**Friday, 15th March**
I really don’t feel like it, but here I am, packing my bags and heading to my mum’s with my son, Daniel. All because yesterday, while we were out for a stroll, my husband Edward, in his infinite wisdom, decided to play host and let his relatives take over our bedroom—his cousin Olivia, her husband Charles, and their two kids, Emily and Jack. The most infuriating part? He didn’t even bother to ask me first. Just casually said, “You and Daniel can stay with your mum for a bit—plenty of space there.” I’m still gobsmacked at the audacity. This is *our* home, *our* room, and now *I’m* the one being shoved out to make way for strangers? Not on your life.
It started when we got back from the park. Daniel was knackered, fussing as usual, and I just wanted to tuck him in and enjoy a quiet cuppa. But the moment I stepped inside, chaos. Olivia and Charles had already claimed our bedroom, and their kids were tearing about, scattering toys everywhere. My things—my books, makeup, even my laptop—had been shoved into a corner like I didn’t live here anymore. I just stood there, thunderstruck, and asked Edward, “What on earth is this?” He didn’t even flinch. “Olivia’s in town with the family—nowhere else to stay. Thought you and Daniel could pop over to your mum’s. Plenty of room there.”
I nearly choked on my own outrage. First of all, this is *our* flat. We paid for it, furnished it, made it a home together. And now I’m expected to clear out because his relatives fancied a little city break? Second, why on earth didn’t he *ask*? I might’ve agreed—if we’d talked it through properly. But no, he just dropped it on me. Olivia didn’t even apologise. Just flashed a smile and said, “Don’t fret, love—we’ll only be a fortnight!” A *fortnight*? I wouldn’t want strangers pawing through my things for *two minutes*.
Charles, her husband, hasn’t said a word. Just sits there on our sofa, sipping tea from my favourite mug, nodding along like a bobblehead. Their kids? Emily, six, already spilled squash all over the rug, and little Jack decided my wardrobe was the perfect hiding spot. I tried hinting this wasn’t a hotel, but Olivia just waved me off. “Oh, they’re just kids—what can you do?” Right, and I suppose *I’m* meant to clean up after them.
I pulled Edward aside later, told him how hurt I was that he’d made this decision without me. Explained that Daniel needs routine, his own space—not some makeshift bed at his gran’s. But Edward just shrugged. “Anna, don’t make a mountain out of a molehill. Family helps family.” *Family*? What are Daniel and I, then? I was so furious I nearly burst into tears. Instead, I started packing. If he thinks I’ll just roll over and take this, he’s got another think coming.
When I rang Mum—Eleanor—she was livid. “Since when does Edward get to decide who lives in *your* home?” she snapped. “Come straight here, darling. Daniel and I will sort you out, and *then* you deal with that husband of yours.” Mum’s got a spine of steel—she’d march over and toss them out herself if I let her. But I’m not after a full-blown row. I just want my boy settled somewhere calm while I figure out what to do next.
As I zip up Daniel’s little rucksack, he looks up at me with those big eyes and asks, “Mum, are we staying at Grandma’s forever?” I pull him close. “Not forever, sweetheart. Just a little while.” But deep down, I know—I won’t step foot back in that flat until it’s *ours* again. Not some free-for-all for Edward’s relatives. And Edward? He’d better decide what matters more—his precious hospitality, or *us*.
