**My House, My Rules**
“Gran, did you eat my cheese scones *again*?” Emily stood in the middle of the kitchen, holding an empty packet.
“I thought they were for everyone,” I began weakly.
“Everyone? I bought them specifically for Sophieshes allergic to *everything else*!”
Daniel shuffled out of the bedroom, his hair sticking up after a night shift.
“Mum, seriously? We agreedleft shelf *only*!”
The left shelf. In *my own fridge*, there are now “their” shelves and “our” shelves. Eighteen months ago, they moved in “just for a bit” while they flat-hunted. “Just for a bit” turned into a permanent nightmare.
“Gran, wheres my school bag?” Oliver tore through the flat.
“Grandad, have you seen my doll?” Sophie tugged at my husbands sleeve.
Arthur hid behind his newspaper on the balconythe only place left to escape in *his own home*.
“Thats *it*!” Emily suddenly shouted. “I cant take this anymore! Daniel, either we move out, or Im taking the kids to *my mums*!”
“Move *where*?” he snapped. “Rent for eight hundred quid a month? Weve got the car loan!”
“Then *sell the car*!”
“Are you mad? How do I get to work?”
The kids started crying. I tried to comfort them, but Emily yanked Sophie from my arms.
“Dont! *Well manage*!”
I retreated to my bedroom. The front door slammedDaniel had stormed out. Then came the kids wails, Emilys muffled yelling.
In *my* flat. *My* home, where Arthur and I had lived for thirty years.
That evening, we all pretended nothing happened. Dinner was silent. The kids poked at their food. Emily pointedly ignored Daniel.
“Dad, pass the salt,” he muttered.
Arthur wordlessly slid it over. He barely spoke these daysexhausted by other peoples dramas in *his* house.
After dinner, Daniel lingered in the kitchen.
“Mum sorry about earlier. Emilys just stressed.”
“I get it.”
“No, you *dont*!” he burst out. “You dont know what its like living with your parents at *thirty-five*! Feeling like a failure!”
“Love”
“Dont! I know its hard for you too. But weve got *nowhere else*!”
I stayed quiet. What *could* I say?
That night, I lay awake. Arthur tossed in bed. From the living roomnow the kids makeshift bedroomSophie whimpered. Emily shushed her.
Morning came with a crash. Oliver had dropped a plate.
“Never mind,” I said, sweeping up the pieces.
“Mumll be cross,” he whispered.
“Wont tell her.”
He hugged mesmall, warm, *mine*. Id endure anything for my grandkids. But *how much longer*?
A week later, Daniel came home strangequiet but not gloomy.
“Mum, Dad we need to talk.”
We sat at the kitchen table. Emily was putting the kids to bed.
“Ive decided. Taking out a mortgage. Buying a house.”
“*What*?” My chest tightened. “Thats *so much money*!”
“No other way. Were all going mad.”
“But twenty *years* of payments!” Arthur finally spoke up.
“Ill manage. Found a place round the corner. Small, but *ours*.”
“*Round the corner*?” I repeated.
“Yeah. So you can see the kids. And weif you ever need help.”
I studied him. When had he grown up? When did my boywho once lost socks *in plain sight*become this man?
“Does Emily know?”
“Not yet. Wanted to talk to you first.”
Arthur stood, clapped him on the shoulder.
“Good call. A man should have his own roof.”
Daniel exhaledprobably braced for resistance.
That evening, he told Emily. I heard her cryingrelief or fear, who knew?
The mortgage, house-hunting, stressit blurred. Emily swung between excitement and panic.
“Gran, what if we cant afford it? What if Daniels laid off?”
“Youll manage. Youre young, strong.”
“But *twenty years*!”
“*Your* twenty years.”
Moving day. Removal men lugged boxes. The kids darted between housesours and theirs, five minutes away.
“Gran, Ive got my *own room*!” Sophie dragged me upstairs.
A tiny attic room. But *hers*.
“Brilliant! Decorate ititll be a palace!”
That night, we celebrated in their cramped kitchen. Different atmosphereEmily laughed, Daniel joked. The kids showed off their domain.
“Mum sorry,” Daniel said suddenly. “For the last eighteen months.”
“Dont be daft! Were family!”
“Exactly. Family should live *separately*.”
Arthur raised his glass.
“To the new house! And visiting *by choice*!”
Emily hugged me. “Thanks for putting up with us.”
“Oh, stop!”
But she was right. We *had* put up with it. And survived.
First night in our empty flat. *Silent*. Eerily so.
“Arthur *listen*.”
“What?”
“Its *quiet*.”
He laughed. “*Finally*.”
Next morningno clattering pans. Just coffee, the news.
A knock.
“Gran, can I do homework here?” Oliver held his backpack.
“Course! Mum know?”
“She said its *quieter* at yours!”
*There it was*. Grandkids visitingnot living on our heads.
We settled at the table. Maths homework. An hour later, Sophie burst in.
“Gran, Mums making pancakes! Come *both*!”
We went. Emily smiled at the stove.
“First pancakes in *our* house!”
We squeezed around their tiny table. Cramped but cosy. And bestwed all go *home* later.
“Gran, can the kids stay this weekend?” Emily asked. “Were driving to IKEAneed new curtains.”
“*Absolutely*!”
And I *meant* itnow a joy, not an obligation.
A month later, Daniel popped in after work.
“Mum, can I borrow the ladder? Putting up shelves.”
“Take it! Shed!”
Arthur helped. Came back grinning.
“Good lads. Making it home.”
Emily brought a pie.
“Used your recipe! Try it?”
I did. *Perfect*. She beamed.
“Never liked cooking before. But *my* kitchen, *my* rules!”
*There it was*the magic word. *Mine*.
Evening calls with friends resumed. *No guilt* about disturbing Emily. *My* house, *my* guests.
Daniel *changed*. No more moaningnow he fixed roofs, painted fences, planted tomatoes.
“Homegrown!” he bragged.
Emily softened toovisiting to chat, not hide.
“Gran, teach me your roast? Daniel *raves* about it.”
We cooked side by sidein *my* kitchen, where *I* ruled.
The kids flitted between houses. Homework at ours, home for tea. Sleepovers *by choice*.
“Gran, can we watch *Bluey*?” Oliver hugged me.
“*Any* episode!”
No fretting over Emilys approval. *My* house, *my* rules, *my* grandkids visiting.
Thencrisis. Emily arrived in tears.
“Mum!” (*First time shed called me that.*) “Daniel fell off the ladder! *Broke his leg*!”
We rushed over. Arthur called an ambulance. I minded the kids.
That evening, they returnedDaniel on crutches, leg in plaster.
“Month off work,” he grimaced.
“Couldve been worse!”
Weeks were tough. No pay, mortgage looming.
“Maybe we move back?” Emily whispered.
“*No*,” Daniel insisted. “Well cope!”
And they *did*. We helped with food, childcare. But they *stayed in their home*.
“Funny,” Emily mused once. “Even like this *yours* is better.”
A *thousand* times right.
Daniel recovered, returned to work. First paycheck, he handed me cash.
“Mumfor everything.”
“*Dont*! The mortgage”
“Take it. Please.”
I did. Understoodhe *needed* to provide.
A year later, we celebrated Sophies birthday *in their home*. Cosy now. Garden thriving.
“Homegrown tomatoes!” Daniel gloated.
We laughedwonky, tiny, but *theirs*.
“Hard? Yes,” Emily said. “But *worth it*.”
