“I’m tired of living with your family,” I said as I started packing my suitcase.
“I’m tired of living with your family,” Emily sighed, pulling her clothes from the wardrobe.
Oliver froze in the bedroom doorway, clutching a half-drunk mug of tea. Behind him, voices drifted from the kitchenhis mum lecturing his sister, his sister arguing back, his dad turning up the telly to drown them out.
“Em, come on…” he began, but she spun around sharply.
“What, Ollie? Seven years, Oliver! Seven years I’ve put up with this!” She tossed a pair of jeans into the suitcase, then carefully folded a blouse on top. “Your mum asks every morning why I take so long eating breakfast. Your sister borrows my stuff without asking. And your dad…”
She bit her lip, cutting herself off. Oliver set the mug on the dresser and stepped closer.
“What about Dad?”
“Your dad told Laura on the phone last night that I cant make a proper roast. Thought I didnt hear, but I was right behind the door. Emily, he says, cant cook for toffeenot like our Sarah.” She gave him a pointed look. “Thats your ex, in case you forgot.”
Oliver rubbed his forehead. His dad *had* always adored Sarah, held her up as the perfect wifeeven though shed left Oliver for someone else three years back.
“Dad just…”
“Just what?” Emily yanked open a drawer, placing her underwear neatly in the case. “Just doesnt see me as family? Just thinks Im temporary? Maybe hes right.”
From the kitchen, raised voices spilled outOlivers sister, Sophie, was ranting at their mum, hands waving. Their mum shushed her, worried the neighbours would hear. These evening rows had become routine since Sophie moved back home after her divorce, bringing her two kids with her. Now, seven people crammed into a three-bedroom house.
“Where will you go?” Oliver asked quietly.
“To my mums. She lives aloneshell be happy to have me.” Emily stacked her books into the casethe ones Olivers mum called “silly romance novels.” “Ill figure things out from there.”
“What about us? Our wedding?”
Emily paused, holding a framed photoher and Oliver at the seaside two years ago. Back then, everything had been different. His parents had their own place, Sophie was still married, and they were just starting out.
“What wedding, Oliver?” She turned to him. “We already live like were married. Except Im not your wifeIm a lodger who *also* chips in for the bills.”
“Thats not fair…”
“Not fair?” Emily sat on the bed, the photo still in her hands. “Is it fair when your mum throws my clothes in with hers and then acts like I should be grateful? Is it fair when Sophies mates stay till 2 a.m. drinking wine in the kitchen when Ive got work the next morning?”
Oliver sat beside her. The kitchen had gone quiethis parents must have gone to bed. But Sophies kids were still shrieking and thumping around next door.
“We could rent a place,” he offered. “I just thought…”
“That saving money was more important than us?” Emily shook her head. “You know what hurts the most? Its not living with your family. Its that you *always* defend them. Even when theyre wrong.”
Oliver opened his mouth to argue but stopped. She was right. When his mum critiqued Emilys outfits, he stayed quiet. When his dad mocked her cooking, hed say, “Just ignore him.” When Sophie commandeered their room for phone calls, hed ask Emily to put up with it.
“I dont want to fight with them,” he admitted.
“But youll fight with *me*?” Emily stood, smoothing her hair in the mirror. “Oliver, I love you. But I cant live where Im not welcome. Where every move I make gets picked apart.”
She remembered last month, when shed lightened her hair. His mum had sighed for days, muttering about “ruining a pretty girl.” His dad had grumbled about modern women with no self-respect. Sophie had smirked, asking how much *that* cost.
“Remember when your mum found out I work in marketing?” Emily continued. “Couldnt you be a teacher? Or a nurse? Just pushing ads all day.”
“Mums just old-fashioned…”
“And Sophie? Shes two years younger than me, but acts like I owe her something. Hogs the bathroom, leaves dishes everywherethen acts offended when I ask her to clean up.”
Oliver thought of last nights row. Sophie *had* left a sink full of dishes, and when Emily washed them, Sophie accused her of shaming her in front of the kids. Hed taken Sophies sidesaid she was going through a rough patch.
“And the kids?” Emily zipped the suitcase. “Yesterday, Jack drew all over my paperwork with markers. Know what Sophie said? Kids will be kidsat least your forms are colourful now.”
“She was joking…”
“They were *mortgage* documents, Oliver! I spent all day replacing them!” She grabbed the suitcase handle. “And you defended her. Kids make mistakes, you said.”
Oliver dropped his head. He remembered that day. Emily had been upset, but hed thought she was overreacting. So what if some papers got ruined?
“I didnt realise how much it was hurting you,” he muttered.
“You didnt *realise*?” Emily stopped at the door. “When your mum asks *daily* when well have kids, then adds, Sarah wouldve been a mum by nowthat doesnt seem hurtful? When your dad bangs on about what a proper homemaker Sarah wasthats fine?”
“They miss her…”
“Then they can miss her *quietly*!” Her voice cracked, then dropped. “You know what kills me? That you *let* them. You let your family treat me like hired help. I cook, clean, pay billsand they act like *Im* the inconvenience.”
Next door, one of Sophies kids started wailing. Sophie hushed them, then cranked up the cartoons.
“Im forty, Oliver,” Emily whispered. “Forty. No kids because my ex didnt want them. No home because we sold the flat in the divorce. Then I met you, thoughtfinally, a family. But what do I get? A house where everyone thinks they can tell me how to live.”
“Em…”
“Let me finish.” She held up a hand. “Remember my birthday? I asked for a quiet dinner at home, invited a few friends. Your mum spent the whole night complainingmusic too loud, laughter too much, my friends not her sort. Then she said *her* house, *her* rules.”
Oliver remembered. His mum *had* been prickly, but hed assumed she was tired. Emilys friends *were* loudmaybe too much for his parents.
“Thats when I knew,” Emily said. “Ill always be the outsider here. Youll always choose *them*. Because theyre family, and Im just… passing through.”
“Thats not trueI love you!”
“Love isnt just words, Oliver.” Her hand hovered on the doorknob. “Love is standing up for someone. Its telling your mum, Dont speak to my girlfriend like that. Its telling your dad comparisons to your ex are out of line. Its making Sophie respect the person *living* with her.”
“We can fix this…”
“Can we?” She gave a bitter laugh. “Youve said that for six months. Well fix it, theyll adjust, give it time. But times passing, Oliver, and nothing changes. Worse*Im* changing. Im angry all the time. I dont even recognise myself.”
She opened the door. The house was silent now, just the kitchen clock ticking.
“You know what I dream about?” she asked, not turning. “Waking up without someone judging how I eat breakfast. Coming home without walking on eggshells. Laughing on the phone without being told Im too much.”
“Emily, wait.” Oliver caught her at the front door. “Lets talk to themexplain”
“Explain *what*?” She faced him. “Try it. Explain to your mum I dont need to be the perfect housewife, but I *do* deserve respect. Explain to your dad Ill never be Sarahand thats *okay*. Explain to Sophie her problems dont give her the right to make my life hell.”
Oliver stayed silent. He pictured the fallouthis mum in tears, his dad scoffing about “snowflakes,” Sophie playing the victim.
“I dont want to upset them,” he admitted.
“But upsetting *me* is fine?” Emily shook her head. “Oliver, Im not asking
