13April
Im writing this down because the house has become a battlefield and I need to sort my thoughts.
Mum, Margaret Thompson, insists on calling our flat our home, even though shes the one who inherited it from her parents years before I was born. Shes 57, worked two jobs after my father left when I was five, and raised me alone. She put herself through college, got a decent job in construction, and now I have a senior position at a firm down the road. The threebedroom flat on Victoria Street is still registered in her name; we each have our own bedroom and the third room serves as the sitting room.
This morning the tension rose again. I burst out of my room, annoyed, Mum, why are you barging into my bedroom without knocking?
She set a basket of fresh laundry on the floor and replied, What knock? This is my flat! I just brought the washed clothes in.
I muttered that she could have taken them from the bathroom herself; shed left them there for two days. She huffed, closed the door, and went to the kitchen to boil a kettle. Lately shes been on edge, snapping at the smallest thingssomething she never did before.
She arranged the cups, fetched the biscuits, and when I returned, calmer, she said, Sorry, love, I lost my temper.
I sat opposite her, took a cup of tea, and said, Mum, I need to talk.
Her voice grew serious. Im listening.
I want Emma to move in with us.
I saw her freeze, cup trembling in her hand. Emma? Your girlfriend?
Yes. Weve been together for six months; you know.
She sighed, I understand, but if she moves in are you planning to get married?
I looked away, Not yet. We just want to live together and see if were right for each other.
She frowned, And where will she stay? In your room?
Exactly.
She shook her head, Andrew, thats inconvenient. Im still living here, you two are young
Im thirty now, Mum. Its time to have a personal life.
She set her cup down, Im not against your love life, but I think you need a separate place. Maybe rent a flat together.
I snapped, Why rent when we already have a threebedroom flat? Theres enough space for everyone.
She warned me to think it over. Im used to a certain order. A strangers belongings will change that.
Im not a stranger; shes my girlfriend!
She said firmly, To me shes a stranger. Ive only seen her three times; we barely know each other.
I got up abruptly, You know what, Mum? Im tired of asking your permission for every little thing. Im an adult.
She replied, In my flat youll still have to ask.
I retorted, In your flat, because you keep reminding me that Im just a tenant, not a son.
She felt something choke her throat, Andrew, thats not what I meant
I cut her off, Whatever. Well talk later.
I retreated to my room, leaving her staring out the kitchen window, heavyhearted. She didnt want to fight with me, but she also didnt want a stranger in her house.
That night she called her sister Louise.
Louise, I have a problem. Andrew wants his girlfriend to move in.
Here? In the flat?
Yes. Im against it and hes upset.
Louise paused, Did you think he was already an adult? He needs a personal life.
I get that, but they could just rent somewhere.
Where will the money come from? Rents are high now. You have a big flat, plenty of room.
Are you taking his side?
Im on no ones side. I just think itll happen sooner or later. He wont stay alone forever.
Mum hung up feeling betrayed, even by her own sister.
The next few days were silent. Andrew came home late from work, ate his dinner quietly, and went straight to his bedroom. Pride kept Mum from being the first to break the ice.
Then, on a Friday evening, Andrew arrived with Emma.
Mum, hello. Emma will be staying over, he announced as he slipped into his room.
Mum froze in the hallway. Emma gave a shy smile, Good afternoon, Mrs. Thompson.
Mum managed a curt Good afternoon, and watched them disappear behind the door. The surprise had struck her like a punch. How could he bring someone home without warning?
The next morning, while Mum was preparing breakfast, Andrew and Emma appeared again.
Good morning, Emma said cheerfully.
Mum replied dryly, Good morning.
They sat at the table; Mum served tea and toast. The silence was palpable.
Mrs. Thompson, this is a cosy flat, Emma ventured.
Thanks, Mum said.
Andrew told me youve lived here a long time.
Since I was born. It belonged to my parents.
A short, awkward pause followed. Andrew stared at his phone, not joining the conversation.
Mum stood, I have to go to work; my shift starts in two hours.
She left the flat, wandering the streets aimlessly until dusk, then returned late. The flat was quiet; Andrew was watching television in the lounge.
Wheres Emma? Mum asked.
She went home.
Mum heated her dinner, and Andrew approached.
Mum, we need to talk properly.
She listened as he explained Emmas importance to him and his desire to live together. He admitted he feared upsetting her, but he loved her.
Mum sighed, Im not against her, Im just scared.
Scared of what? he asked.
That everything will change, that Ill become unnecessary in my own home.
He reassured her, You wont be. This is still your flat.
They negotiated: Emma would have the bedroom, the kitchen and bathroom would remain shared, and theyd agree on usage times.
Mum agreed, Alright, let her move in. Well try.
Andrew hugged her, Thank you, Mum. You wont regret this.
A week later Emma arrived with two suitcases and a box of cosmetics. Mum welcomed them, helped with the luggage.
Thank you, Mrs. Thompson, Emma said, smiling. Ill try not to be a bother.
The first days were calm. Emma kept to herself, cooked separately, and cleaned up after herself.
Then the small frictions began. The bathroom shelf filled with Emmas countless bottles, leaving no room for Mums toiletries.
Mum, could you ask Emma to move some of her stuff? I asked later that evening.
She replied, She needs somewhere to store it.
Maybe her bedroom?
Theres no space.
The bathroom?
Emma frowned, I need it there.
Later, the kitchen became a battlefield of rearranged pots and pans.
Did you move the crockery? Mum asked, trying to stay calm.
Yes, I thought it would be more efficient, Emma replied cheerfully.
Mum returned everything to its original place, only for Emma to rearrange again that night. Their silent war over utensils escalated.
When I intervened, Mum, does it really matter where the plates are?
It matters to me! Ive lived like this for years.
Emma warned, Its a shared flat now, Im also a homeowner here.
The tension grew. Emmas friends began using the living room for rehearsals, laughing loudly.
Mum, could you have told us beforehand? Emma asked.
Why should we? Mum snapped, Its my flat too.
One Saturday, Emma showed up with two friends, dancing in the hall.
You could have warned us, Mum said, voice shaking.
Emma shrugged, Were all sharing the space.
The argument blew up when Emma declared, One day this flat will be ours when I marry Andrew.
Mums face went pale. Get out! Leave this house right now!
Emma retorted, I live here because Andrew allows it.
Andrew rushed in, Whats happening?
Mum is trying to kick me out, Emma said, eyes wide.
Mum, Im not kicking anyone out, I heard myself say, trying to calm them.
Mum burst into tears, I cant live with someone who thinks this is their property.
The night ended with Emma packing her belongings, the flat finally quiet again.
The next morning Andrew confessed, Shes leaving today. I talked to her.
Im sorry, Mum. I didnt expect it to get so out of hand.
He admitted hed thought he loved Emma, but now saw her selfish side.
We sat together, sipping tea. He promised to look for his own flat, offering to help with a deposit. I said, Ill support you, whatever you decide.
The kitchen still smelled of a halfbaked cake, the dough dried on the counter.
Dont worry about the cake, I told Mum. Well bake another.
We laughed weakly, the tension easing.
Later that day Andrew left for work, and I was alone in the quiet flat. I tidied up, putting Emmas cosmetics back into the bathroom, restoring the kitchen to its familiar order. The space felt like mine again, but a strange sadness lingered.
I called Louise.
Emmas gone?
Yes. We argued, and Andrew asked her to leave.
How do you feel?
Odd. I got what I wanted, yet I feel empty.
Louise said, Shell eventually move on, maybe youll miss her company.
I thought about how Id reacted at the startcold, guarded, unwilling to give her a chance.
Maybe if Id been more open, things would have been different.
I considered calling Emma back, but the hurt was still fresh.
I remembered my own mothers motherinlaw, who never accepted her at first, yet they grew close over time.
Perhaps theres still a chance for reconciliation.
I dialed Emmas number.
Hello? she sounded hesitant.
This is Mrs. Thompson. Can we meet?
There was a pause.
Yes where?
We arranged to meet at the café on the high street the next day.
I arrived early, ordered tea, and waited. Emma entered, looking tired but composed.
Hello, she said.
Hello, please sit.
We talked. I apologized for my harshness, admitted I feared losing my son, and she admitted her bluntness had been defensive.
We agreed to try again, but only if we both respected each others space. She would move back only after we set clear house rules.
She promised to think it over.
Three days later, she called, Im willing to give this another shot, slowly.
We began meeting once a week, chatting over coffee, walking in the park, learning each others stories. Emma turned out to be intelligent, wellread, and genuinely kind.
A month later, Andrew asked, Mum, are you seeing Emma?
Yes, I replied, Were working things out.
He smiled, People change, dont they?
Soon Emma moved back, but this time with a fresh set of agreements: her bedroom, shared kitchen and bathroom, designated quiet hours, and mutual respect for each others belongings. The adjustment was uncomfortable at times, but we solved disputes by talking, not shouting.
Through all this I learned a hard truth: loving my son does not mean owning him. He is an adult with his own life, and my role is to support, not to cling.
And I also learned that a mothers house can still be a home for someone else, if Im willing to share the space and the heart.
Lesson: letting go does not mean losing; it means making room for growthfor both myself and the people I love.
