Ive nowhere left to go.
“I wont go back to that mangy old dog! Id rather live in a basement than with him!”
“Mum, then go! Ill be divorcing you soon enough!” snapped Emily, stirring her porridge with a clatter.
“Youd kick your own mother out?” Lydia clutched her chest. “Ive given you my whole life, and this is the thanks I get? Cheers, love, for your kindness!”
Her mother huffed and stormed off to their shared roombecause they all lived in a cramped one-bed flat where the last three months had been an endless invasion of privacy.
Emily never thought shed be part of such a soap opera. People split up and got back together all the time, but her parents had always been the picture of stability. Just last year, Lydia and Oliver had celebrated their ruby weddingforty years togetherand now her mother couldnt stand the sight of him.
Then one *marvellous* day, her mum turned up on her doorstep with suitcases, announcing she was filing for divorce.
“Can you believe it? Hes gone and shacked up with some floozy of a nurse!” Lydia gasped, still catching her breath from the climb up the stairs. “Forty years, and now hes chasing after some middle-aged tart! What a charmer!”
“Mum, seriously? Youre sure? Maybe you got it wrong?” Emily stared at her, baffled.
Lydia had always been prone to melodrama, spinning hearsay into gospel truth. But this time, unfortunately, she wasnt mistaken.
“Oh, sure, I *got it wrong*. Those photos on his phone? Not exactly something you send to just anyone! The old codger shouldve known betterbut no, he had to go sniffing about!”
Emily decided to deal with that later. First, she had to calm her mother down. She sat her with a cuppa, murmuring reassurancesthis happened to loads of people, it wasnt the end of the world, shed help her through it.
Little did she know how *literally* her mother would take that advice.
From then on, Lydia moved in. Fine, except Emily had her own familyhusband James and their five-year-old son, Alfie. That age where theyre into *everything*.
At first, Emily tried to see the upside. Help with Alfie? She already worked remotely and managed fine. Cooking? Lydias greasy fry-ups didnt suit Emilys waistline or James dodgy cholesterol. Cleaning? Their standards of “tidy” were galaxies apart.
And that was just the half of it.
“Right, you need to change the bedding. Alfies already overdueyou can do his in the morning,” Lydia announced at eleven at night, just as they settled in for a film.
“What, *now*? Mum, Alfies asleep! How are we meant to do that in the dark?”
“Corridor lights enough. Just be quiet about it. Shouldve been done *hours* agoyoud all be living in dust if it werent for me!”
Lydia would plant her hands on her hips, eyes darting for the next chore to dump on them.
Emily sighed but obeyed. She knew her mothers quirksarguing meant hours of passive-aggressive sighs. Lydia never backed down, a woman built for battle. Emily, by contrast, had been bred to bend.
James didnt get it.
“Love, cant you just say *no*?” hed whisper when they were alone.
“Its *Mum*,” Emily would murmur weakly.
“Its *our* house. Im getting sick of this…”
“Just a bit longer. She and Dad need time. Itll sort itself out.”
But her voice lacked conviction. Shed already spoken to her father. Hed admittedyes, thered been *a slip*.
“Dunno what came over me. Maybe just wanted to see what else was out there. Forty years with your mum, never so much as looked at another woman. Now I dont know where to put myself. Love her, I dobut will she even listen?”
Truth be told, Emily understood her mother. She wouldnt forgive cheating either, even if it was just a fling. Lydia had every right to leave. But instead, she just *waited*, as if the problem would dissolve on its own.
It only got worse. Lydia soon decided James was *too comfortable*.
In her parents marriage, chores were split fifty-fifty. Her dad vacuumed, scrubbed the loo weekly, even cooked the odd roast. But in Emilys house, James might help Alfie with his letters or take him swimmingthe rest fell to her. Fair enough, reallyhe was the breadwinner, now supporting *three* households. Emilys part-time remote work mostly paid for her little luxuries.
Lydia didnt see it that way.
“Youve let him off too easy!” shed hiss. “He should be pulling his weight evenings, not lounging about. Men get ideas when theyre idle!”
“Mum, *please*were fine.”
But Lydia wasnt listening. She set about “reforming” her son-in-law.
“Sit,” shed command when Emily moved to clear plates. “James, shes been at it all daydead on her feet. Wont ask for help, though. Be a love and wash up.”
James would glare but comply. His patience, however, wasnt eternal. The rows beganwhispered grievances when Lydia wasnt around, just to keep the peace.
And he wasnt wrong. Emily knew it. But what could she *do*?
Two months in, she tried again.
“Mum, this isnt sustainable. Whats your plan?”
“Dunno. Figure it out. Ive got nowhere to go.” Lydia stiffened, sensing the shift.
“Course you do! You and Dad own that flat. Sort it outsell, split up, *something*.”
“I want *nothing* from him!” Lydia folded her arms. “Ill manage.”
*Managing* meant Emily and James bore the bruntand they were exhausted. Hints about wanting their evenings back fell on deaf ears. Direct talk only made Lydia bristle.
Finally, Emily snapped. She found her mother a bedsit, packed her bags while she showered.
“Whats all this? You going somewhere?” Lydia demanded, towelling her hair.
“*You* are. Weve rented you a place. Best we could afford. Happy families only exist on tellyreal people need *space*.”
Lydia screeched, accused them of throwing her outbut in the end, they convinced her. Theyd help with rent for two months. After that, she was on her own.
“You dont want us splitting up too, do you?” James pressed. “Whered we all go then?”
Lydia caved. The peace lasted precisely one night.
“Youve dumped me in a *hovel*!” she shrieked over the phone. “The place is crawling, the kitchens *filthy*the loos a *biohazard*!”
“Mum, we did what we could. Youre free to find somewhere else.”
But the places Lydia liked were beyond her budget. Slowly, her stance shifted. She started muttering about solicitors, paperwork. Then one day
“Thats it. Im home. Back where I belong,” she announced, as if it were Emilys fault.
“Really? What about Dad?”
“Still cant stand the man,” Lydia sniffed. “But Id rather tolerate his face than *that* dump. They nicked my purse while I was at the shops! At least here Ive got my own roomno extra lodgers with whiskers and *six legs*.”
Emilys shoulders relaxed. Whether theyd reconcile or divorce didnt matter. Let them battle it out in *their* home, not hers. For now, she just revelled in the quiether flat no longer a warzone.
