**Diary Entry September 15th**
I couldnt believe what Id just heard. My mother deserves to celebrate her anniversary in this house, and your parents can clear out for the occasion! my husband snapped.
The countryside cottage, with its sloping roof and carved window frames, stood nestled among old apple trees. It had been passed down to Emily after her grandmothers passingher childhood home, every corner steeped in memories. Now, she lived here with her husband, Simon, for three years.
An autumn evening painted the sky crimson. On the porch, Emily arranged teacups for their evening ritual. Through the open door, her parents voices drifted inher father, Peter Wilson, was telling her mother, Margaret, about harvesting the last tomatoes from the greenhouse.
Margaret, well need to dig up the carrots tomorrow before the frost sets in, he said, wiping his hands on a tea towel.
Of course, Peter. Emily, could you lend a hand? her mother called.
Emily nodded, pouring steaming tea. Her parents had arrived at the start of summer and had been helping ever sinceher father mending fences and tending the garden, her mother making jams from the raspberries and gooseberries they grew. The house had filled with warmth, the creak of floorboards, the scent of baking, the murmur of evening conversations.
Simon appeared in the doorway, shaking rainwater from his coat. He worked as an engineer in the city, commuting daily.
Peter, hows the shed roof holding up? he asked, taking a seat.
Needs new boards, Im afraid. The old ones are rotting, her father replied.
Simon sipped his tea silently, barely responding. Emily noticed his distant mood, the way he frowned without reason. Late at night, after her parents retired, hed flip through channels aimlessly.
Is something wrong? she asked one evening, settling beside him.
No, nothing, he muttered, eyes fixed on the screen.
She didnt press. Men could be moody, especially in autumn. Perhaps he was just tired.
But a few days later, Simons behaviour shifted. When her father offered to help repair the garage, he refused sharply. At dinner, he spoke in clipped replies. Margaret asked if he was unwell, but Emily brushed it off.
Then, one Saturday morningwhile her parents foraged for mushroomsSimon cornered her in the kitchen.
Emily, we need to talk. His tone was grim.
She set down the dishcloth, turning to face him.
Mums turning sixty soon. She wants to host the celebration hererelatives, friends, the whole lot. You know how she loves entertaining.
Emily nodded. Her mother-in-law, Patricia, adored lavish gatherings.
So what are you suggesting?
He hesitated, then met her eyes. Your parents will need to leave for a week. Mum wants to rearrange everything. There wont be room for guests otherwise.
Emily froze. Leave? This is *their* home.
Not permanently! They could stay with your aunt or book a B&B. Well cover the costs.
She hung the towel slowly, thoughts churning. Simon, youre seriously asking me to kick my parents out for a *party*? Theyve done nothing but help us!
He stepped closer. Mums dreamed of this for years. Family are travelling from all over. Its a milestone. Cant your parents just take a holiday?
A holiday? Her voice turned steely. This is their home. No ones evicting them for an anniversary.
Simons jaw tightened. Mums already booked caterers, a band. Its too late to cancel.
Then she can host it at her flat or rent a hall.
His face flushed. Listen, Emily! Mums worked her whole lifeshe *deserves* this. Your parents havent achieved anything! Just scraping by on pensions, living off *us*!
The words struck like a slap. Say that again.
My mother deserves this house for her anniversary, and your *penniless* parents can sod off for the week!
Silence rang between them. Emilys hands trembled, but her voice was steady. Theyre staying. If Patricia needs a venue, shell find one elsewhere.
Simon slammed a fist on the table. A teacup shattered. Youre being selfish! Mums *heartbroken*!
Selfish? She knelt to collect the shards. This is about basic decency.
What about *my* feelings? *My* mother?
She stood, porcelain fragments in her palms. Ive always respected your family. But this? Its pure arrogance.
His glare hardened. Fine. Sort it yourself. Im staying with Mumat least *there*, Im appreciated.
The door slammed. Tires crunched on gravel.
When her parents returned, her father studied her. Wheres Simon?
Gone to Patricias, she said evenly.
Later, alone in her room, Emily stared at the ceiling. Simon had chosen spectacle over family, his mothers whims over respect. But shed made her choice too.
This housethis *home*was where love mattered more than convenience. Where principles werent traded for pretty excuses. And if Simon couldnt see that, then perhaps he never truly belonged here at all.
**Lesson learned:** Some lines shouldnt be crossed. Family isnt just bloodits loyalty. And no celebration is worth sacrificing dignity.
