“Mothers already picked which room shes taking in your house!” declared the husband the day after the wedding.
Emily had never imagined that the day after her own wedding would mark the start of a battle for the right to live in her own flat. The September morning was crisp, with the first golden leaves swirling outside, and the lingering scent of wedding flowers still hung in the air.
The ceremony had been simplejust a registry office signing and a small gathering for close family at a nearby restaurant. Emily had deliberately chosen an intimate affair, wanting the day to be remembered for warmth rather than pomp. Her in-laws had wrinkled their noses at the simplicity, but shed stood her ground. Money was better spent on things that truly mattered.
The newlyweds had returned to Emilys flat around ten that evening. The three-bedroom flat in a nice part of London had been a gift from her parents for her twenty-fifth birthday. Theyd saved for years, denying themselves luxuries, just to give their daughter a stable start in life.
Exhausted but happy, Emily carefully arranged the gifts and bouquets in the living room. The white roses and chrysanthemums went into a large vase by the window, while boxes of china and linens were stacked neatly on shelves. Each item carried the warmth of well-wishes from friends and family.
Meanwhile, James sat at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone with an odd, expectant look on his face. Emily asked a few times if everything was all right, but he waved her off, muttering about being tired.
The evening passed quietly. The couple sipped tea with leftover wedding cake, sharing impressions of the day and making plans for their future. James was unusually quiet, but Emily chalked it up to exhaustion.
The next morning, Emily woke with a lightness in her chest. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the bedroom. She rose early, making a full English breakfasteggs, bacon, fresh coffeebefore setting the table with the lace tablecloth her aunt had gifted them.
James wandered into the kitchen around nine, yawning. He poured himself coffee and, as if mentioning the weather, casually said,
“By the way, Mums already chosen her room here. Shes moving in tomorrow.”
Emily froze, fork in mid-air, staring at him in disbelief. Yesterday morning, shed been a single woman in her own flat. By evening, shed become a wife. And now, apparently, another occupant was moving inwithout so much as a conversation.
“What did you just say?” she asked slowly, praying shed misheard.
“Mums moving in,” James repeated, buttering his toast as if discussing the forecast. “Her place isnt comfortable anymore. Plenty of space here, and enough rooms.”
Emily blinked, trying to process his words. Blood rushed to her cheeks as outrage simmered.
“James, have you lost your mind? What right does your mother have to claim a room in *my* flat?”
He raised his eyebrows as if surprised by her reaction.
“Em, were married now. Whats yours is *ours*. Family sticks together. Mums struggling, especially with her health lately.”
Emily shoved her chair back with a scrape. James spoke as if discussing furniture, not letting a stranger move into someone elses home uninvited.
“Hold on,” she cut in, lifting a hand. “Were you even going to *ask* me? Or did you assume marriage meant Id automatically house your mother?”
“Dont be so harsh,” James frowned. “Margarets a good womanyou know that. She cooks brilliantly, helps around the house. Itll make things easier for you.”
Emily paced the kitchen, gripping the counter. Shed always found her mother-in-law pleasant, if strong-willed, during their year and a half together. But occasional visits were one thingdaily cohabitation was another.
“James, listen carefully,” she said, stopping in front of him. “This flat is *mine*. Solely mine. The deeds are in *my* namemy parents bought it *for me*. No one gets to make decisions about my property without my say.”
“Technically, its yours,” James shrugged. “But were family now. We dont divide things.”
Emily strode to the hallway cupboard, pulling out a folder. She dropped it on the table with a thud.
“See that? The purchase agreement. Emily Victoria Hartley.” She jabbed at the name. “Not *Bennett*, my married name. Because this was bought *before* marriage. Legally, its not joint property.”
James barely glanced at the papers.
“Fine, forget legalities. This isnt about that. Mum *needs* help. Her hearts acting up, her blood pressures unstable”
“Then she moves in with *you and your dad*,” Emily countered. “Or rent her a place nearby. There are options.”
“Christ, Emily, have you no heart?” Jamess voice rose. “Mum worked her fingers to the bone for us! And now you want to dump her somewhere?”
Emily crossed her arms. Classic guilt-tripping. First the demand, then the accusations when she refused.
“I *am* willing to help,” she said evenly. “Within reason. Well visit, have her over, help with shopping or doctors. But moving in? Thats a *joint* decision, not a decree.”
“Whats the bloody difference?” James slammed a fist on the table, rattling the cups. “Shes *packed* already! The movers come tomorrow!”
Emily went still. So it was settledwithout her. Her mother-in-law wasnt just visiting; she was moving in permanently.
“Which furniture?” she asked quietly.
“Bed, wardrobe, dresserstandard bedroom set.” James avoided her eyes. “She picked the room opposite ours. Says the lights good, and its near the loo.”
Emily sank into a chair, legs weak. So her mother-in-law hadnt just *planned* thisshed *inspected* the flat, chosen her space. When? Emily hadnt given keys to anyone.
“James,” she said, voice dangerously calm, “when did your mother even *see* this flat?”
He shifted. “A few weeks back, when you were out. Wanted to see where wed live. Perfectly normal.”
“You brought strangers into *my home* without asking?”
“Strangers? Shes my *mother*! And we were engagedits *our* place now!”
Emily studied him. For eighteen months, James had seemed kind, decenta bit of a mummys boy, but wasnt that a virtue? Now, she saw a man whod unilaterally decided her home wasnt hers anymore.
“Engagement doesnt entitle you to my property,” she said flatly. “Neither does marriage. I thought you understood that.”
“Stop quoting the law!” James snapped. “Were *family* now! Mum wont be a bothershell cook, clean, *help*”
Emily held up a hand. “James, youre missing the point. This isnt about your mother. Its about *respect*. You dont get to make decisions about *my* life without me.”
He scoffed. “So what, youre giving me an ultimatum? Choose between you and Mum?”
“Im stating facts. Either we live here as *two*, or you pack your things and live with *her*. Theres no third option.”
James gaped, as if seeing her for the first time. His jaw tightened.
“Didnt think youd be so cold,” he muttered. “Mums done nothing wrong. She just needs help.”
“*Cold* is making choices for someone else,” Emily shot back. “*Kindness* is offering help and waiting for a *yes*.”
Silence thickened. James stared out the window, conflict playing across his face. Emily busied herself clearing the table, movements deliberate. Each clink of china underscored her resolve.
James finally stood abruptly. Emily braced for a slammed door, but he just paced, fists clenching.
“Youre putting me in an impossible spot,” he said hoarsely. “How do I tell Mum her daughter-in-laws kicking her out?”
“Simple,” Emily said, stacking plates. “Say you jumped the gun and forgot to *ask your wife*. Then *together*, well find another way to help her.”
He exhaled sharply. “Shell be devastated. Her things are *packed*, the movers booked”
“Then she unpacks,” Emily shrugged. “Or stays with *your dad*since theres *no* renovation, despite what you claimed.”
James flushed. The lie about his fathers flat being under construction had unraveled.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Ill call her. Cancel the move.”
“Thank you,” Emily said sincerely.
James dragged a hand through his hair. “Shell take it badly. Mums not used to being told no.”
Emily softened. “Then its time she learned. Just like *you* did.”
Later, when James ended the
