We cleared a room in the house, for my husbands parents to move in now, John declared, laying the decision before me as if it were already settled.
Eleanor was hunched over her desk when a knock sounded on the office door. John slipped inside, his eyes scanning the familiar space with a suddenly different light.
May I come in? he asked, already having crossed the threshold.
She nodded without looking away from the screen. The cottage had come to her five years earlier from her Aunt Margaret. It was a bright, airy home with three rooms, and Eleanor had turned one of them into the perfect studyorder and quiet reigned there.
Listen, John began, perching on the edge of the settee, my parents are complaining again about the citys bustle.
Eleanor finally turned toward him. Ten years of marriage had taught her to read the inflections in his voice, and now there was a hint of uncertainty.
My mother says she cant sleep because of the noise, John continued. And my father keeps saying hes tired of all the running about. On top of that, the rent is climbing.
I see, she replied briefly, returning to her work.
But the talk of his parents did not end there. Each evening John found a fresh excuse to bring up their grievancessometimes the smog from the town, sometimes noisy neighbours upstairs, sometimes the narrow stairwell in the block.
They dream of peace, you know? he said once at dinner. Of a proper home.
Eleanor chewed slowly, pondering. John was never a man of many words, and his sudden focus on his parents woes felt odd.
So what do you propose? she asked cautiously.
Nothing special, he shrugged. Just thinking about them.
A week later Eleanor noticed John entering her office more often than usual. At first he claimed to be looking for paperwork; then he lingered, as if measuring the room with his eyes.
Nice room, he remarked one evening. Bright, spacious.
Eleanor looked up from her papers. There was a new tone in his voice, something like an appraisal.
Yes, I like working here, she answered.
You know, John said, moving to the window, perhaps you could shift your study to the bedroom? You could set up a desk there as well.
A cold knot tightened inside her. She set down her pen and stared at him.
Why should I move? Its comfortable here.
I dont know, he muttered. Just thought about it.
But the idea of moving would not leave her. Eleanor began to notice how John scanned the office, mentally rearranging the furniture, lingering at the doorframe as if already picturing a different layout.
Listen, he said a few days later, perhaps its time to free up your office, just in case.
The suggestion landed as if the decision were already made. Eleanor flinched.
Why should I free up the room? she asked, sharper than she intended.
Just thinking, John hesitated. I thought we might need a guest room.
She understood at once. All the talk of his parents, all the casual remarks about the office, were threads of the same plana plan that ignored her voice.
John, she said slowly, tell me plainly. Whats happening?
He turned away toward the window, avoiding her gaze. Silence stretched. Eleanor realised that something had been decided without her.
John, she repeated firmly, whats going on?
He finally turned, his face flushed with embarrassment, but a flash of resolve sparked in his eyes.
Well, my parents are really fed up with the citys bustle, he began cautiously. They need peace, you see?
Eleanor rose from her desk, anxiety blooming inside her, a feeling she had tried to suppress for weeks.
And what do you suggest? she asked, already knowing the answer.
Were one family, John said, as if that settled everything. We have an extra room.
Extra. Her study, her sanctuary, an extra room. Eleanor clenched her fists.
This isnt an extra room, she said slowly. Its my office.
Yes, but you could work in the bedroom, he shrugged. My parents have nowhere else to go.
The line sounded rehearsed. Eleanor realised this conversation was not the first of its kind, merely the first with her.
John, this is my house, she said sharply. I never agreed to your parents moving in.
But you dont mind, do you? he retorted, irritation threading his voice. Were family, after all.
Again the excusefamily. As if belonging to a family automatically stripped her of a say. Eleanor stepped toward the window, trying to steady herself.
And what if I do mind? she asked without turning.
Dont be selfish, John snapped. Its about the elderly.
Selfish. For not wanting to surrender her workspace. For thinking such decisions should be discussed. Eleanor turned back to him.
Selfish? she repeated. For wanting my opinion considered?
Come on, John waved a hand. Its a family duty. We cant abandon them.
Family duty. Another polished phrase meant to silence her. But Eleanor would not be hushed any longer.
And what about my duty to myself? she asked.
Stop dramatising, he waved off. Its not a big deal, just move the computer to another room.
Not a big deal. Years of painstakingly creating the perfect study dismissed as trivial. Eleanor suddenly saw John as she had never seen him before.
When did you decide everything? she asked quietly.
I didnt decide anything, John began to defend himself. Just thinking about options.
Youre lying, she said. Youve already spoken to your parents, havent you?
The silence that followed spoke louder than any words. Eleanor sat back down, trying to grasp what was unfolding.
So you consulted everyone except me, she stated.
Stop it, John exploded. What difference does it make who talked to whom?
What difference. Her opinion, her consent, her homewhat difference. She realised John was acting as if he owned the place, ignoring her ownership rights.
The next morning John entered the kitchen looking like a man who had made a final decision. Eleanor sat at the table with a mug of tea, waiting for the continuation of yesterdays argument.
Listen, he began without preamble, my parents have finally decided to move.
Eleanor looked up. There was no room for discussion in his tone.
Clear out a room in the house; my parents will live there, he added, as if issuing an order.
For Eleanor this was a moment of revelation. They hadnt even asked her. John didnt just neglect to askhe excluded her entirely.
The mug trembled in her hands. Everything spun as she recognised the depth of the betrayal. John stood waiting for her reaction, as if commanding a servant.
Are you serious? she said slowly. Youve just decided for me? I told you yesterday Im against it!
Calm down, he waved off. Its logical. Where else could they live?
Eleanor placed the mug on the table and rose. Her hands shook with a mixture of anger and relief.
John, youve betrayed me, she said plainly. Youve put your parents needs above our marriage.
Dont dramatise, he muttered. Its family.
And what am I, a stranger? Eleanors voice sharpened. Youve crossed my boundaries and ignored my voice in my own home!
John turned away, clearly unprepared for such a reaction. All those years she had obediently accepted his choices, now something had cracked.
You treat me like help, she continued. You expect me to endure in silence.
Stop the hysteria, he snapped, irritable. Nothing serious is happening.
Nothing serious. Her opinion dismissed, her space takennothing serious? Eleanor stepped closer.
I refuse to give up my room, she declared firmly. And I will not let your parents move in without invitation.
How dare you? John exploded. They are my parents!
And this is my house! Eleanor shouted. I will not live with a man who sees me as nothing!
John stepped back, seeing the fury in her eyes for the first time in years. A resolve she had never shown burned bright.
You dont understand, he began, confused. My parents are counting on us.
And you dont understand me, she cut in. Ten years and you still treat me like a toy.
She crossed the kitchen, gathering her thoughts. Words that had been building for years finally burst forth.
You know what, John? she said, turning to him. Get out of my house.
What? he was taken aback. What are you saying?
Im no longer willing to live with a man who disregards me, Eleanor said slowly, clearly.
John opened his mouth, but no words came. He had not expected this turn.
This is our house, he muttered.
Legally, the house belongs to me, Eleanor reminded him coldly. I have every right to ask you to leave.
John stood, as if unable to believe what he heard. Shock settled on his face as he realised he had crossed an invisible line.
Eleanor, lets talk calmly, he tried. We can reach an agreement.
Too late, she replied. The agreement should have been made before you decided.
John tried to object, but the stubborn determination in her eyes left him speechless. Eleanor was no longer the compliant wife who made concessions for years.
Pack your things, she said calmly.
A week later Eleanor sat in her study, relishing the quiet. The house felt larger without the strangers. The order she cherished was finally restored.
She felt no regret, only a settled certainty that she had done right. For the first time in many years she had defended her boundaries and selfrespect.
The telephone rang. It was Johns number. Eleanor let it go to voicemail and turned back to her work. Love and family cannot thrive without respect, and no sense of duty to relatives gives anyone licence to trample on the person beside them.
She understood that, at long last.
