20November2025 Diary
I watched Blythe Harper stand on the doorstep, keys clenched in her hand, and for the first time in years I saw a calm settle over her. No fear, no guiltjust a cool, crystalclear resolve.
Your arrangement ends today, Margaret Clarke, I said, keeping my voice steady. Youve been living here rentfree for three years. From now on, that stops.
What are you saying, love? Margaret whispered, her voice trembling. Where am I supposed to go? Im family to you!
The family I recognise is the one that treats me with respect, Blythe replied calmly. Not the one that brands me a lazybones.
Margaret tried to force a smile, but the glint in her eyes betrayed her.
Did Thomas tell you that? she asked, pointing at me. Hes young, hotheaded, says things without thinking Dont listen to him, Blythe!
No, Margaret, I answered. Hes merely echoing the things youve been feeding him for yearsI dont work, Im living off his back, Ive become spoiled. Do you realise how ridiculous that sounds?
Her face went ashen.
I I only wanted the best for you, she murmured.
Splendid, Blythe raised an eyebrow. From now on youll have the best just not in this house.
When Thomas got home that evening, the flat was dead silent. A modest dinner lay on the table, covered with a cloth, and beside it a slip of paper.
Since you asked me to work, Ive taken a job.
The flat on Sunny Street is now let.
Mum can move in with you.
The key is on the police box. Blythe
Thomas read the note once, then twice, then a third time, his mind reeling.
What a load of nonsense he muttered, reaching for his mothers number.
Mum? Are you at home?
Home?! Margaret shrieked into the handset. Get me out of here! Shes gone off the rails! She told me to pack my things and half an hour later some bloke with a contract turned upnew tenants!
Hold on what? She really handed over the flat?
Absolutely! I have witnesses!
Dont move a muscle, Im coming right now.
I stormed back into the Sunny Street flat. The lingering scent of yesterdays stew clung to the air, but the hallway was already littered with boxes and suitcases.
A young couple occupied the sitting rooma bespectacled lad and a girl with honeyred hair cradling a cat.
Excuse us, who are you? the young man asked politely.
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I fished out my phone and dialled Blythe.
What on earth have you done?! I snapped when she answered. Youve handed over the place my mum was staying in!
Yes, she replied, unruffled. Even lazybones need to earn a penny, dont they?
Dont be ridiculous! I shouted. Where is my mother supposed to go?
With you, of course. Youre the man, the head of the household. Prove it.
Blythe my voice shook. Dont you think this is a bit much? Were still family.
She smiledthin, almost humorless.
Family? When I toiled myself to the bone, I was your servant. When I stopped, they called me a lazybones. Now Im simply myself.
What will you do now? I asked, desperation creeping in.
Ill work. But for myself, not for you.
A month later Blythe had rented a small office in the city centre and launched an interiordesign businesssomething shed always loved but never pursued. The first clients came through a friend, then wordofmouth, and the work started to pick up.
Each morning she woke with a smile, finally feeling she was living her own genuine life.
As for me, at first I tried to win her backtexted, called, threatened, then begged. I complained to mates that my wife has gone off her rocker and thrown my mum out. Gradually the storm faded.
Mum moved into the tiny twobed flat we still rented. Money was tight, and at work Thomas was made redundant.
One Saturday afternoon I mustered the courage to knock on Blythes door. Laughter and a male voice drifted from inside. When the door swung open, I froze.
Blythe stood there, composed and radiant, a tall, welldressed gentleman beside her, clutching a bouquet.
Thomas? she asked, surprise flickering in her eyes. What are you doing here?
I stayed silent for a long breath.
I wanted to talk. Maybe we could sort things out.
She looked at me seriously, then let out a soft sigh.
Thomas, Ive spent years trying to please you. Now, at last, Im happy. And you know what? Thank you. If you hadnt called me a lazybones, I never would have woken up.
She smiled gently; there was no malice in her gaze, only calm.
I wish you all the best, Thomas. And the same for your mother.
The door closed slowly behind her. I stood alone on the landing, my eyes drawn to the little plaque beside the door:
Your Home Real Estate.
A faint chuckle drifted from within. In that moment I understood: a home isnt a flat, a mortgage, or a name on a doorbell. Its wherever you can breathe easy.
That is the lesson I carry forward: true security comes not from the roof over your head, but from the peace within yourself.
