“My mum deserves to celebrate her anniversary at the cottage, but your miserable parents can clear out for the time being!” declared the man.
The country house, with its sloping roof and carved window frames, stood nestled among old apple trees. It had been passed down to Emily from her parents after her grandmothers passing. Her childhood memories lingered in every corner. Now, she lived there with her husband, Simon, for the past three years.
An evening in September painted the sky crimson. On the veranda, Emily set out teacups for supper. Through the open door, her parents voices drifted inPeter was telling his wife, Margaret, how hed picked the last of the tomatoes in the greenhouse.
“Margaret, we ought to dig up the carrots tomorrow,” her father said, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Frost will be coming soon.”
“Quite right, Peter. Emily, love, will you lend a hand tomorrow?” Margaret asked her daughter.
Emily nodded as she poured steaming tea into the cups. Her parents had arrived at the start of summer and had been helping around the house ever since. Her father had mended the fence, tended the vegetable patch, while her mother made jams from the blackcurrants and gooseberries picked in the garden. The house had settled into a comforting rhythmcreaking floorboards, the scent of fresh baking, quiet conversations over dinner.
Simon appeared in the doorway, shaking raindrops from his coat. He worked as an engineer in the city, commuting daily by car.
“Peter, hows the shed roof coming along?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.
“Needs new boards, I reckon. The old ones are rotting through,” her father replied.
Simon sipped his tea in silence, nodding occasionally at his father-in-laws remarks. Emily noticed hed been distant lately, often frowning for no reason. Long after her parents had gone to bed, hed sit in front of the telly, flicking through channels.
“Something on your mind?” Emily asked one evening, settling beside him on the sofa.
“Nothing much,” Simon muttered, his eyes fixed on the screen.
She didnt press. Men got moody sometimes, especially in autumn. Perhaps he was just tired.
But a few days later, Simons behaviour shifted. When her father offered to help fix the garage, he refused sharplyuncharacteristically so. At dinner, he barely spoke. Margaret asked if he was feeling poorly, but Emily brushed it off.
That Saturday morning, as her parents set off to pick mushrooms in the woods, Simon approached Emily in the kitchen while she washed the breakfast dishes.
“Emily, we need to talk,” he said, pulling out a chair.
She dried her hands and turned to face him. His expression was grave.
“Mums turning sixty soon. A proper milestone. She wants to celebrate here, at the houseinvite relatives, friends. You know how she loves hosting.”
Emily nodded. Her mother-in-law, Patricia, did adore grand gatherings. Every holiday, shed fill her home with guests, cooking for days.
“And what are you suggesting?” Emily asked.
Simon hesitated, then met her eyes.
“Your parents will have to leave. Just for a week. Mum wants to rearrange things, decorate the place her way. Guests will stay overnight. There wont be enough room otherwise.”
Emily froze, the tea towel still in her hands. His words struck like a verdict.
“Leave? Where would they go? This is my house. They have every right to be here.”
“Its not forever! Just a few days. They could stay with your aunt or book a B&B. Theyve got options.”
Emily slowly hung the towel back. Her thoughts tangled, refusing to settle.
“Simon, are you serious? Kick my parents out of their own home for a party? Theyve done nothing but help us. Wed struggle without them.”
Simon stood, stepping closer.
“Emily, listen. Mums dreamed of this for years. Relatives are coming from all over. We cant disappoint her. And your parents its just a short break.”
“My parents?” Emilys voice hardened. “Peter and Margaret live here because they belong here. No ones evicting them for an anniversary party.”
Simons jaw tighteneda telltale sign of irritation.
“Youre not listening. Mums already planned everything. Booked caterers, hired musicians. Its too late to cancel.”
“Then she can host it at her place or rent a hall,” Emily retorted, folding her arms.
Simons face flushed. His fists clenched.
“Listen here, Emily! Enough stubbornness! Mum deserves to celebrate where she pleases. Your parents can find somewhere else for the week!”
Emily stared, stunned. Shed never expected such words from him.
“What did you just say?”
“Exactly what I mean!” Simon raised his voice. “Patricias worked her whole life, raised her kids. Shes earned this. But your parents? What have they ever done? Scraping by on pensions, living off their daughter!”
Emilys cheeks burned as if struck. Her breath caught.
“Say that again.”
“My mum deserves to celebrate here, but your shabby parents can clear out!” Simon snapped.
Silence fellheavy and brittle. Emily stood motionless, hands trembling, but her voice remained steady.
“My parents stay. This is their home. If your mother needs a venue, shell have to look elsewhere.”
Simon slammed his fist on the table. A cup jumped and shattered.
“You dont get it! Mums organised everything! Guests, music, food! You cant cancel over your bloody principles!”
“My principles?” Emily bent to pick up the shards. “Its called respect for the people who gave me this home.”
“And what about respect for me? For my mother?” Simon paced, arms flailing. “Im your husband! My word should count for something!”
Emily straightened, porcelain shards in her palms.
“Ive always valued your opinion. But throwing my parents out isnt an opinionits arrogance.”
Simon stopped, glaring. His face twisted with anger.
“Fine. Sort it yourself. Explain to Mum why her partys ruined!” He turned on his heel. “Im going to her place. At least there, Im respected!”
The door slammed, rattling the windows. The car roared to life, wheels crunching gravel. Emily stood alone, clutching the broken pieces.
Half an hour later, her parents returned. Peter carried a basket of mushrooms; Margaret held wild rosehips for a vase.
“Wheres Simon?” Margaret asked, glancing around. “His cars gone.”
“Gone to see his mother,” Emily replied evenly.
Peter set the basket down, studying his daughter.
“Something wrong, love?”
Emily nearly told the truth but stopped herself. No need to upset them. Let them think it was just a visit.
“Nothing serious, Dad. Patricias birthdays coming up. Theyre planning a celebration.”
Margaret nodded. “At her age, milestones matter. We ought to get her a gift.”
“Yes, Mum. We will.”
Emily retreated to her room, hugging a pillow. Simons words echoed like hammer blows: “Your shabby parents can clear out.” How could he say that? About the people whod welcomed him, fed him, helped tend the house?
Peter had worked his entire life as a mechanichonest, hard labour. Margaret had been a nurse, tending patients through night shifts. Decent, humble folk. Never complaining, never burdening their daughter.
Now her husband called them shabby. Demanded they leave their own home.
Emily rose, gazing out the window. Her father stacked firewood in the yard, movements steady. Her mother hung freshly washed sheets on the line. An ordinary autumn day.
These were the people whod raised her, given her an education, a foundation. Never a burden. Quite the oppositesince arriving, theyd shouldered most of the chores. Peter fixed the roof, painted the fence, dug the garden. Margaret cooked, cleaned, kept order.
Without them, she and Simon wouldve drowned in the upkeep. He came home from work exhausted; the housework fell to her. Her parents presence had been a lifeline.
And now Simon wanted them gone. For a party. For Patricia, whod never lifted a finger to help them.
Patricia lived in a city flat, had worked as a shop assistant. Sociable, adored hosting. But shed always been cold toward Emily and Simon. Rare visits, quick departures. Criticism of meals, complaints about dust, uncomfortable beds.
Now she wanted her milestone celebration here. In Emilys home. And demanded her parents be evicted.
Emily clenched her fists. She wouldnt allow it. The house was hers, steeped in family history. Every plank, every nail held memories. No one had the right to commandeer it.
If Patricia wanted a grand affair, fine. Let her rent a hall, a restaurant. Simon earned wellthey could afford it. But ejecting family from their home? Unthinkable.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Simon: “Think it over. Mums heartbroken.”
Emily deleted it without replying. Nothing
