**Sparks of Revenge in a Quiet Home**
Evening settled over the quaint little town of Heatherfield, draping the streets in soft twilight. Paul returned 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.
“Hello, love—fancy some dinner? I’ve just done some bangers,” she said, adjusting her apron.
“Absolutely,” Paul replied, kicking off his shoes. He fished a set of keys from his pocket and tossed them carelessly onto the side table.
Emily spotted the unfamiliar keys and squinted.
“What are these, then?”
“Mum’s gone off to a spa retreat for three weeks,” Paul explained, rubbing his neck. “Asked me to keep an eye on her flat—left me the keys.”
Suddenly, Emily’s eyes lit up with a mischievous, almost sinister glint. She clapped her hands together and declared,
“At last! I’m going to do it!”
Paul froze, baffled. His wife, usually so calm and collected, looked like she’d just hatched some grand scheme.
“What? Do what?” he asked, eyeing her with growing unease.
Emily only smiled mysteriously, but the determination in her gaze sent a chill down Paul’s spine.
A few weeks earlier, their lives had been turned upside down. After a week-long visit to Emily’s parents, they returned to find their flat utterly transformed. The hallway wallpaper, which they’d so carefully chosen, had been replaced with something garishly floral—like something straight out of a 1970s nightmare. The furniture in the living room and bedroom had been rearranged with reckless abandon: the wardrobe now loomed awkwardly in the middle of the room, and the bed in the bedroom had been spun to face the window, destroying any sense of cosiness.
“What on earth—?” Emily gasped, dropping her suitcase just inside the door.
Paul peered over her shoulder, struggling to process the chaos. His stomach twisted.
“Who did this?” Emily’s voice trembled with fury. “This isn’t our home!”
“Take it easy,” Paul said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s figure this out.”
But the more they explored, the worse it got. The sofa had migrated to the window, the telly was now crammed in the corner, and the dresser in the bedroom had been wedged against the wall where their mirror once hung. The culprit was painfully obvious—Paul’s mother, Margaret.
A month earlier, Margaret had descended on their flat for an “inspection.” From the moment she stepped in, she’d critiqued everything—from the “dull as dishwater” wallpaper to the “nonsensical” furniture placement.
“Goodness, these walls are depressing—like a dentist’s waiting room!” she’d huffed, shaking her head. “You need something cheerful! Bright colours! Lift the mood!”
“We like it just fine,” Emily had replied, forcing a polite smile.
“Nonsense! No wonder you’re always on edge—this place is practically designed for misery!” Margaret barrelled on, ignoring objections. “And the furniture? Awful. The wardrobe should be in the corner, not hogging the middle of the room! And this bed? Completely wrong!”
Emily had bitten her tongue. Paul knew better than to argue—his mother could lecture for hours on the “proper” way to live. She’d eventually left, leaving behind a cloud of disapproval. Paul and Emily had sighed in relief, thinking that was the end of it.
But then they’d had to leave town for Emily’s mother’s birthday. Their cat, Whiskers, couldn’t be left alone, and Paul suggested asking Margaret to catsit. Emily had been horrified:
“You want to give her our keys? She’ll redecorate the whole place!”
But with no other options, they’d reluctantly handed over the keys. Emily had even written down strict instructions: what to feed Whiskers, how often to change his water, where his toys were. Every day, she called to check in—Margaret’s replies were always the same: “Everything’s fine,” before a quick goodbye. It should’ve been a red flag.
When they returned, they realised Margaret hadn’t just watched the cat. She’d staged a full-scale interior invasion.
“What do we even do now?” Emily sighed, staring at the hideous wallpaper.
“Put the furniture back, redo the walls,” Paul said. “It’ll cost time and money. I’ll call Mum and give her a piece of my mind.”
Emily wiped her eyes and paused. Then, slowly, a sly grin spread across her face.
“No. I’ve got a better idea,” she said, her voice laced with mischief. “Your mum’s going to that spa soon, isn’t she?”
Paul nodded, still lost. Emily just winked. A plan was forming.
When Margaret departed for her retreat, leaving her keys with Paul, Emily practically vibrated with excitement.
“Finally! She’s going to see how it feels!” she declared, jingling the keys.
Paul, though wary, agreed to back her up. His mother had it coming.
For the next three weekends, they visited Margaret’s flat while she was blissfully unaware. Emily swapped the loud, floral wallpaper for something subdued—soft pastels with delicate patterns, the exact opposite of Margaret’s garish taste. Paul helped rearrange the furniture: the bedroom dresser was exiled to the hall, and the living room shelves were swapped for “more sensible” ones. They even added a few tasteful decorations—just to “freshen things up.”
When Margaret returned, she stood frozen in the doorway, her face a picture of shock.
“What have you DONE?!” she shrieked, dialing Paul’s number. “Where’s my lovely wallpaper? What is this ghastly beige nonsense? How DARE you?”
Paul kept his voice calm.
“We thought your place was a bit… overwhelming. At your age, you need something soothing.”
“Is this a joke?!” Margaret spluttered. “You had no right! I trusted you with my keys, and you—why is the dresser in the hall? What are these hideous shelves? Fix it! NOW!”
“We’re not finished yet,” Paul cut in. “Now tell me—why did you think we’d enjoy you doing the same to our home?”
Silence. For the first time, Margaret seemed to realise her actions had consequences.
“That’s different!” she finally snapped. “I was helping! You’ve just vandalised my flat!”
“Like it or not, it’s your turn to live with someone else’s taste,” Paul said flatly. “If you don’t want your sofa ending up on the patio next time, stay out of our business.”
Margaret went quiet. The lesson had landed. From then on, she kept her opinions—and her redecorating urges—to herself. Meanwhile, Emily, smug with victory, finally felt like their home was truly theirs again.
