The autumn air was crisp as Emily adjusted the teacups on the patio table. The cottage, with its sloping roof and carved wooden trim, stood nestled among old apple trees. It had been passed down to her from her parents after her grandmothers passing. Every corner held memories of her childhood, and now she lived there with her husband, Simon, for the past three years.
The evening sky blushed crimson as Emilys parents, Robert and Margaret, chatted by the greenhouse.
“Margaret, we ought to dig up the carrots tomorrow,” Robert said, wiping his hands on a tea towel. “Frostll be setting in soon.”
“Of course, Robert. Emily, love, could you lend a hand?” Margaret called over to her daughter.
Emily nodded, pouring steaming tea into the cups. Her parents had arrived at the start of summer and had been helping ever sinceRobert mending fences and tending the vegetable patch, Margaret making jams from the gardens blackcurrants and gooseberries. The house had settled into a comfortable rhythm of creaking floorboards, the scent of fresh baking, and quiet conversations over supper.
Simon appeared at the door, shaking raindrops from his coat. He worked as an engineer in the city, commuting daily in his car.
“Robert, hows the shed roof holding up?” he asked, taking a seat.
“Needs new boards, I reckon,” Robert replied. “The old ones are rotting through.”
Simon sipped his tea in silence, occasionally nodding at his father-in-laws remarks. Emily noticed hed been distant lately, scowling at nothing. When her parents retired for the evening, Simon would sit glued to the telly, flipping channels absently.
“Something on your mind?” Emily asked one evening, settling beside him on the sofa.
“Nothing,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the screen.
She didnt press. Men could be moody, especially in autumn. Perhaps he was just tired.
But days later, Simons behaviour shifted. When Robert offered to help repair the garage, Simon snapped a refusal. At dinner, he barely spoke. Margaret asked if he was feeling poorly, but Emily brushed it off.
That Saturday morning, after her parents left to forage for mushrooms, Simon approached her in the kitchen as she washed breakfast dishes.
“Emily, we need to talk,” he said, his expression unreadable.
She dried her hands and turned.
“Mums turning sixty soon. She wants to celebrate hererelatives coming from all over, friends, the lot. You know how she loves hosting.”
Emily nodded. Her mother-in-law, Patricia, adored entertaining.
“What are you suggesting?”
Simon hesitated.
“Your parents would need to leave. Just for the week. Mum wants to rearrange things, decorate her way. Guests will stay overnightthere wont be room.”
Emily froze.
“Leave? This is their home. Theyve every right to be here.”
“Its just temporary! They could visit your aunt or book a hotel. Ill cover the costs.”
“Simon, be serious. Youd turn them out for a party? Theyve done nothing but help us!”
He stood abruptly.
“Emily, try to understand. Mums dreamed of this for years. Family travelling inits a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Your parents well, surely they wouldnt mind a short break?”
“My parents?” Her voice hardened. “Robert and Margaret live here because they belong here. No ones evicting them for a birthday.”
Simons jaw tensed.
“Youre not listening. Mums already booked caterers, a band. Its too late to cancel.”
“Then she can host it at hers or hire a hall.”
Simons face reddened.
“Enough! Mum deserves this. Shes worked her whole liferaised kids without complaint. Your parents? What have they ever achieved? Just scraping by on pension, living off their daughter!”
Emilys breath caught as if struck.
“Say that again.”
“My mother deserves to celebrate properly, while your parents can clear out for the week!” he spat.
Silence rang between them. Emilys hands trembled, but her voice was steady.
“They stay. This is their home. If Patricia needs a venue, shell have to find another.”
Simon slammed his fist on the table. A cup shattered.
“Youre being unreasonable! Mums put too much into thisguests, music, food! You cant wreck it over principles!”
“Principles?” She bent to pick up the pieces. “Its called respect. For the people who gave me this home.”
Simon paced, fists clenched.
“What about respect for me? For my mother? Im your husbandmy opinion should count for something!”
She straightened, shards cupped in her palms.
“Ive always valued your opinion. But throwing my parents out isnt an opinionits cruelty.”
He glared.
“Fine. Sort it yourself. Go explain to Mum why her partys ruined!” He stormed out, tyres screeching on the gravel.
When her parents returned, Robert carried a basket of mushrooms; Margaret held a sprig of rowan berries for the vase.
“Wheres Simon?” Margaret asked, noticing his car gone.
“Gone to his mothers,” Emily replied evenly.
Robert studied her. “Something wrong, love?”
She nearly told them, then stopped. No need to upset them.
“Its nothing, Dad. Patricias planning a birthday do, thats all.”
Margaret nodded. “At her age, milestones matter. We ought to get her a gift.”
Emily retreated to her room, Simons words echoing. How could he speak so of her parentskind, hardworking people whod never burdened her?
Robert had spent his life as a mechanic, Margaret as a nurse. Theyd never complained, never asked for help. Now Simon called them freeloaders?
She watched them from the windowRobert stacking firewood, Margaret hanging laundry. These were the people whod raised her, given her everything. Simon would toss them aside for Patricias vanity?
Patricia, whod barely lifted a finger for them, now demanded their home for her party.
Her phone buzzedSimons text: *Think it over. Mums devastated.*
She deleted it. There was nothing to think about.
At dinner, her parents asked after Simon. She deflected.
“Maybe we *are* in the way,” Robert murmured.
“Youre not,” Emily said firmly. “This is your home.”
That night, the house breathed calm. No shouting, no demands. Just quiet companionshipreal family.
Simon had made his choice: a party over his wife, his mothers whims over principles.
Emily chose differently. A home was where loved ones were cherishednot cast aside for convenience. Some things mattered more than peace: integrity, loyalty, honour.
She closed her eyes. Tomorrow would bring apples to pick, jam to make, chores to share. And her parents beside herwhere they belonged.
(Note: The original text has been culturally adapted, with English names, setting, and idioms while preserving the core conflict and moral. The life lesson remainsfamily and principles outweigh selfish demands.)
