With a heavy heart, I set off with my son to stay at my mothers. The thought of leaving twists my stomach, but I pack our things anyway and take little Alfie to Mums place, Margaret Wilcox. All because yesterday, while I was out walking Alfie, my husband, James, decided to play the gracious host by letting his cousin Lucy, her husband Simon, and their two kids, Emily and Oliver, crash in *our* bedroom. Didnt even ask me! Just announced, You and Alfie can stay at your mumsplenty of room there. Im still reeling from the sheer nerve of it. *Our* house, *our* room, and *Im* the one packing up to make way for strangers? No, thats a step too far.
It all started when I got back from the walk. Alfie was whining, exhausted, and I was desperate to tuck him in and unwind with a quiet cuppa. But the flat was pure chaos. Lucy and Simon had already taken over our bedroom. Their kids were racing around, toys strewn everywhere, while my thingsbooks, makeup, even my laptopwere dumped in a corner like I didnt matter. I stood frozen, gobsmacked: What on earth is this? James, cool as you please, said, Lucys lot needed a place to stay. Thought you could pop round your mums. Youll be comfy there.
I nearly choked on my rage. First off, its *our* home! We bought it together, picked every piece of furniture. Now Im meant to vanish because his family fancies a London holiday? And why didnt he *ask* me? I mightve agreedafter a proper talk. But no, it was an order. Lucy, for her part, didnt even apologise. Just flashed a grin: Oh, come off it, Sarah, well only be a fortnight! A *fortnight*? I dont want them touching my things for a single *day*.
Simons no help, sat there mute as a fish. Slouched on our sofa, sipping coffee from my favourite mug, nodding along to Lucys nonsense. Their kids? Disasters. Emily, six, spilt juice on the rug, while Oliver, four, turned my wardrobe into a den. I tried pointing out this isnt a hotel, but Lucy just shrugged: Kids will be kids, eh? Right. And *Im* left cleaning up after them.
I pulled James aside later. Told him how disrespected I felt, how Alfie needs routine. Dragging him to Mums, where hell sleep on a camp bed, isnt fair. James sighed: Sarah, dont make a fuss. Theyre familyweve got to help. *Family*? What are we, then? I nearly cried. But I clenched my teeth and packed. If he thinks Ill just roll over, hes dead wrong.
Mum hit the roof when I told her: James thinks he owns the place? Come here, love, theres room for you and Alfie. As for that husband of yours, hell answer for this! Shes ready to storm over and boot them out. But I wont have a scene. I just need peace to think.
As I packed Alfies toys, he peered up at me with those big eyes: Mummy, are we staying at Grannys long? I hugged him tight: Not long, sweetheart. Just till Daddy gets sense. But deep down, I knowIm not going back till our home is *ours* again. And James will have to choose: his generosity or his family.
