The country cottage, with its sloping roof and carved wooden trim, stood nestled among old apple trees. It had been passed down to Emily after her grandmothers passinga place where shed spent her childhood, every corner steeped in memories. Now, she lived there with her husband, Simon, for the past three years.
An autumn evening painted the sky crimson. On the porch, Emily set out teacups for their usual evening tea. Through the open door, she could hear her parents chattingher father, Robert, telling her mother, Margaret, how hed picked the last tomatoes from the greenhouse.
“Margaret, well need to dig up the carrots tomorrow,” Robert said, drying his hands on a tea towel. “Frost will be here soon.”
“Of course, Robert. Emily, could you lend a hand tomorrow?” her mother asked, turning to her.
Emily nodded as she poured hot tea into the cups. Her parents had arrived at the start of summer and had been helping around the house ever sinceRobert fixing the fence and tending the vegetable patch, Margaret making jam from the gardens blackcurrants and gooseberries. The house hummed with warmthfootsteps on wooden floors, the scent of fresh baking, quiet conversations over supper.
Simon appeared in the doorway, shaking raindrops from his coat. He worked as an engineer in the city, commuting daily in his car.
“Robert, hows the shed roof coming along?” Simon asked, sitting at the table.
“Needs new boards, I reckon. The old ones are rotting through,” Robert replied.
Simon sipped his tea in silence, nodding occasionally at his father-in-laws remarks. Emily noticed hed been distant lately, frowning without reason. When her parents retired for the night, Simon would sit by the telly, flipping channels absently.
“Something bothering you?” Emily asked one evening, settling beside him on the sofa.
“Nothing,” Simon muttered, eyes fixed on the screen.
She didnt press. Men got moody sometimes, especially in autumn. Maybe just tired.
But days later, his behaviour shifted. When Robert offered to help with the garage repairs, Simon refused sharply. At dinner, he barely spoke. Margaret asked if he was feeling poorly, but Emily brushed it off.
That Saturday morning, while her parents were out foraging for mushrooms, Simon approached Emily as she washed dishes.
“Emily, we need to talk,” he said, sitting at the kitchen table.
She dried her hands and turned. His expression was grave.
“Mums turning sixty soon. A big milestone. She wants to celebrate hereinvite family, friends. You know how she loves hosting.”
Emily nodded. Her mother-in-law, Patricia, adored entertaining. Every holiday meant a packed house and days of cooking.
“And what are you suggesting?” Emily asked.
Simon hesitated, then met her gaze.
“Your parents would need to leave. Just for a week. Mum wants to rearrange things, decorate her way. Guests will stay overnight. There wont be enough room.”
Emily froze, the towel still in her hands. His words felt like a verdict.
“Leave? Where would they go? This is my home. They have every right to be here.”
“Not forever! Just a few days. They could stay with your aunt or book a B&B. Theyve got options.”
Emily slowly hung the towel on its hook, thoughts jumbling.
“Simon, are you serious? Kick them out for a party? Theyve done nothing but help us. Wed be lost without them.”
Simon stood, stepping closer.
“Emily, think. Mums dreamed of this for years. Familys coming from all over. Cant disappoint them. And your parentswhats a little holiday to them?”
“My parents?” Emilys voice hardened. “Robert and Margaret live here because they belong here. No ones evicting them for a birthday.”
Simons jaw twitchedhis tell for irritation.
“You dont understand. Mums already planned everythingcatering, a band. Too late to cancel.”
“Then she can host at her place or rent a hall,” Emily said, crossing her arms.
Simons face reddened.
“Listen, Emily! Enough stubbornness! Mum deserves to celebrate where she wants. Your parents can find somewhere else!”
Emily gaped. Shed never expected such words from him.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean it!” Simon raised his voice. “Patricia worked her whole life, raised kids, never complained. Shes earned this. Your parentswhat have they achieved? Living off you with their pittance pensions!”
Emilys cheeks burned as if struck.
“Say that again.”
“Mum deserves her party at this cottage, and your wretched parents can clear out!” Simon snapped.
Silence fellheavy and brittle. Emily stood motionless, hands trembling, voice steady.
“Theyre staying. This is their home. If your mum needs a venue, shell find another.”
Simon slammed a fist on the table. A teacup shattered.
“You dont get it! Mums organised everything! Guests, music, food! You cant cancel over your principles!”
“Principles?” Emily bent to pick up the pieces. “Its called respect. For the people who gave me this home.”
“What about respect for me? For my mother?” Simon paced, waving his arms. “Im your husband! My word should count for something!”
Emily straightened, shards in her palms.
“Ive always considered you. But evicting my parents isnt an opinionits rudeness.”
Simon glared.
“Fine! Sort it yourself. Explain to Mum why her partys ruined!” He turned for the door. “Im going to hers. At least there, Im respected!”
The door slammed. Tyres crunched gravel. Alone, Emily clutched the broken cup.
Half an hour later, her parents returnedRobert with a basket of mushrooms, Margaret carrying rowan branches for the vase.
“Wheres Simon?” Margaret asked, glancing around. “His cars gone.”
“Gone to his mothers,” Emily said flatly.
Robert set the basket down, studying her.
“Something wrong, love?”
She nearly confessed but stopped. No need to upset them.
“Patricias birthdays coming. Theyre planning a party.”
Margaret nodded.
“Ah, milestone birthdays matter. We ought to get her a gift.”
“Yes, Mum. We will.”
Upstairs, Emily hugged her pillow. Simons words echoed: *Wretched parents.* How could he? After their kindness, their help.
Robert had worked as a mechanic his whole life, honest and hardworking. Margaret had been a nurse, tending patients night and day. Decent, humble people. Never a burden.
And now Simon called them *wretched.* Demanded they leave.
Emily rose, watching through the window. Robert stacked firewood, movements steady. Margaret hung laundry. A quiet autumn scene.
These people had raised her, supported her, never asked for anything. Since arriving, theyd shouldered the workRobert fixing the roof, painting the fence; Margaret cooking, cleaning. Without them, she and Simon wouldve drowned in chores.
And now Simon wanted them gone. For Patricias partya woman whod never lifted a finger to help them.
Patricia lived comfortably in her city flat, a former shop assistant who loved gatherings but rarely visited, criticising the house, the food, the bed. Now she demanded Emilys cottageand her parents eviction.
Emily clenched her fists. Never. The house was hers, her childhood home. No one dictated its use but her.
If Patricia wanted a grand party, fine. Book a restaurant, a hall. Simon earned well. But ejecting family? Unthinkable.
Her phone buzzed. Simon: *Think it over. Mums devastated.*
Emily deleted it. No thinking needed. Decision made.
At dinner, her parents asked when Simon would return. Emily dodged*Patricias busy, might stay over.* Robert nodded, but she knew he understood. Margaret fretted, suggesting they call him.
“No need. Hell ring if anythings wrong.”
After supper, her parents turned in earlycountry habits. Emily stayed, washing up, thinking of tomorrow.
Simon would return. Try again. Maybe bring Patriciafor pressure. But Emily wouldnt bend. Principles outweighed peace.
Morning brought the familiar engine rumble. Simon wasnt alonePatricia stepped out, dressed smartly in a blue dress, heels clicking. Ready for battle.
Emily met them on the porch. Simon looked determined; Patricia smiled tightly.
“Emily, dear,” Patricia began, climbing the steps. “Simon told me about your little tiff. Lets talk properly.”
Inside, Patricia eyed the new curtains approvingly.
“Lovely place. Perfect for a gathering.”
Robert and Margaret sat at the table, sipping tea. They greeted the guests politely.
“Patricia, what brings you?” Robert asked.
“Oh, Robert, planning my birthday! Sixtys a big one.”
Emily poured tea as Patricia prattled about guests, music, how *inconvenient* itd be with others underfoot. Robert stiffened.
