Clear a room; my parents will be moving in, my wife, Eleanor, told me flatout, as if the decision were already made.
Eleanor was hunched over her desk when I knocked on the office door. I slipped inside, looking at the familiar space with a slightly different view.
May I come in? I asked, though Id already crossed the threshold.
She gave a nod without taking her eyes off the screen. The house had come to us five years ago from her Aunt Mary a bright, airy threebedroom cottage near York. Eleanor had turned one of the rooms into her perfect home office: quiet, orderly, her little sanctuary.
Listen, I began, perching on the edge of the sofa, my parents are griping again about the city noise.
Eleanor finally turned to me. After ten years of marriage Id learned to read the tone of my voice, and there was a hint of uncertainty now.
My mum says she cant sleep because of the traffic, I went on. And my dad keeps complaining hes fed up with all the running around. Plus the rent keeps climbing.
I see, she replied tersely, diving back into her work.
But the talk of my parents didnt stop. Every evening I found another excuse to bring up their woes the smog from London, noisy neighbours upstairs, the steep staircase in the block.
They dream of peace, you know? I said once over dinner. A real home, quiet and calm.
Eleanor chewed slowly, thinking. Id never been a man of many words, so my sudden focus on my parents felt odd to her.
So what do you suggest? she asked, cautious.
Nothing fancy, I shrugged. Just thinking about them.
A week later Eleanor noticed I was popping into her office more often. At first I claimed I was looking for paperwork, then I just lingered. Id stand by the wall, as if measuring the space with my eyes.
Nice room, I remarked one evening. Bright, spacious.
She looked up from her papers, a new edge in my tone, like an appraisal.
Yes, I like working here, she answered.
You know, I said, moving to the window, maybe you could shift your office to the bedroom? You could set up a desk there too.
Something tightened inside her. She put down her pen and stared at me.
Why move? Its comfortable here, she protested.
I dont know, I muttered. Just thought about it.
The idea of moving would not leave her alone. She began to notice how I scanned the office, mentally rearranging furniture, lingering at the doorway as if already picturing a different layout.
Listen, I said a few days later, maybe its time to free up the office, just in case.
The suggestion sounded like a decision already made. Eleanor flinched.
Why should I clear the room? she asked, sharper than intended.
Just thinking, I hesitated. I thought we could have a guest room.
She saw the pattern. All the talk about my parents, all the casual comments about the office pieces of a single plan that didnt include her.
Thomas, she said slowly, tell me straight. Whats going on?
I turned away to the window, avoiding her gaze. Silence stretched. She realised something had already been decided without her.
Thomas, she repeated firmly, whats happening?
I finally turned, my face flushed with embarrassment, but a flicker of resolve crossed my eyes.
My parents are really tired of the city rush, I began, choosing my words carefully. They need peace, you know?
Eleanor rose from her desk, anxiety bubbling inside her after weeks of trying to ignore it.
And what do you propose? she asked, though she already knew.
Were one family, I said, as if that explained everything. Weve got an extra room.
Extra. My office, my refuge, my space an extra room. Eleanors fists clenched.
This isnt an extra room, she said slowly. Its my office.
Yes, but you could work in the bedroom, I shrugged. My parents have nowhere else to go.
The line sounded rehearsed. She understood this wasnt the first time Id raised it, just the first time with her.
Thomas, this is my house, she said sharply. I never agreed to your parents moving in.
But you dont mind, do you? I countered, irritation edging my voice. Were family, right?
Again the excuse: family. As if belonging to a family automatically stripped her of a voice. Eleanor stepped toward the window, trying to steady herself.
What if I do mind? she asked without turning.
Dont be selfish, I retorted. Its about the elderly.
Selfish. For not wanting to surrender her workspace. For thinking decisions should be discussed. Eleanor faced me.
Selfish? she repeated. For wanting my opinion considered?
Come on, I waved my hand. Its a family duty. We cant abandon them.
Family duty. Another tidy phrase to shut her down. But Eleanor was no longer willing to stay silent.
And what about my duty to myself? she asked.
Stop dramatising, I waved off. Its not a big deal, just move the computer to another room.
Not a big deal. Years of carving out the perfect office, dismissed as trivial. Eleanor saw me for the first time as the man whod decided everything.
When did you start making all the decisions? she whispered.
I didnt decide anything, I tried to justify. Just thinking about options.
Youre lying, she said. Youve already spoken to your parents, havent you?
The silence that followed said more than any words. Eleanor sat back down, trying to process the betrayal.
So you consulted everyone except me, she stated.
Stop it, I snapped. What difference does it make who talked to whom?
What difference. My opinion, my consent, my home what difference. She realised I was acting like the owner of the house, ignoring her rights.
The next morning I walked into the kitchen looking as if Id made a final decision. Eleanor sat at the table with a mug of tea, waiting for the continuation of yesterdays argument.
Listen, I began without preamble, my parents have finally decided to move in.
Eleanor looked up. There was no room for discussion in my tone.
Clear out a room now; my parents will be living there, I added, as if issuing an order.
For Eleanor this was a revelation. We hadnt even asked her. My decision came without her input.
Her mug trembled. Inside, everything turned over as she grasped the scale of the betrayal. I stood waiting for her reaction, as if commanding a servant.
Are you serious? she said slowly. You just decided for me? I told you yesterday Im against it!
Calm down, I waved off. Its logical. Where else will they live?
Eleanor set the mug down and rose, her hands shaking with accumulated anger.
Thomas, youve betrayed me, she said directly. Youve put your parents needs above our marriage.
Dont dramatise, I muttered. Its family.
And what am I? A stranger? her voice sharpened. Youve crossed my boundaries and ignored my voice in my own home!
I turned away, not expecting such a reaction. All these years shed gone along with my choices. Now something had cracked.
You treat me like help, she continued. You expect me to endure in silence.
Stop the hysteria, I snapped, irritated. Nothing serious is happening.
Nothing serious. My opinion dismissed, my space taken away and it was nothing? Eleanor stepped closer.
I refuse to give up my room, she declared firmly. And I wont let your parents move in without an invitation.
How dare you? I exploded. Theyre my parents!
And this is my house! she shouted back. I wont live with a man who sees me as nothing!
I stepped back, finally seeing the fire in her eyes.
You dont understand, I began, confused. My parents are counting on us.
And you dont understand me, Eleanor cut in. Ten years and you still treat me like a plaything.
She crossed the kitchen, gathering her thoughts. Words that had been building for years finally burst out.
Do you know what, Thomas? she said, turning to me. Get out of my house.
What? I was taken aback. What are you talking about?
Im no longer willing to live with a man who doesnt consider me, she said slowly, clearly.
I opened my mouth but found no reply. I hadnt expected this turn.
This is our house, I mumbled.
Legally, the house is in my name, Eleanor reminded me coldly. I have every right to ask you to leave.
I stood there, stunned, as the reality of my overstep hit me.
Eleanor, lets talk calmly, I tried. We can reach an agreement.
Too late, she cut in. The agreement should have been made before you decided.
I tried to object, but the stubbornness in her eyes left me speechless. I was no longer the compliant wife who made concessions.
Pack your things, she said calmly.
A week later Eleanor sat in her office, enjoying the quiet. The house felt larger without strangers. The order she prized was finally restored.
She felt no regret, only a sense that she had done the right thing. For the first time in years she defended her boundaries and selfrespect.
The phone rang. It was my number. Eleanor let it go to voicemail and turned back to her work. Love and family are impossible without respect, and no sense of duty to relatives gives anyone the right to trample on the person beside them.
She finally understood that.
