Mark hustled his sons blue suitcases into my flat Get used to it, hes moving in and youll be the one feeding him.
Emily was lugging bags up to the fourth floor, swearing at the broken lift. The October drizzle had soaked through her coat, and all she wanted was a hot shower and a moment of peace. Working as an architect for a city planning firm was exhaustingespecially when clients kept changing the brief at the last minute.
The key turned in the lock with a gruntthe lock was as old as the building itself. Emily pushed the door open and froze. In the narrow hallway two massive blue suitcases took up almost every inch of free space.
Harry? Emily called, slipping off her drenched boots.
Her husband stepped out of the living room. Mark looked unusually tense for someone who normally greeted his wife with a grin and a question about her day.
Oh, youre back. Listen, heres the thing Mark rubbed the back of his head and gestured at the luggage. This is my sonhes going to live with us now.
Emily hung her coat on the peg, trying to process what shed just heard. Harry, Marks fifteenyearold from his first marriage, lived with his mother in another borough. In the three years theyd been together the boy had shown up at their place at most on weekends, and even then rarely.
What do you mean, live with us? Emily asked, tilting her head.
Just like that. Get used to itand youll be the one feeding him. Youre the homemaker, Mark shrugged, as if he were announcing hed bought a loaf of bread.
The colour rose in Emilys cheeks. When she married Mark three years ago shed known a teenager might come with the package, but occasional visits were one thing; a permanent stay was another, especially when the decision arrived without a single conversation.
You decided itso you deal with it, Emily said evenly, fighting the urge to raise her voice.
Mark blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction.
What do you mean? We live together, so
So you tell me about your decisions instead of handing me a faitaccompli, Emily cut in. Wheres my child?
Lucys at a friends doing homework. Shell be home for dinner.
Emily nodded and headed to the kitchen. Her daughter, Lucy, was in Year 7 and often stayed over at her classmate Sophies the girls had been friends since primary school, and their parents got on famously.
Muffled voices drifted from the living room. Mark was saying something to his son, but the words were indistinct. Emily took food from the fridge for dinner. She usually cooked with leftovers in mindMark liked to eat his fill, and Lucy, at thirteen, could polish off an adult portion.
Tonight she boiled just enough spaghetti for two, fried two cutlets, and tossed together a modest bowl of salad.
Dinner! Emily called.
All three came to the table. Harry looked uncertain, glancing between his father and his new stepmum. Hed grown since their last meetingtaller, broadershoulderedbut still held himself stiffly.
Emily set plates for herself and Lucy. In front of Mark and Harry the spots at the table stayed empty.
And for them? Mark asked, surprised at the gaps.
You brought himso you provide for him, Emily replied calmly, serving the pasta to Lucy.
Lucy raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet. Shed inherited her mothers talent for staying out of adult rows unless absolutely necessary.
Harry sat in silence, staring at his empty plate. The atmosphere grew so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Emily, what are you doing? Mark said softer than usual, but tension thrummed in every word.
Me? Im having dinner. What are you doing?
Harry is a child!
Harry is your child. I feed my daughter; you feed your son.
Emily took a bite of cutlet, chewing while keeping her eyes on Mark. Marks face turned red, his fists clenched on the table.
Lucy, can I go to Sophies? the girl asked softly.
Of course, love. Just be back by ten.
Lucy finished quickly and slipped out into the hallway. The front door slammed.
Dad, Im not really hungry, Harry muttered.
Sit, Mark snapped. Dont go anywhere.
Emily finished her cutlet and moved on to the salad. The silence stretched. At last Mark couldt bear it.
Explain whats going on!
Whats there to explain? You made a decision on your ownnow deal with it on your own.
We share this flat!
In my flat, Emily corrected him. Which I bought before I met you. In my flat, I set the rules.
Mark stood abruptly, knocking his chair over.
Have you lost your mind? Harrys been left without a mother!
What do you mean, without a mother? Emily asked. Did something happen to his mum?
No, but shes getting married. To an American. Shes moving to the States. Harry refused to flyhe wants to stay here.
I see. And you thought you could dump the responsibility for raising your son onto me?
I thought youd understand!
I do understand. I understand you dont think you need to consult me about matters that affect our family.
Emily began clearing the table. The clatter of plates sounded louder than usual.
Harry, go to your room, she said without turning around.
He doesnt have his own room! Mark exploded.
Then let him stay in yours. Or find a bigger flat.
With what money? Im not an architect!
Emily paused, dishes in her hands. Mark worked on the assembly line at a plant, earning modest wages and never overexerting himself. She earned several times more, and he knew it perfectly.
Exactly. Youre not an architect. You didnt buy this flat. And you dont get to decide who lives in it.
Harry rose from the table and shuffled toward the bedroom, hunching as if trying to make himself invisible.
Emily, think with your head! Mark lowered his voice. Where am I supposed to put my son?
With his mother. Let her take him with her.
He doesnt want to go!
Then to his grandmothers. Rent a room. There are plenty of options.
I dont have that kind of money!
Emily put the dishes in the sink and faced her husband.
Mark, Im not against Harry. Im against you making decisions for me. If you want your son to live with uslets discuss the terms, like adults.
What terms? Mark looked bewildered.
Elementary ones. Who buys groceries, who cooks, who does the laundry, who cleans. Who pays the bills, which will go up with a third resident. Who buys a proper bedhe cant keep sleeping on the sofa. Who attends parentteacher meetings, who handles doctors and tutors.
Mark stood silent, shifting his weight.
Did you think about any of that when you hauled those suitcases in? Emily continued. Or were you counting on me to take everything on while you come home to a hot dinner and ironed shirts?
Thats not what I meant
What did you mean, then?
Well were one family now
Emily perched on a stool and looked straight at Mark.
Mark, in three years youve never once asked my opinion about raising Harry. Youve never asked how I feel about a teenage boy crashing here like its a hotel. He shows up, eats, sleeps, leaves. Hes never said thank you.
Hes just shy
Maybe. But thats not my problem. Thats yours as his father.
So what do you suggest?
Emily opened the fridge, pulling out eggs, bread, and sausage.
I suggest you feed your child. And tomorrow morning well calmly talk about the conditions under which Harry can stay here.
Mark cracked the eggs into a pan without a word. Emily slipped into the bedroom. Harry sat on the edge of the double bed, staring at his trainers.
Harry, she called.
He looked up, eyes rimmed red.
I have nothing against you, Emily said gently. But decisions that affect everyone should be made by everyone. Understand?
Harry nodded.
Good. Then tomorrow well discuss how we can all live together.
Emily grabbed her pajamas and went to the bathroom. The mirror reflected the tired face of a thirtysixyearold woman whod just realised family life could throw curveballs worse than a broken lift.
On the other side of the wall, the eggs sizzled, and a father whispered something to his son. Emily turned the tap, splashing cold water on her face, wondering what the next day would bring.
Monday morning, Mark woke earlier than usual. Emily heard him fumbling in the kitchen, trying to make breakfast. The sounds said it allpans clanging, oil hissing, curses muttered under his breath.
Mom, whats that smell? Lucy asked, popping into the kitchen.
Your stepdad is making breakfast for his son, Emily replied, pouring Lucy some juice.
Smells burnt.
Then somethings burnt.
Mark emerged, redfaced and disheveled, holding a plate with a charred omelette.
Harry, breakfast is ready! he shouted toward the bedroom.
Harry shuffled out, stared at the black mass, and grimaced.
Dad, maybe just toast and butter?
Eat what youre given, Mark snapped, even though he knew the omelette was inedible.
Silently, Emily got Lucy ready for school, kissed her, and sent her off. Mark left for the plant as well. Harry stayed alone in the flathis lessons didnt start until the next day.
That evening Mark came home tired and famished. As usual, Emily cooked dinner for twoherself and Lucy.
Emily, can you stop this mockery already? Mark sat opposite her with an empty plate.
Im not mocking anyone. Im eating.
Harry was hungry all day!
And where were you all day?
At work!
Fine. Then tomorrow leave him money for lunch or cook in the morning.
Mark fell silent, realizing he had no argument. After dinner he went to a shop and bought convenience foodsready meals, sausages, instant noodles.
Tuesday, the pattern repeated. Mark boiled the noodles, overcooked them until they turned to mush. Harry poked at the soggy heap with his spoon and sighed.
Dad, can I go to Grandmas?
Why?
No reason its just boring here.
Bear with it a bit. Youll get used to it.
But Harry didnt get used to it. He drifted around the flat, watched telly, played on his phone. By midweek the teenager started complaining that the place felt stale and uncomfortable.
Dad, when is Mum coming back from America?
Shes not coming back, Harry. She lives there now.
Maybe I should fly to her then?
Mark didnt answer, but his patience was wearing thin. He wasnt used to cooking, doing laundry, or keeping things tidy. By Thursday a mountain of dirty dishes piled up in the sink, laundry lay scattered, and the bin overflowed with empty packets from convenience foods.
Everythings on me! Mark exploded. Im working, cooking, cleaning!
Welcome to adulthood, Emily replied calmly, rinsing her plate.
You can see Im not managing!
I can. And?
Help me!
Why? This was your decision.
Mark clutched his head and paced the kitchen.
Youre cruel!
Im consistent.
Harry is a child!
Harry is your child. Youre his father. Cooperate.
Emily stood and went to her room. Half an hour later Mark tried to start a scene in the bedroom, but each time Emily calmly repeated the same line:
That was your decision.
Friday evening, the landline rang. Mark snatched the receiver.
Hello, Mum Yeah, everythings fine Hows Harry? Hes adjusting
The voice on the other end grew louder. Emily caught fragments:
He called me! Hes complaining! Hes going hungry!
Dad, come on
Bring him over immediately! Today!
Mark tried to object, but his mother wasnt about to listen. The call lasted about ten minutes. He put down the phone and sighed heavily.
Mums taking Harry to her place.
Good, Emily said, not looking up from her book.
Good? You dont care?
Its not that I dont care. Its that I feel relieved. The flat will be tidy again.
Are you serious?
Absolutely.
Saturday turned out rainy. Mark packed his sons things into the same blue suitcases hed brought a week earlier. Harry helped his father, but it was clear the boy was more relieved than anything to be moving to his grandmothers.
Mrs. Parker is a good woman, Emily told her husband. Shell handle it better than you.
Shes a pensioner! Shes eighty!
But experienced. She raised a son; shell raise a grandson.
Mark zipped the suitcase and straightened up.
Maybe I was wrong somewhere.
Not somewhere. Specifically. You made a decision without consulting me. And you shifted the responsibility onto my shoulders without even asking my consent.
Mark dragged the suitcases into the hallway. Harry packed his things and stood by the door.
Emily, thanks for letting me stay, the boy said quietly.
Youre welcome, Harry. You can always visit. But as a guestwhen youre invited.
Harry nodded, catching the subtext.
The door closed behind father and son. Emily was left alone in the quiet flat. She walked through the rooms, assessing the mess. A major cleanup would be neededthe two men had managed to make quite a shambles.
First, she sank into an armchair and opened the novel shed set aside for a week. The home now smelled of cleanliness and calm. No one had to be fed against her will. No one was offloading responsibilities onto someone else.
Around eight, Lucy returned. Shed spent the weekend at Sophies, waiting out the family crisis.
Mum, where is everyone?
Harry moved to his grandmothers; your stepdad took him.
Did he tell us?
He does now, Emily smiled.
So were having dinner for two?
For two.
Mother and daughter set the table for two. Lucy chattered about her weekend at Sophies, and Emily listened, realising the standoff hadnt been for nothing. Her husband had learned the main rule: in this house, decisions are made together, and no one takes on someone elses duties without consent.
Around nine, Mark returned, looking tired and guilty.
How are things? Emily asked.
Fine. Mum cooked him soups for the week. She was happy to have her grandson.
Thats good. Mrs. Parker loves looking after someone.
And you dont? Mark asked quietly.
I do. But only the ones I choose myself. And when Im asked, not forced.
Mark nodded and sat at the table. Emily placed a bowl of soup in front of him. He looked up, surprised.
Thats for you. Because today you did the right thingyou found the boy a suitable place without dumping the responsibility onto me.
Mark lifted the spoon and began to eat. Over the week hed come to understand that parenting is hard workand forcing that work onto others is both unfair and unkind.
Emily, Im sorry, he said between spoonfuls.
For what?
For not thinking. For not asking. For deciding for you.
Good. The important thing is it doesnt happen again.
It wont.
Emily poured herself tea and sat across from her husband. Peace and order reigned in the flat once more. Most importantly, Mark had learned his lesson. He now knew his wife would not let anyone decide for her, and she would not shoulder someone elses responsibilities without her own consent.
The evening passed quietly. The three of themEmily, Mark, and Lucyhad dinner, watched telly, and planned the next day. No one was forced to eat. No one complained about discomfort. Harmony was restored in Emilys homebuilt on mutual respect and shared decisions.
