“My mum deserves to celebrate her anniversary at the cottage, and your pathetic parents can clear out for a while!” snapped the husband.
The countryside house, with its sloping roof and carved wooden shutters, stood nestled among old apple trees. It had been passed down to Emily by her parents after her grandmothers passing. Her childhood had unfolded within these walls, every corner steeped in memories. Now, she lived here with her husband, Simon, for the past three years.
An autumn evening painted the sky crimson. Emily arranged teacups on the veranda for their evening tea. Through the open door, she could hear her parents chattingWilliam was telling his wife how hed just picked the last tomatoes from the greenhouse.
“Margaret, well need to dig up the carrots tomorrow,” William said, wiping his hands on a towel. “The frost will be setting in soon.”
“Of course, William. Emily, love, will you lend a hand tomorrow?” her mother asked.
Emily nodded as she poured the steaming tea. Her parents had arrived at the start of summer and had since helped around the house. Her father had fixed the fence, tended the vegetable patch, while her mother made jams from the raspberries and gooseberries picked in the garden. The house had filled with warmththe sound of footsteps on wooden floors, the scent of fresh baking, quiet conversations over supper.
Simon appeared in the doorway, shaking raindrops from his jacket. He worked as an engineer in the city, commuting daily by car.
“William, hows the shed roof holding up?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.
“Needs new boards, I reckon. The old ones are rotting through,” Emilys father replied.
Simon sipped his tea in silence, nodding occasionally. Emily noticed hed been distant lately, frowning for no reason. Long after her parents went to bed, hed sit by the telly, flicking through channels.
“Is something wrong?” she asked one evening, settling beside him on the sofa.
“Nothing,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the screen.
Emily let it go. Men could be moody, especially in autumn. Perhaps he was just tired.
But days later, Simons behaviour shifted. When her father offered to help repair the garage, he refused sharply. He barely spoke at dinner. Margaret asked if he was ill, but Emily brushed it off.
That Saturday morning, as her parents set off to forage for mushrooms, Simon approached her in the kitchen. Emily was washing breakfast dishes.
“Emily, we need to talk,” he said, sitting at the table.
She dried her hands and turned. His face was stern.
“Mums turning sixty soon. A big milestone. She wants to celebrate here at the houseinvite relatives, friends. You know how she loves hosting.”
Emily nodded. Her mother-in-law adored entertaining. Every holiday meant a house full of guests, days of cooking.
“What are you suggesting?”
Simon hesitated, then met her eyes.
“Your parents will have to leave. Just for a week. Mum wants to rearrange things, decorate her way. Guests will stay overnight. There wont be room.”
Emily froze, the towel still in her hands. His words felt like a verdict.
“Leave? Where would they go? This is *my* house. They have every right to be here.”
“Its only temporary! They could stay with your aunt or book a B&B. Theyve got options.”
Emily hung the towel slowly, her thoughts tangled.
“Simon, are you serious? Kick my parents out of their own home for a party? Theyve done nothing but help us. Wed never manage this place without them.”
He stood, stepping closer.
“Emily, listen. Mums dreamed of this for years. Family are coming from all over. We cant disappoint her. And your parentswhats a week away to them?”
“My parents?” Her voice turned hard. “William and Margaret belong here. No ones evicting them for a party.”
Simons jaw tightened.
“Youre not understanding. Mums already booked caterers, a band. Its too late to cancel.”
“Then she can host it at her place or rent a hall.”
His face flushed.
“Enough! My mother deserves this. Your parents can find somewhere else for the week!”
Emily stared, stunned.
“What did you just say?”
“The truth!” he raised his voice. “Mum worked her whole life, raised us without complaint. Shes earned this. Your parents? Living off your goodwill, contributing nothing!”
Emilys cheeks burned.
“Say that again.”
“My mother deserves to celebrate here, and your parents can *leave*!” he spat.
Silence hung heavy. Emily stood rigid, hands trembling but her voice steady.
“Theyre staying. This is *their* home. If your mother needs a venue, she can look elsewhere.”
Simon slammed the table. A teacup shattered.
“Youre impossible! Everythings planned! We cant cancel because of your stubbornness!”
“My *stubbornness*?” She bent to pick up the pieces. “This is about basic decency.”
“Decency? What about respect for *my* family?”
She straightened, shards in her palms.
“Ive always considered your feelings. But this? Its pure selfishness.”
He stormed out. The car screeched away.
When her parents returned, William carried a basket of mushrooms, Margaret a sprig of rowan for the vase.
“Wheres Simon?” Margaret asked.
“Gone to his mothers.”
William studied her. “Something happen, love?”
She forced a smile. “His mothers planning a party. Thats all.”
Upstairs, Emily sat on her bed, clutching a pillow. Simons words echoed. How could he say such things about the people whod welcomed him?
William had worked as a mechanic his whole life, honest and diligent. Margaret had been a nurse, caring for others without complaint. Good, humble people. Now her husband called them burdens.
Outside, her father stacked firewood. Margaret hung laundry. A quiet, ordinary scene.
These were the people whod raised her, given her everything. They werent a burdenthey were a blessing. Without them, she and Simon wouldve drowned in chores.
And now he wanted them *gone*. For a party.
Her phone buzzed. A message from Simon: *Think about what I said. Mums upset.*
She deleted it. There was nothing to think about.
At dinner, her parents asked when Simon would return. She dodged the question. William understood; Margaret fretted.
Later, as they slept, Emily walked the house. Everything in orderher mothers doing. In their room, a nightlight glowed; soft voices murmured.
In bed, she listened to the wind. Simon had made his choiceparty over family, his mother over his wife. Let him live with it.
Emily had chosen differently. A home was where you stood by those who mattered. Where principles werent traded for convenience.
Some things were worth fighting foreven if it cost her a husband.
