**Sparks of Payback in a Quiet Home**
Evening settled over the little town of Heatherbrook, wrapping the streets in a soft twilight. Paul came home from work tired but content. In the hallway, his wife, Emily, greeted him with a warm smile and the smell of freshly fried sausages.
“Hey, fancy some dinner? I’ve done bangers and mash,” she asked, adjusting her apron.
“Definitely,” Paul replied, kicking off his shoes. He pulled a set of keys from his pocket and carelessly tossed them onto the side table.
Emily noticed an unfamiliar key and squinted.
“What’s this one for?”
“Mum’s gone to a health spa for three weeks,” Paul explained, rubbing his neck. “Asked us to watch her flat, left the keys.”
Suddenly, Emily’s eyes lit up with mischief—almost menacing. She clapped her hands and gasped.
“Finally! I’m doing it!”
Paul froze, baffled. His wife, usually calm and composed, looked like she’d just hatched a grand scheme.
“What? Doing what?” he asked, unease creeping into his voice.
Emily just gave a mysterious smile, but the determination in her gaze sent a chill down his spine.
A few weeks earlier, their lives had been turned upside down. Returning from a trip to Emily’s parents, they’d found their flat completely altered. The tasteful wallpaper in the hall—carefully chosen—had been swapped for garish, clashing florals. The furniture had been rearranged chaotically: the wardrobe now blocked the middle of the lounge, and the bed faced the window, ruining the cosy flow.
“What on earth—?” Emily dropped her bag in shock.
Paul peeked over her shoulder, heart sinking.
“Who did this?” Emily trembled with anger. “This isn’t our home!”
“Calm down,” Paul soothed, resting his hands on her shoulders. “We’ll sort it.”
But the more they looked, the worse it got. The sofa was shoved under the window, the telly crammed into a corner. The dresser in the bedroom had been jammed against the wall where their mirror used to hang. There was no doubt who’d done it—Paul’s mum, Margaret.
A month earlier, Margaret had swept in for an “inspection.” From the doorstep, she’d criticised everything—the wallpaper (“Dreary as a care home!”), the furniture (“That bookcase belongs in the corner! The bed’s all wrong!”).
“We like it as it is,” Emily had said tightly.
“Nonsense! These muted tones drain your energy—no wonder you’re always stressed!” Margaret had huffed, ignoring protests.
Emily had bitten her tongue—arguing was pointless. Margaret could lecture for hours on the “right” way to live. When she’d finally left, they’d sighed in relief, hoping that was the end of it.
Then they’d had to visit Emily’s parents for an anniversary. Their cat, Whiskers, couldn’t stay alone, so Paul suggested asking Margaret to pop in. Emily had hesitated.
“Give her the keys? She’ll redecorate again!”
But with no other option, she’d reluctantly agreed, leaving strict instructions: feed Whiskers twice a day, fresh water, toys in the basket. She’d called daily for updates. Margaret’s replies were curt: “All fine.” That should’ve been a red flag, but Emily brushed it off.
Returning home, they realised Margaret hadn’t just fed the cat—she’d staged a full-blown home invasion.
“What do we do now?” Emily asked, staring at the garish walls.
“Move everything back, repaper the walls,” Paul sighed. “Costly, but it’s fixable. I’ll ring Mum and give her a piece of my mind.”
Emily wiped her eyes—then suddenly grinned.
“No need. I’ve got a better idea. Your mum’s off to that spa soon, right?”
Paul nodded, confused. Emily winked, and her plan took shape.
When Margaret left for the spa, handing Paul her keys, Emily practically glowed with anticipation.
“Finally—she’ll see how it feels!” she declared, jingling the keys.
Paul, though uneasy, agreed. Margaret deserved a taste of her own medicine.
For three weekends, they sneaked into her flat. While she relaxed, they transformed it. Emily replaced Margaret’s bold floral wallpaper with subtle, muted patterns—the exact opposite of her loud taste. Paul helped rearrange furniture: the dresser moved to the hallway, shelves replaced with “more suitable” ones. They even swapped decor for pieces Emily deemed “fresh.”
When Margaret returned, she froze in the doorway.
“What have you done?!” she shrieked, dialling Paul. “Where’s my wallpaper? Who picked this dull rubbish? You had no right!”
Paul kept his cool. “Thought your place could use a calmer vibe. At your age, loud patterns are overstimulating.”
“Is this a joke?!” Margaret spluttered. “Change it back!”
“We’re not done yet,” Paul cut in. “Now tell me—why did you think we’d like what you did to our flat?”
Silence. Margaret seemed to finally grasp the irony.
“That’s different! I was helping!”
“Help unasked for is interference,” Paul said flatly. “Keep out of our home, or next time, your sofa’s going on the patio.”
Margaret went quiet, stunned. The lesson stuck. From then on, she never meddled again. Emily, smug, finally felt their home was truly theirs.
