“My Wife’s Son Took My Room”
“You’ve got to be joking, Daniel! That’s my room!” William Harrison stood in the doorway, gripping his keys, unable to believe what he saw.
“Was yours, Uncle Will,” the lad didn’t even look up from his phone, slouched on the sofa. “Mine now. Mum said so.”
“What do you mean, ‘Mum’?!” William exploded. “I’m not your uncle! And where’s my bed? Where are my things?”
Daniel shrugged, still staring at his screen.
“Moved the bed to the conservatory, packed your stuff in boxes. Mum says you’ll manage out there.”
William felt the ground give way beneath him. He’d lived in this flat for twenty years—this room was his retreat, his sanctuary. Now some eighteen-year-old upstart was acting like he owned the place.
“Charlotte!” he bellowed, storming toward the kitchen. “Charlotte, get in here now!”
His wife walked out, wiping her hands on her apron. Not a hint of guilt on her face.
“What’s the matter, Will? Why the shouting?”
“What’s the matter?!” William was livid. “Your boy’s taken over my room! My things are shoved onto the conservatory! What’s this nonsense?”
“Will, calm down,” Charlotte said quietly, but there was steel in her voice. “Daniel’s started uni—he needs a proper space to study. You’ll be fine in the conservatory; I’ve made it cosy.”
“The conservatory?!” William could hardly believe his ears. “Char, have you lost it? This is my flat! I live here!”
“Our flat,” she corrected. “And Daniel lives here now—permanently.”
William slumped into a chair. When he’d married Charlotte two years ago, she’d mentioned a son who lived with his father. The lad visited on weekends, kept to himself, never caused trouble. William even thought they might get along.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked wearily.
“What’s there to say? Daniel’s grown—he needs his own room. You’ll adjust.”
“Adjust…” William repeated. “Char, I work shifts—I need proper sleep. The conservatory’s freezing in winter, stuffy in summer.”
“You’ll get used to it. Daniel’s a good boy; he won’t disturb you.”
William studied his wife. Two years ago, she’d seemed like salvation. After years alone, after his divorce from his first wife—who’d taken their daughter to another city—Charlotte had been a breath of fresh air. A lovely woman of forty-five, an accountant, kind-hearted and a brilliant cook. They’d met in the park, her feeding pigeons, him reading a paper on a bench.
“I have a son,” she’d said then. “Lives with his dad, but visits sometimes.”
“No problem,” William had replied. “I like kids.”
And he did. His own daughter, Emily, he saw rarely; his ex made sure of that. Daniel had seemed decent enough—polite, quiet, no trouble.
“Listen, Char,” William tried again, softer. “Maybe we rearrange things? A pull-out sofa in the lounge for Daniel, and I keep my room?”
“No,” Charlotte shook her head. “Daniel needs quiet for studying. You just watch telly.”
“Just watch telly…” Something inside William snapped. “Char, I come home exhausted—I need proper rest.”
“You’re being selfish, Will. Only thinking of yourself. I have a son to care for.”
William stood, walked to the conservatory. His bed was there, boxes stacked beside it. The room was glassed in, but the damp still seeped through. He sat on the edge of the bed, head in hands.
That evening, Daniel came out for dinner. William sipped tea at the table.
“Daniel, let’s talk man to man,” he began peaceably. “Maybe we can sort this?”
“What’s to sort?” Daniel grabbed yoghurt from the fridge. “Got my own room now—you got yours. Fair’s fair.”
“My room’s a conservatory,” William pointed out.
“So what? More space for you and Mum.”
“Daniel, uni’s great—but you can’t treat people like this. We could’ve talked, compromised.”
“Compromise?” Daniel scoffed. “You’re not family. Mum’s my mum—you’re just her husband. For now.”
“For now?” William stiffened.
“Think it’s forever?” Daniel shrugged. “Mum’s still young, attractive. Might find someone better.”
William’s face burned, but he held back. No use causing a scene.
“Daniel, I respect your mum and you. But this is my flat.”
“Not anymore,” Daniel yawned. “Mum says after marriage, everything’s shared.”
“We married in my flat,” William reminded him.
“Doesn’t matter. Law’s the law.”
The conversation was useless. The lad was set in his ways.
Next day, William tried Charlotte again.
“Char, I’m serious—I can’t sleep out there. Maybe a different arrangement?”
“Will, stop whinging,” she said, not looking up from cooking. “Daniel’s a student—he needs proper conditions. You’re a grown man; cope.”
“Cope?!” William snapped. “Char, I’m a shift supervisor at the power plant—if I’m sleep-deprived, mistakes happen. Big ones.”
“Stop exaggerating,” she stirred the soup. “It’s just sleeping in the conservatory.”
“It’s damp! Cold! Why should I be shoved out in my own home?”
Charlotte turned, and William saw a coldness in her eyes he’d never noticed before.
“Because my son matters more than your comfort.”
“Char…”
“That’s it, Will. Matter’s closed. Don’t like it? Leave.”
William stared. Where was the kind, caring woman he’d fallen for?
That night, he tried Daniel again. The lad was gaming, shouting into a headset.
“Daniel, a word?”
“Busy,” came the muttered reply.
“It’s important.”
“Later.”
William waited half an hour, then walked in and switched off the PC.
“What the—?!” Daniel yelled.
“We’re talking,” William said calmly. “Man to man.”
“About what?!” Daniel tried restarting, but William stopped him.
“Respect, Daniel. We share this home—that means respecting each other.”
“Didn’t ask you to move in,” Daniel sneered. “Mum’s idea.”
“But I’m here. And I’m her husband.”
“For now,” Daniel smirked. “You’re making a fuss over nothing. Conservatory’s quiet—perfect for you.”
“Daniel, I’m fifty. Bad back—I need a proper bed in a warm room.”
“See a doctor then,” Daniel shrugged. “Or take pills.”
The conversation was going nowhere. The lad was selfish to the core.
A week passed. William barely slept, caught a cold. At work, his colleague Mark noticed.
“Will, you’re off your game—what’s up?”
“Home troubles.”
“Wife giving you grief?”
“Her son. Kicked me out of my room—I’m in the conservatory.”
“Out of your own flat?”
“Ours now, apparently. And apparently, I’ve fewer rights than an eighteen-year-old.”
“Did you proper marry her? Register the flat?”
“Of course.”
“Then it’s shared, sure—but he can’t just chuck you out.”
“Try telling them.”
At home, things worsened. Daniel cranked music late, hosted mates. Charlotte dismissed complaints.
“Char, they’re smoking in my room.”
“So? Air it out.”
“They left beer bottles everywhere.”
“Boys having fun—it’s normal.”
“And where do I ‘have fun’? The conservatory?”
“Will, you’re a grown man—you don’t ‘have fun.’”
William barely recognised the woman who’d once cared for him.
One night, after a late shift, Daniel’s music blared as William tried sleeping.
“Turn it off!” he knocked.
“Can’t hear you!” Daniel shouted back.
“I said off! People are sleeping!”
The door swung open. Daniel smirked.
“Sleep in the kitchen then. Quieter there.”
“You little—!” William stepped forward—but Daniel slammed and locked the door.
“Mum!” he yelled. “Your hubby’s threatening me!”
Charlotte rushed out.
“Will! Why are you shouting at him?”
“At him?!” William was beside himself. “Char, he’s eighteen—a grown man! And he’s taken my room!”
“He’s a student!”
“He’s gaming all day!”
“Not your concern,” she said icily. “If you’re unhappy, leave.”
“This is my flat,” William said softly.
“Ours. And my son lives here.”
William knewWith a heavy heart, William walked away, realizing too late that love should never mean surrendering your own worth.
