“Mums already picked out which room shell take in your house!” her husband declared the morning after their wedding.
Charlotte had never imagined the day after her own wedding would become the first battle for the right to live in her own flat. The September morning was crisp, the first golden leaves drifting lazily past the window, while the scent of wedding flowers still lingered in the air.
The wedding had been modestjust a registry office ceremony and an intimate dinner at a nearby restaurant for close family. Charlotte had insisted on keeping it small, wanting the day to be remembered for warmth rather than extravagance. Her in-laws had wrinkled their noses at the simplicity, but shed stood firm. Money was better spent on things that truly mattered.
The newlyweds had returned to Charlottes flat around ten. The three-bedroom flat in a good part of London had been a gift from her parents for her twenty-fifth birthday. Theyd saved for years, denying themselves luxuries, dreaming of giving their daughter a secure start in life.
Exhausted but happy, Charlotte carefully arranged the gifts and bouquets in the living room. White roses and chrysanthemums went into a large vase on the windowsill, boxes of china and linens neatly stored away. Each item held the warmth of well-wishes from friends and family.
Meanwhile, James sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone, occasionally muttering under his breath. His face wore an odd expressionsomewhere between anticipation and distraction. When Charlotte asked if everything was all right, he waved her off, claiming tiredness.
The evening passed quietly. They drank tea with leftover wedding cake, sharing impressions of the day and making plans for their future. James was unusually quiet, but Charlotte chalked it up to exhaustion.
The next morning, she woke with a lightness in her chest. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, bathing the bedroom in a soft glow. She wanted the first day of married life to be special. Rising early, she cooked breakfastscrambled eggs with bacon, fresh coffeeand laid the table with the linen her aunt had gifted them.
James shuffled into the kitchen around nine, yawning. He took a sip of coffee and said, as casually as if mentioning the weather, “By the way, Mums already chosen her room here. Shes moving in tomorrow.”
Charlotte froze, fork halfway to her mouth, staring at him in disbelief. Yesterday morning, shed been a single woman in her own flat. Last night, shed become a wife. And now, without warning, she was expected to share her home.
“What did you just say?” she asked slowly, hoping shed misheard.
“Mums moving in,” James repeated, buttering his toast as if discussing the news. “Shes uncomfortable where she is now. This place is spacious, plenty of room.”
Charlotte blinked, trying to process the words. Heat crept up her neck, her fingers tightening around the fork.
“James, have you lost your mind? What right does your mother have to claim a room in my flat?”
His eyebrows shot up, as if surprised by her reaction.
“Charlotte, were married now. Whats yours is ours. Family sticks together. Mums been strugglingher healths not great.”
She stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. He spoke as if discussing furniture, not forcing a stranger into her home without consent.
“Waitjust wait.” She held up a hand, cutting off his excuses. “Did you even plan to ask me? Or did you assume marriage meant Id automatically house your mother?”
“Dont be so cold,” he frowned. “Mums a good woman. She cooks, shell help around the house. Itll make things easier for you.”
Charlotte paced, struggling to keep her voice steady. Over the past year and a half, her mother-in-law had seemed pleasant enough, if strong-willed. But occasional visits were one thingdaily life under the same roof was another.
“James, listen carefully,” she said, stopping in front of him. “This flat is mine. In my name. My parents bought it for me. No one decides who lives here but me.”
“Legally, sure, its yours,” he shrugged. “But were family now. We dont keep score.”
Her jaw tightened. She walked to the hallway cabinet, pulled out the deeds, and dropped them on the table with a thud.
“See that? Charlotte Elizabeth Hartley. Not Parker, like after marriage. Hartley. Because I owned this before we wed. Which means, legally, its not marital property.”
James barely glanced at the papers. “Lets not get technical. This isnt about the law. Mum needs helpher hearts not great, her blood pressures all over the place.”
“Then she moves in with your dad,” Charlotte said evenly. “Or you rent her a place nearby. There are options.”
“Christ, Charlotte, have you no heart?” James snapped, voice rising. “Mum worked her whole life for us, sacrificed everything. And now, when she needs support, you want to shove her aside?”
She crossed her arms. Classic guilt-tripping. First the demand, then the blame when she refused.
“Im not against helping your mother. But on reasonable terms. We can visit, invite her for dinners, help with shopping or doctors. But living together? Thats a decision we make together.”
“Does it really matter how it happens?” He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the cups. “Mums already packed! The movers are booked for tomorrow!”
Charlotte went very still. So it was decided. No discussion. Furniture and all.
“What furniture?” she asked quietly.
“Bed, wardrobe, dresser. Basics for her room. She picked the one opposite ours. Says it gets good light, close to the bathroom.”
Her legs felt weak. So, not just a visit. A full takeover.
“James,” she said carefully, “when did your mother even see this flat?”
He hesitated. “A couple weeks ago, when you were out. Wanted to see where wed live. Perfectly normal.”
“You brought strangers into my home without asking?”
“Shes not a stranger! Shes my mother! And we were engagedthis was practically our place already.”
Charlotte turned away, gripping the counter. A year and a half together, and James had seemed kind, decent. A bit of a mummys boy, but wasnt that a good thing? Family values mattered to him.
But now she saw a different man. One who made decisions about her property without consultation, who saw no issue with it.
“Engagement doesnt entitle you to my assets,” she said. “Neither does marriage. I thought you understood that.”
“Enough with the legal crap!” James threw up his hands. “This isnt about that. Mum needs us!”
“Then she stays with your dad,” Charlotte said calmly. “Or you find her a flat. But she doesnt move in here. Not without my say-so.”
He scoffed. “Youre really giving me an ultimatum? Choose between you and Mum?”
“Im stating facts. We live here together, as a couple. Or you go live with your mother. Theres no third option.”
James stared at her as if she were a stranger.
“Youre serious?”
“Deadly.”
Silence. Then, with a heavy exhale, he muttered, “Fine. Ill call Mum tomorrow. Cancel the move.”
Charlotte didnt cheer. She simply nodded. “Thank you. For listening.”
James rubbed his face. “Shell be devastated.”
“Then tell her the truth. That we need time alone as newlyweds. That well discuss helping her properly later.”
He gave a reluctant nod, though his expression remained troubled. The conversation with his mother would be ugly. But for the first time, Charlotte felt like an equal in her own home.
The next few days passed in tense quiet. James was withdrawn, spending hours on hushed phone calls. Charlotte pretended not to notice, giving him space to adjust.
Then, on Thursday evening, the doorbell rang.
Margaret Parker stood on the doorstep, unannounced. In her hands, a Tupperware container.
“Scones,” she announced, stepping past Charlotte without waiting for an invitation. “Jamess favourite. Thought you might not have time to bake, newlyweds and all.”
She was perfectly polite, but her eyes were sharp, scanning the flat like an inspector.
James hurried out, guilt and relief warring on his face. “Mum! You shouldve calledwed have met you.”
“Oh, dont fuss. I was passing by.” She settled at the kitchen table as if she belonged there. “So, hows married life treating you?”
Charlotte poured tea, letting the older womans pointed comments about the curtains and fridge placement slide. This was a test. A challenge to her authority.
“Thank you for the scones,” Charlotte said evenly. “Very thoughtful.”
Margarets smile didnt reach her eyes. “Just looking out for you. Though it seems youre managing fine without me.”
“We are,” Charlotte agreed, meeting her gaze. “But we appreciate the gesture.”
A pause. Then, with exaggerated concern: “That room
