Have you both lost your minds? You’re in your seventies, squabbling like toddlers! Look at yourselves!”
“Look at you!” they shouted in unison. “Nearly fifty, throwing a tantrum like a schoolboy! Don’t you dare scold us! Just pick who you’re taking with you!”
“Who said I’m moving out?” James exploded. “Eleanor and I have our own place!”
Margaret blinked. “But you’re divorcing!”
“Says who?”
“Eleanor did! Your sister called—said you told her everything!”
James took a deep breath. “I’m not divorcing Eleanor. It was a joke.”
“A joke?!” George sputtered. “We’ve been planning our new lives! And now—this?”
“Honestly, James,” Margaret grumbled. “Not funny. You got our hopes up. Fine, we’ll endure each other a while longer.”
“But mark my words,” she added sharply, “if you change your mind and *do* divorce, your father and I are first in line to move in. Understood?”
James exhaled. “Understood.” The divorce he’d agonized over suddenly seemed impossible. “I should go.”
“Go where?” Margaret frowned. “You didn’t come just to chat. Stay for dinner.”
“No, thanks,” he muttered. “Just wanted to check on you. Clearly, I was right to. Stop this nonsense. You’re supposed to set an example for us, your children. And yet—” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’m off.”
The moment the door clicked shut, George and Margaret shared a glance and sagged in relief.
“Did it work?” George whispered.
“Seems so,” Margaret said hesitantly. “Let’s just hope Eleanor doesn’t drag her feet making up with him.”
“She won’t,” George sighed. “Your sister said the divorce was *James’s* idea. Means he’ll be the one groveling.”
“God willing,” Margaret murmured, picking up her knitting. “Now, off to the kitchen.”
“Why?”
“You boasted about your cooking. Prove it. Fry up some potatoes—I haven’t had proper chips in ages.”
George grinned. “Right. I’ll make ’em so crisp, you’ll *beg* for more.”
As James walked home, a thought nagged: *Did they stage this to make me stay with Eleanor?* Their love, their scheming, their care—it gave him a chance to rethink everything. But fear lingered: what if he lost his family after all? Sometimes, the people who love us most know exactly how to save us from ourselves. And sometimes, the hardest truths come wrapped in the strangest jokes.
