**Why Should I Give You My Home?**
Margaret Whitmores birthday had arrived, and she had spent the entire morning bustling around the kitchen, determined to make everything perfect. It wasnt easycooking for such a crowd, preparing every dish just so. She had planned the menu weeks in advance, scoured farmers’ markets for the freshest ingredients, even driven to the countryside for organic vegetables, artisan cheeses, and the finest cuts of meat. Supermarket fare simply wouldnt do. She wanted her family gathered around the table, savoring every bite. And the cakeoh, the cake had to be her famous honey cake, the same one she had baked for her children, Emily and James, when they were young.
Margaret sighed as she remembered the past, when they had all lived together under this roof. Her husband, Professor Edward Whitmore, a respected physicist, their two children, and shea music teacher. Edwards academic achievements and connections had secured them this grand four-bedroom flat in Kensington, which Margaret had furnished with impeccable taste. Through sheer determinationas people said back thenshe had acquired a crystal chandelier for the drawing room, mahogany bookshelves, a full Wedgwood dinner service, and linen tablecloths so crisp they could stand on their own. She had been overjoyed when she found a rare soup tureen at an antique shopno more serving from the pot like common folk. Friends often remarked that her home resembled a stately manor, and the compliment warmed her heart. She took pride in hosting, in playing the piano for guests, in the effortless elegance of her gatherings. This was her kingdom, her sanctuary. And her cooking? Legendary. She had spoiled Edward and the children rotten.
“Mum,” young James had once asked, “will my wife cook as well as you?”
“I hope so, darling. But women like me are rare,” she had replied with a smile.
“Then Ill just live with you forever!”
“Oh no, you wont,” she had laughed. “Children must grow up and leave the nest. Live your own life, build your own family.” That was her philosophySunday visits from doting grandchildren, not a house overrun with generations under one roof.
Then, suddenly, the happy life ended. Edward passed away one morning, swiftly, silently, before the ambulance could even arrive. Heart failure. He had complained of pains, taken his medication religiously, seen the best doctorsbut mortality cares little for preparation.
Margaret grieved, then carried on as best she could. The children left, just as she had always said they should. Emily graduated with a degree in economics, married Steven, and moved into a cramped flat in a rough part of townall they could afford. Their daughter, Sophie, was born in the local hospital. James, meanwhile, started dating a girl named Lily, rented a tiny room in a shared house, and moved out.
When Emily had first married, she had tentatively asked, “Mum could we stay with you for a bit? Just until Steven finds a proper job?”
“No, darling. Youre married nowstart your own life. Do you think your father and I had help? We started in rented rooms, shared kitchens, cold winters with no heating. But we managed. And look at us now. Youll do the same.”
She had said the same to James: *Youre a man. Provide for your family. Take responsibility.* The children had grumbled, but who could argue? You couldnt force yourself into someone elses home.
Margaret believed distance made the heart grow fonder. She called regularly, sent gifts for birthdays, invited them for tea and cakes, even arranged concert tickets where she played pianoanything to keep the illusion of familial harmony alive.
Today was no different. The table was set flawlessly, the scent of rosemary and thyme filling the air. She had styled her hair, applied just enough makeup, slipped into a shimmering evening dress and diamond earringsEdwards last gift.
Right on time, the family arrived. First James and Lily, bearing roses and a delicate Royal Albert tea set.
“Oh, how lovely! You know just how to please me,” Margaret exclaimed, embracing them.
Lilys dress caught her eye. “Oh, my dear, that flowing silhouette suits you. And your complexionpositively glowing!”
James cleared his throat. “Mum, we actually wanted to tell you”
“Later, later! Emily and Steven should be here any moment. Their wretched car broke down *again*theyre taking the Tube, but theyll make it.”
Half an hour later, Emily arrived with Steven and Sophie. They brought tulips and a velvet box containing a gold pendant with sapphires.
“How they sparkle! Thank you, my darlings. Not diamonds, but still lovely. Ill wear it with my ring, not these earrings.”
Emily sighed. “We couldnt afford diamonds, Mum. But youll shine all the same. This old car eats our money, the rents gone up again, Sophies ballet classes”
“Oh, Emily, must we dwell on such dreary matters? Everyone has troubles. Theyll pass. Now, everyoneto the table!”
The feast began, compliments flowing as freely as the wine.
“How wonderful this is,” Margaret mused. “Though I do miss your father. He always brought me the grandest flowers, the finest jewels. And I cooked his favorites Gone too soon.” She sighed, then brightened. “But no sadness today! After dinner, Ill play, and well all sing.”
James raised his glass. “Mum, we have another gift. A surprisefor us as well.”
Her eyes gleamed. Had they finally bought her diamonds?
“Youre going to be a grandmother again. Lily and I are expecting.”
“Oh! *Oh!*” She clapped her hands after a pause. “This *is* a surprise! How wonderful! Come here, both of you!”
Emily rushed to hug her brother. Steven congratulated Lily. Sophie cheered, swept up in the excitement.
Margaret smiled, though a flicker of annoyance crossed her faceshe was no longer the center of attention. “Enough now, children. Whod like seconds?”
James slid a brochure across the table. “Mum, what do you think of this cottage?”
“Charming,” she said absently. “Are you buying?”
“No, Mum. Its for you.”
“For me? A gift?”
“No. Weve lived in that awful shared house for *years*. The shared bathroom, the kitchenyouve seen it.”
“Dreadful conditions. But what does that have to do with me?”
“Weve toughed it out. But with a baby coming We cant raise a child there. Were asking you to sell this flat and help us buy our own place.”
Emily and Steven stared. Margarets fork froze mid-air.
“James, I dont understand. Why should I give you *my home*? This is where I built my life with your father. And now you want me to pack up and move to some godforsaken village?”
“You live alone in *four bedrooms*, Mum! A master suite, a drawing room, a guest room, a studyand were in a hovel! Dont you feel *guilty*?”
“How *dare* you? Ive *always* been generous! Gifts, concert ticketsI do what I can! My pension isnt limitless, and youre *counting my rooms*?”
“Yes, I am! When Im queuing for the shower at dawn, I count them! When drunken neighbours scream through the walls, I count them! Parents should help their children!”
“Times are always hard! Your *entitlement* is staggering. A child is *your* choice*you* provide for it. Emily, are you listening to this?”
Emilys voice was icy. “So youll sell up and give *them* the money? What about *us*? Weve been renting for *years*! Sophies *eight*we couldve had a mortgage by now if wed had the deposit!”
“I *told* youstart your own life! You dont sit around waiting for handouts!”
“*Waiting?*” James snapped. “We *work*! But lifes passing us by! Is it a *crime* to want a proper home?”
“And is it a crime for *me* to live as I choose? To keep what Ive earned?”
Silence fell. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the scrape of Margarets knife against fine china. She took a deliberate sip of wine.
Sophie fidgeted. “Grandma, whats for pudding? The honey cake?”
“Yes, darling. The same one your mother loved.”
Emily stood abruptly. “Sophie, well have cake at a café. Steven, were leaving. Thank you, Mum. Dinner was *lovely.*”
Margaret smiled coolly. “As you wish, darling. James, are you staying?”
“I think wed better go too.”
“Ah, yeswork comes first. Thats how one succeeds in life.”
She heard them whispering in the hall.
“*Why did you even bring
