“Listen to me carefully,” the lodger continued, his voice sharp as a blade. “Either your daughter hands over the car, or she moves out! I wont live in a house where Im disrespected!”
“But where will she go?” her mother protested weakly.
“Thats not my problem! Shes grown. Time she stood on her own two feet…”
Emily stood in the narrow hallway of her parents house, pressing her back against the wall as her mothers voice seeped through the bathroom door.
“Emily, just think about it logically! Andrew needs the car for work every day. Youre just a studentcant you manage with the bus?”
She squeezed her eyes shut. The car had been her grandfathers gift for her twentieth birthday. Old, but hers. The first thing that had ever truly belonged to her. Hed handed her the keys and said, “This way, youll never depend on anyone. You decide where you go.”
“Mum, the cars in my name,” Emily replied, forcing calm into her voice.
“So what? Were family!” Her mothers voice pitched higher. “Andrews been like a father to you. Remember how he helped you with your maths in Year 11?”
Emily remembered. She remembered the way hed snap when she made mistakes, the way hed slam the textbook down if she didnt grasp it immediately.
“Thick as two short planks!” hed sneered. “Just like your mother!”
The hum of the hairdryer drowned out the rest. Her mother was getting ready to go out. In five minutes, shed emerge, and the argument would resume. Emily couldnt face it.
“Ill think about it,” she lied, slipping into her room.
But there was nothing to think about. She wouldnt give up the car. The question waswhat came next?
Emily was in her final year at university, tutoring English part-time. Money was tight, but she scraped by.
If you ignored the fact that “scraping by” meant living in a house where every step she took was scrutinised, criticised.
Andrew had entered their lives when Emily was eleven. Her mother met him at work. Tall, bearded, always talkingalways *right*.
Mum loved that. Dad had been differentquiet, thoughtful. After the divorce, hed moved to London. Calls were rare.
At first, Andrew tried. Sweets, questions about school, even a few trips to the cinema. Emily had thought, *Maybe hes not so bad.*
It didnt last.
Once Andrew settled into the house, everything changed. He didnt askhe *ordered*. As if Emily werent the daughter of the house, but some hired help.
“Make tea.” “Clean up after yourself.” “Dont stomp.” “Dont slam doors.” “Turn the telly down.”
The list grew daily.
And Mum? Mum became Andrews barrister. Every complaint of his, she echoed.
“Emily, Andrews tired from work. Cant you walk quieter?”
“Emily, hes right. Must you play music so loud?”
“Emily, think of others.”
“Others” meant *Andrew*. Because when *she* was studying for exams and begged them to lower the TV, no one cared.
“This isnt a library,” Andrew scoffed. “Want quiet? Stay in your room.”
Her room was a glorified cupboardjust a bed and a desk. The walls pressed in, the air felt thin. But it was the only escape she had.
So she learned to vanish. Came home when Andrew was asleep, or out. Ate when the kitchen was empty. Avoided “family” conversations.
It workeduntil the car.
The next morning, her mother knocked.
“Emily? We need to talk.”
She sat up. Mum wore a new dressexpensive-looking. Hair perfectly styled. She was going somewhere.
“Im listening.”
“Andrews upset. He thought youd agree about the car.”
“Why would he think that?”
Mum perched on the bed, gazing out the window.
“Emily… Andrew and I are planning the wedding. We want it niceguests, a proper do. But moneys tight.”
Silence.
“He needs the car for work. New positionlots of travel. Buses wont do.”
“Then he should buy his own.”
“With what?” Mums voice rose, then flattened. “Emily, were *family*. Hes done so much for you…”
“Like what?”
Mum faltered.
“Well… he helped raise you. Like a real father.”
“You mean *yelled* at me.”
“Dont you dare! He *tried*! Youve always been ungrateful. Your dad spoiled youlook how you turned out!”
The room turned cold. Emily stared at the stranger wearing her mothers face. Once, theyd been close. Once, Mum had *protected* her.
“Im not giving him the car.”
“Then find somewhere else to live,” Mum said, and left.
Alone, Emilys chest tightened. Shed never thought it would come to this.
That evening, the drama unfolded through the thin walls.
“Well? Did you talk to her?” Andrews voice.
“Yes. She refused.”
“Typical. Shouldve put my foot down sooner.”
“Andrew, shes young. She doesnt understand.”
“When *will* she? When shes got kids of her own? No, Linda. If we dont show her whos boss now, shell walk all over us.”
Mum murmured somethingtoo quiet to hear.
Andrews voice cut in, sharp. “Listen. She hands over the car, or shes out. I wont live where Im not respected!”
“But where will she go?”
“Not our problem. Shes an adult. Time to grow up.”
Emily didnt sleep that night. One question gnawed: *Will Mum really choose him?*
Two days later, the answer came. Mum stepped into her room, face set.
“Emily, Andrew and I have decided. If you wont compromise, youll live elsewhere.”
“Youre serious?”
“Dead serious. You work. You can afford rent.”
Emily held her gaze.
“Fine. Ill leave.”
Mum had expected tears, begging. Not this calm acceptance.
“Emily… maybe think it over?”
“Whats to think? Youve made your choice. Now Im making mine.”
She found a room within the weeka flatshare near campus. Cheap, clean. The landlady, a retired teacher, was kind. Asked no questions.
As she packed, Mum lingered in the doorway.
“Maybe this is a mistake…”
“Dont, Mum. Its done.”
“You know I didnt *want* tobut Andrew”
“Andrew matters more. I get it.”
Mum burst into tears.
“Dont say that. Youre my daughter.”
“*Was*,” Emily said, stacking books into a box.
The first weeks were hard. Not the choresshe adjusted fast. Harder was knowing her mother had chosen a stranger over her.
But life settled. Tutoring picked up. Money stretched furtherrent, food, even small joys.
She ate when she wanted. Played music. Had friends over. No one shouted. No one controlled.
Mum called sometimesusually holidays.
“How are you, love? All right?”
“Fine.”
“Will you visit?”
“Well see.”
She never did. Mum knew.
Six months later, the call came late. Mums voice was oddtired or broken.
“Emily… can I come over? We need to talk.”
“Of course.”
Mum arrived within the hour. She looked terriblethin, hollow-eyed. Sat at the table in silence.
“What happened?”
“Andrews left.”
“What?”
“Another woman. From work. Ten years younger.”
Emily made tea. Mums hands shook around the mug.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago. I thought hed come back. Yesterday, he collected his things. Said hes filing for divorce.”
Mum cried thenquiet, worn-out sobs.
“I was a fool, wasnt I?”
Emily said nothing. What *was* there to say?
They drank in silence. Then Mum asked,
“Can I stay tonight? I cant face home. Everything reminds me.”
“Of course. The sofas yours.”
In the dark, Emily heard her crying. Part of her wanted to comfort her. But something held her back. Too much hurt.
Over breakfast, Mum said,
“I know I was wrong. I chose him over you. Im sorry.”
“Mum”
“No, let me say it. I thought I needed a manno matter the cost. Even if it cost *you*. But now I seebetter alone than with someone who poisons your life.”
Emily nodded.
