Dear Diary,
Clear out a room in the house my parents will be moving in, James announced, handing me a decision as if it were already settled.
I was at my desk when a knock sounded on the office door. James peeked in, looking at the familiar room with a strangely new perspective.
May I come in? he asked, already stepping over the threshold.
I nodded without taking my eyes off the screen. The house had been left to me by Aunt Margaret five years ago a bright, spacious threebedroom semi in a quiet suburb of London. I had turned one of the rooms into the perfect home office, where order and silence reigned.
Listen, James began, perching on the edge of the sofa, my parents are complaining again about the hustle of the city.
I finally turned to him. Ten years of marriage had taught me his tone. There was a note of uncertainty now.
My mother says she cant sleep because of the noise, he continued. And my father keeps saying hes fed up with all the running around. On top of that, the rent is creeping up.
I see, I replied shortly, returning to my work.
But the talk about his parents didnt stop. Every evening James found a fresh excuse to bring up their woes the smog, noisy upstairs neighbours, the steep stairs in the block.
They dream of peace, you know? he said once at dinner. A proper home, a quiet place.
I chewed slowly, thinking. James had never been particularly chatty; his sudden focus on his parents felt odd.
So what do you suggest? I asked cautiously.
Nothing special, he shrugged. Just thinking about them.
A week later I noticed James slipping into my office more often. At first, he claimed he was looking for documents; later, he just lingered, his eyes scanning the walls as if measuring something.
Nice room, he remarked one evening. Bright and spacious.
I looked up from my papers. There was a hint of appraisal in his voice.
Yes, I like working here, I answered.
You know, James said, moving to the window, maybe you could shift your office to the bedroom? You could set up a workspace there too.
Something tightened inside me. I set my pen down and stared at him.
Why should I move? Its comfortable here.
I dont know, he muttered. Just thought about it.
His thoughts about moving lingered. I began to notice how he mentally rearranged the furniture, how he lingered at the doorway as if already seeing the room differently.
Listen, he said a few days later, isnt it time to free up your office? Just in case.
The question sounded like a decision already made. I flinched.
Why should I free up the room? I asked, sharper than intended.
Just thinking, James hesitated. I thought we could have a spare room for guests.
But I understood. All the talk about his parents, the casual remarks about the office it was all part of one plan, a plan that ignored my opinion.
James, I said slowly, tell me straight. Whats happening?
He turned away toward the window, avoiding my gaze. Silence stretched. I realised something had already been decided without me.
James, I repeated firmly, whats going on?
He finally turned, his face flushed with embarrassment, a flicker of resolve in his eyes.
My parents are really tired of the city hustle, he began cautiously. They need peace, you know?
Anxiety rose in me, a feeling I had been pushing aside for weeks.
And what do you propose? I asked, though I already guessed.
Were one family, James said, as if that explained everything. We have an extra room.
Extra. My office, my sanctuary, suddenly an extra room. My fists clenched.
This isnt an extra room, I 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. I realised this wasnt the first time Id heard it.
James, this is my house, I said sharply. I never agreed to your parents moving in.
But you dont mind, do you? he countered, irritation creeping in. Were family, right?
Again that excuse family, as if it automatically stripped me of a voice. I stepped toward the window, trying to steady myself.
And what if I do mind? I asked without turning.
Dont be selfish, James snapped. Its about the elderly.
Selfish. For not wanting to surrender my workspace. For believing such decisions should be discussed. I turned back to him.
Selfish? I repeated. For wanting my opinion considered?
Come on, he waved his hand. Its a family duty. We cant abandon them.
Family duty another pretty phrase meant to shut me down. But I was no longer willing to stay silent.
And what about my duty to myself? I asked.
Stop dramatising, he waved off. Its not a big deal, just move the computer elsewhere.
Not a big deal. All those years of building the perfect office, dismissed as trivial. I finally saw James as if for the first time.
When did you decide everything? I asked quietly.
I didnt decide anything, he began to defend himself. Just thinking about options.
Youre lying, I said. Youve already spoken to your parents, havent you?
Silence spoke louder than any words. I sat back down, trying to process.
So you consulted everyone except me, I stated.
Stop it, James exploded. What difference does it make who talked to whom?
What difference. My opinion, my consent, my home what difference? I realised he was acting as the owner, ignoring my ownership rights.
The next morning James entered the kitchen looking like a man who had made a final decision. I sat at the table with my coffee, waiting for yesterdays conversation to continue.
Listen, he began without preamble, my parents have finally decided to move.
I looked up. There was no room for discussion in his tone.
Clear out a room, now my parents will live there, he added, as if issuing an order.
For me, that was the moment of revelation. They hadnt even asked me. He hadnt just failed to ask he had excluded me entirely.
The cup trembled in my hands. Inside, everything swirled as I grasped the scale of the betrayal. James stood, waiting for my reaction as if I were a servant.
Are you serious? I said slowly. You just decided for me? I told you yesterday Im against it!
Calm down, he waved off. Its logical. Where else can they live?
I set the cup down and rose. My hands shook with accumulated anger.
James, youve betrayed me, I said directly. Youve put your parents needs above our marriage.
Dont dramatise, he muttered. Its family.
And what am I, a stranger? My voice sharpened. Youve crossed my boundaries and ignored my voice in my own home!
He turned away, clearly not expecting such a reaction. All these years I had obediently followed his decisions. Now something had broken.
You treat me like help, I continued. You decided I should endure and stay silent.
Stop the hysteria, he snapped, irritated. Nothing serious is happening.
Nothing serious. My opinion dismissed, my space taken away and that was nothing serious. I stepped closer.
I refuse to give up my room, I declared firmly. And I wont let your parents in when nobody invited them.
How dare you? James exploded. Theyre my parents!
And this is my house! I shouted. I wont live with a man who sees me as nothing!
He stepped back, finally seeing the fire in my eyes.
You dont understand, he began, confused. My parents are counting on us.
And you dont understand me, I cut in. Ten years together and you still treat me like a toy.
I walked across the kitchen, gathering my thoughts. Words that had been building for years finally burst out.
You know what, James? I said, turning to him. Get out of my house.
What? he was taken aback. What are you talking about?
Im no longer willing to live with a man who doesnt consider me, I said slowly and clearly.
He opened his mouth but found no words. He had not expected this turn.
This is our house, he muttered.
Legally, the house belongs to me, I reminded him coldly. And I have every right to ask you to leave.
He stood, unable to believe what he heard. Shock registered on his face as he realised hed crossed an invisible line.
Ira, lets talk calmly, he tried. We can reach an agreement.
Too late, I cut in. The agreement should have been made before you decided.
He tried to object but saw the stubborn resolve in my eyes; his words stuck in his throat. I was no longer the compliant wife who made concessions for years.
Pack your things, I said calmly.
A week later I sat in my office, reveling in the silence. The house felt larger without strangers. The order I cherished was finally restored.
I felt no regret, only a quiet satisfaction that I had done the right thing. For the first time in years I defended my boundaries and selfrespect.
The phone rang it was Jamess number. I declined the call and turned back to my work. Love and family are impossible without respect, and no sense of duty to relatives gives anyone the right to trample over the person beside them.
I finally understood that.
