“My mother deserves to celebrate her anniversary at the cottage, and your pathetic parents can clear out for the occasion!” snapped the man.
The country house, with its sloping roof and carved woodwork, stood among aged apple trees. It had been passed down to Emily from her parents after her grandmothers passing. Her childhood had unfolded within these walls, every corner steeped in memories. Now, she lived here with her husband, Simon, for the past three years.
An autumn evening painted the sky crimson. On the veranda, Emily arranged teacups for their evening ritual. Through the open door, her parents’ voices drifted inThomas was telling his wife, Margaret, how hed picked the last tomatoes from the greenhouse.
“Margaret, we ought to dig up the carrots tomorrow,” her father said, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “The frosts will start soon.”
“Of course, Thomas. Emily, love, could you lend a hand tomorrow?” Margaret called to her daughter.
Emily nodded, pouring hot tea into the cups. Her parents had arrived at the start of summer, and since then, theyd helped tirelesslyher father mending fences and tending the garden, her mother making jams from the raspberries and gooseberries theyd gathered. The house had settled into a familiar warmth: the creak of wooden floors, the scent of baking, murmured conversations over supper.
Simon appeared in the doorway, shaking rainwater from his coat. He worked as an engineer in the city, commuting daily.
“Thomas, hows the shed roof holding up?” he asked, taking a seat at the table.
“Needs new boards, Id say. The old ones are rotting through,” Emilys father replied.
Simon sipped his tea in silence, occasionally nodding at his father-in-laws remarks. Emily noticed how distracted hed become latelyhis frowns frequent, his temper short. When her parents retired for the night, he would sit for hours flicking through TV channels.
“Something wrong?” she asked one evening, settling beside him on the sofa.
“Nothing,” Simon muttered, eyes fixed on the screen.
Emily didnt press. Men could be moody, especially in autumn. Perhaps he was just tired.
But days later, his behaviour shifted entirely. When Thomas offered to help repair the garage, Simon refused sharply. At supper, he spoke little, answering in clipped tones. Margaret asked if he was unwell, but Emily reassured her.
That Saturday morning, as her parents left to forage for mushrooms, Simon cornered her in the kitchen. Emily was washing breakfast dishes when he approached.
“Emily, we need to talk,” he said, sitting heavily at the table.
She dried her hands and turned. His face was unreadable.
“Mums turning sixty soon. A milestone. She wants to celebrate hereinvite relatives, friends. You know how she loves hosting.”
Emily nodded. Her mother-in-law adored grand gatherings, spending days preparing lavish meals for every occasion.
“What are you suggesting?” she asked.
Simon hesitated, then met her eyes.
“Your parents will have to leave. Just for a week. Mum wants to rearrange the house, decorate. Guests will be staying over. There wont be room.”
Emily froze, the tea towel clenched in her hands. His words landed like a verdict.
“Leave? Where would they go? This is my house. They have every right to be here.”
“Its not forever! Just a few days. They could stay with your aunt or book a B&B. Theyve got options.”
Emily slowly hung the towel. The thought knotted in her chest, refusing to settle.
“Simon, are you serious? Youd toss them out for a party? Theyve done nothing but helpwithout them, wed never manage this place.”
Simon stood, stepping closer.
“Emily, try to understand. Mums dreamed of this for years. Family are coming from all over. We cant disappoint her. And your parentswhats a few days away to them?”
“My parents?” Her voice sharpened. “Thomas and Margaret live here because they have that right. No ones evicting them for an anniversary.”
Simons jaw twitcheda telltale sign of irritation.
“Youre not listening. Mums already booked caterers, musicians. Its too late to cancel.”
“Then she can host it at hers or rent a hall,” Emily said, folding her arms.
Simons face flushed. His fists tightened.
“Listen, Emily! Stop being stubborn! Mum deserves this. And your parents can damn well make themselves scarce!”
Emilys breath caught. She hadnt expected such venom.
“Say that again.”
“I mean it!” Simons voice rose. “Elizabeths worked her whole life, raised us. Shes earned a proper celebration. But yours? What have they ever done? Living off you, barely scraping by on their pensions!”
Emilys cheeks burned as if slapped.
“Repeat that.”
“My mother deserves her anniversary here, and your deadbeat parents can get out!” Simon spat.
Silence rang through the kitchen, heavy and brittle. Emily stood rigid, her hands tremblingbut her voice stayed steady.
“Theyre staying. This is their home. If your mother needs a venue, shell find one elsewhere.”
Simon slammed a fist on the table. A cup shattered.
“Youre impossible! Mums planned everythingguests, music, food! Youd ruin it over principles?”
“Principles?” Emily bent to gather the shards. “Its called respect. For the people who gave me this houseand my life.”
“And what about respect for me? For my mother?” Simon paced, gesturing wildly. “Im your husband! Dont I get a say?”
Emily straightened, porcelain shards in her palms.
“Ive always valued your opinion. But kicking my parents out isnt an opinionits cruelty.”
Simon stopped, glaring. His face twisted with fury.
“Fine. Sort it yourself. Explain to Mum why her partys ruined!” He turned on his heel. “Im going to her place. At least there, Im welcome!”
The door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows. Tires screeched on gravel. Alone, Emily clutched the broken pieces, her thoughts churning.
Her parents returned half an hour laterThomas with a basket of mushrooms, Margaret clutching a sprig of rowan for the vase.
“Wheres Simon?” Margaret asked, glancing around. “His cars gone.”
“Gone to his mothers,” Emily said evenly.
Her father set down the basket, studying her.
“Something happen, love?”
She nearly told them. But why burden them?
“Nothing serious, Dad. His mothers birthdays coming up. Theyre planning things.”
Margaret nodded. “Ah, a milestone. We ought to get her a gift.”
“Yes, Mum. We will.”
Emily retreated to her room, sinking onto the bed. Simons words echoed like hammer blows: Deadbeat parents. Get out. How could he say that? About the people whod welcomed him, fed him, helped tend the land?
Thomas had worked decades as a mechanic, honest and steady. Margaret had been a nurse, tending the sick through endless nights. Decent, hardworking peoplenever complaining, never asking for help.
And now her husband called them deadbeats. Demanded they leave their own home.
She rose, staring out the window. Her father stacked firewood in the yard, movements slow and sure. Her mother pinned laundry to the line. An ordinary autumn scene.
These people had raised her, given her an education, a home. Never a burdeninstead, theyd shouldered the work since arriving. Repaired the roof, painted the fence, dug the garden. Cooked, cleaned, kept order.
Without them, she and Simon wouldve drowned in chores. He came home tired from the city; the housework fell to her. Her parents arrival had been a blessing.
And now Simon wanted them gone. For a partyfor Elizabeth, whod never lifted a finger to help them.
Elizabeth lived in a city flat, once a fabric shop assistant. Sociable, fond of gatheringsbut cold to her son and daughter-in-law. Rare visits, constant critiques: the food, the dust, the bed uncomfortable.
Now shed decided to celebrate here. In Emilys home. And expected her parents to be banished.
Emilys fists clenched. Never. The house was hersleft by her parents, filled with her childhood. Every beam, every nail held family history. No one dictated its use but her.
If Elizabeth wanted a grand affair, fine. Let her rent a hall, a restaurant. Simon earned well enough. But evicting family? Unthinkable.
Her phone buzzed. A text from Simon: Think about what I said. Mums upset.
Emily deleted it. There was nothing to think about.
At supper, her parents asked when Simon would return. She dodgedsaid he had things to sort. Thomas nodded quietly, but she saw the understanding in his eyes. Margaret fretted, suggesting they call him.
“Dont, Mum. Hell ring if theres news.”
Afterward, her parents retired earlycountry habits.
