“If you want it done, do it yourself.”
“Mum, you had kids for *yourself*, not me, so *you* deal with your little Ethan. I need to catch up on sleep before uni.”
“Oliver, I hardly ever ask you for anything! Just this oncetake him to school. Its *September first*, everyone else will be with their parents”
“Exactly*parents*,” Oliver cut in. “Where were mine when it was my turn? Always with the little one. Let him go alone, it wont kill him.”
“It wasnt *always*just a couple times! We never meant to”
“Well, now it just *so happens* hell go alone too,” Oliver said coolly, sipping his tea.
Emma floundered. She hadnt expected such defiance. After all, they housed and fed himwas it too much to ask for a bit of family responsibility?
“Look,” she frowned. “You *live* in this family. That means pitching in. We help *you*pocket money, meals, cleaningyes, even your room. The least you could do is return the favour.”
“Didnt ask you to clean my room. Dont need pocket money. Im *eighteen*not a child, not a babysitter. My opinion counts too.”
With that, Oliver grabbed his mug and stalked off. Emma sat alone, heart heavynot just with the problem unsolved, but with the dawning realisation: her son had grown selfish.
*When had that happened?*
Her first marriage had been a disaster. Olivers father never grew uppreferred lazing about, glued to his phone, barely working. The few jobs he scraped didnt cover his own expenses. Eventually, Emma left, moving back with her mum.
When she remarried, Oliver was fiveyoung enough to accept James as “Dad.” But when Ethan was born five years later, things soured.
That year, Oliver went to his first day of school alone. Emma, still recovering, couldnt manage it. James was working, grandparents too far.
“Sweetheart, its just one of those days. You dont mind, do you?” shed asked guiltily.
“I see how it is,” hed sighed. “Fine. Im not a baby.”
Shed thought nothing of it. But he remembered.
Three years later, it happened againEthan caught something from nursery.
*Always* sick. Once, he brought home chickenpoxdays before Olivers class trip to the Lake District. Of course, he had to stay home.
“Mum, I get itbut *I*m sick of getting ill. Cant you quarantine him?” he snapped as she dabbed calamine on his spots.
“Oliver, were *family*you think I can just lock him away?”
She understood his frustration. Every time Ethan fell ill, so did he. But what choice was there?
Soon, Oliver dug his heels inavoiding chores, dodging Ethan duty. At first, hed procrastinate or do things half-arsed until Emma caved. She blamed teenage rebellionuntil the arguments started.
“Why should *I* clean the lounge? *You* and Ethan use it*you* deal with the mess.”
“You *eat* in the kitchenshould I stop cooking for you too?”
“You wipe every speck off the sink. If I lived alone, I wouldnt bother. *You* want it spotless*you* do it.”
Sometimes she forced him. Sometimes she let it slide. Now? Now Ethan had no one to take him to school. Grandparents unavailable, James away, Emma stuck at work. And Oliverfree, but refusing.
First, she called James.
“So he wants independence? Fine. Let him try living without *Dad, give me a lift* or *Mum, grab my parcel*,” he grunted.
“James, dont go too hardwell *lose* him.”
“Let him run. See how he likes adult life.”
She swallowed her fear. James loved Oliverbut his stubbornness could turn harsh.
Luckily, her friend Sophieanother mum from Ethans schoolstepped in, taking him to the assembly and even a park stroll. Not the same, but better than nothing.
“Sophie, youre a *lifesaver*,” Emma sighed later. “Come in for tea?”
“Dont worryyouve fetched my Liam before. Mums stick together.”
Still, Emma unloaded her worries. Sophie, only twenty-six, understoodshed been the eldest with two younger sisters.
“Honestly? I *get* Oliver,” she sighed. “Youre pushing too hard. He doesnt see the point in scrubbing floorsor Ethan. But I *also* get you. Familys family.”
“I just want things *fair*.”
“Fair to *you*to him, its nagging. I was the same.”
“So what do I do? James wants to *kick him out*.”
“Two options: cut off *all* helpcold waror let him go. Not *abandon* him, but rent him a flat. Let him learn.”
“What if he drops out? Or vanishes?”
“Risk either way. But if he *wants* to bolt, he will. I married young to escape mine.”
Emma wrestled with itbut when James returned, they rented Oliver a flat. Two months, fully stocked, keys handed over.
“Right. Kicking me out,” Oliver mutteredbut took the keys. “You know I cant afford this.”
“Were *not* kicking you out,” James said firmly. “But shared life means shared effort. Weve paid rent, stocked the fridge. After that? Your call.”
Oliver grumbled, packed, left. A month of silenceshort answers, lights glimpsed through his window.
Then, slowly, questions: *How do I clean the oven? Best washing powder? Cook soup?* Emma invited him over, taught him, fed him, sent him back with groceries.
“We miss you,” she murmured as he left.
No replyjust a tight hug.
By the third month, the rent ran out. Olivers texts grew sparse*Managing*but then: *Need to talk.*
“I want to come back,” he admitted. “But fair. Ethans *your* responsibility, not mine.”
Normally, shed argue. Now? Now she saw his point.
“Hes your *brother*,” James huffed.
“*Enough*,” Emma cut in. “Olivers rightEthans *our* son. But chores? Non-negotiable.”
Oliver scowled, arms crossedthen nodded.
“New rules: You clean the bathroom weekly, mop the hall every other day, dust the lounge monthly. Vacuum on rotation. Your room? *Yours*. Dishes? *Yours*.”
The tension melted. Oliver relaxed, smirked.
“Deal. Might even cook sometimeseasier than alone.”
That night, they ate togethermashed potatoes, gravy, no bitterness.
*Hes grown up*, Emma realised. And so, quietly, had she.
