I hauled my sons blue suitcases into our flatGet used to it, love, hes moving in, and youll be the one feeding him.
Emma was lugging her bags up to the fourth floor, swearing at the broken lift. The October drizzle had seeped through her coat, and all she wanted was a hot shower and a moments peace. Working as an architect at a boutique practice in London was exhausting, especially when clients kept changing the brief at the eleventh hour.
The ancient lock gave a stubborn click as I turned the key; the whole building was showing its age. Emma pushed the door open and froze. In the narrow hallway sat two massive blue suitcases, taking up almost every inch of free space.
Charlie? she called, slipping off her soggy shoes.
I stepped out of the living room. I looked unusually tense for a man who normally greets his wife with a smile and a question about her day.
Oh, youre back. Listen, heres the thing I rubbed the back of my neck and gestured at the luggage. This is my sonhes going to live with us now.
Emma hung her coat on the peg, trying to absorb what Id just said. Charlie, my fifteenyearold from my first marriage, had been living with his mother in Croydon. In the three years wed been together, the boy had only turned up on weekends, and even then rarely.
What do you mean, living with us? Emma asked, tilting her head, trying to make sense of it.
Just like that. Get used to itand youll be the one feeding him. Youre the homemaker, I shrugged, as if Id just announced a new grocery list.
Emmas face flushed. When we married three years ago, Id mentioned that a teenager came with the package. Occasional visits were one thing; a permanent stay was another, especially when the decision was made without a word of discussion.
You decided, so youll deal with it, Emma said evenly, holding back the urge to raise her voice.
I blinked, clearly surprised.
What do you mean? We live together, so
So you tell me about your decisions instead of handing me a faitaccompli, Emma cut in. Wheres my child?
Lilys at a friends doing homework. Shell be home for dinner.
Emma nodded and headed to the kitchen. Our daughter, Lily, was in Year7 and often stayed over at her mate Sophies the girls had been friends since primary school, and the parents got along famously.
Muffled voices drifted from the living room. I was speaking to Charlie, but the words were indistinct. Emma pulled out food from the fridge for supper. She usually cooked with leftovers in mindmy appetite was big, and Lily, at thirteen, could polish off an adult portion.
That night I boiled just enough spaghetti for two, fried two patties, and tossed together a small bowl of salad.
Dinner! Emma called.
All three of us came to the table. Charlie looked uneasy, glancing between me and his stepmother. Hed grown taller and broader since wed last met, but he still carried himself stiffly.
Emma set plates for herself and Lily. The seats opposite me and Charlie remained empty.
And for them? I asked, surprised at the gaps.
You brought himso you provide for him, Emma replied calmly, serving Lilys spaghetti.
Lily raised an eyebrow but stayed quiet. Shed learned from her mother not to wade into adult arguments unless absolutely necessary.
Charlie sat in silence, staring at his empty plate. The atmosphere grew so thick you could have cut it with a knife.
Emma, what are you doing? I said, quieter than usual, but tension rang in every word.
Me? Im having dinner. What are you doing?
Charlie is a child!
Hes your child. I feed my daughter; you feed your son.
I tucked a bite of patty into my mouth, eyes never leaving Emma. She watched my face turn red, fists clenched on the table.
Sweetheart, can I go to Sophies? Lily asked softly.
Of course, love. Just be back by ten.
Lily finished quickly and slipped into the hallway. The front door slammed.
Dad, Im not really hungry, Charlie muttered.
Sit, I snapped. Dont go anywhere.
Emma finished her patty and moved on to the salad. The silence stretched until I finally exploded.
Explain whats happening!
Whats there to explain? You made a decision on your ownnow deal with it yourself.
We share this flat!
In my flat, Emma corrected. The one I bought before I met you. In my flat, I set the rules.
I leapt up, knocking my chair over.
Have you lost your mind? Charlies been left without a mother!
What do you mean, without a mother? Emma asked. Did something happen to his mum?
No, but shes getting married to an American and moving to the States. Charlie refused to flyhe wants to stay here.
I see. And you thought you could dump the responsibility for raising your son onto me?
I thought youd understand!
I do understand. I understand you dont think you need to consult me about matters that affect our family.
Emma began clearing the table, the clatter louder than usual.
Charlie, go to your room, she said without turning.
He doesnt have his own room! I exploded.
Then let him stay in yours or get a bigger flat.
With what money? Im not an architect!
Emma paused, dishes in her hands. I work as a steelworker at a factory, earning modest wages and never overworking. She earns several times more, and she knows it well.
Exactly. You didnt buy this flat. And you dont get to decide who lives here.
Charlie rose slowly, shuffling toward the bedroom, hunched as if trying to disappear.
Emma, think logically! I said, lowering my voice. Where am I supposed to put my son?
With his mother. Let her take him.
He doesnt want to go!
Then his grandmothers. Rent a room. There are plenty of options.
I dont have that kind of money!
Emma placed the dishes in the sink and faced me.
James, Im not against Charlie. Im against you making decisions for me. If you want your son to live here, lets hash out the terms like adults.
What terms? I asked, bewildered.
Basic ones. Who buys groceries, who cooks, who does the laundry, who cleans, who pays the bills now that we have a third resident, who provides a proper bed instead of the couch, who attends parentteacher meetings, who deals with doctors and tutors.
I stood there, shifting from foot to foot.
Did you think about any of that when you dragged those suitcases in? Emma continued. Or were you counting on me to pick up everything while you come home to a hot meal and ironed shirts?
Thats not what I meant
What then?
Well were one family now
I sat on a stool, looking straight at Emma.
James, in three years youve never once asked my opinion about raising Charlie. Youve never asked how I feel about him moving in like its a hotel. He shows up, eats, sleeps, leaves. Hes never once said thank you.
Hes just shy
Maybe. But thats not my problem. Its yours as his father.
So what do you suggest?
Emma rose, opened the fridge, and took out eggs, bread, and sausage.
I suggest you feed your child. Tomorrow morning well sit down calmly and discuss the conditions under which Charlie can stay here.
I cracked the eggs into a pan without a word. Emma slipped into the bedroom. Charlie sat on the edge of the double bed, staring at his trainers.
Charlie, she called.
He looked up, eyes red.
I have nothing against you, Emma said gently. But decisions that affect everyone must be made by everyone. Understand?
He nodded.
Good. Tomorrow well work out how to live together.
Emma grabbed her nightclothes and went to the bathroom. The mirror showed the tired face of a thirtysixyearold woman whod just realised family life could throw curveballs worse than a broken lift.
In the kitchen, the eggs sizzled and I muttered something to Charlie. Emma turned the tap, splashing cold water on her face, wondering what the next day would bring.
Monday morning I woke earlier than usual. Emma heard me fumbling in the kitchen, trying to make breakfast. The noises said it allpans clanging, oil hissing, curses muttered under my breath.
Mum, whats that smell? Lily asked, appearing in the kitchen.
Your stepdad is making breakfast for his son, Emma replied, pouring juice for Lily.
It smells burnt.
Well, somethings burnt then.
I emerged, face flushed, holding a charred omelette.
Charlie, breakfast is ready! I shouted toward the bedroom.
He shuffled out, stared at the black mass, and grimaced.
Dad, maybe just toast and butter?
Eat what youre given, I snapped, even though I knew the omelette was inedible.
Silently, Emma got Lily ready for school, kissed her, and sent her off. I headed to the factory as usual. Charlie stayed alone in the flatschool wouldnt start for him until the next day.
That evening I came home exhausted and famished. As usual, Emma cooked dinner for twoherself and Lily.
Emma, can you stop this mockery already? I said across from her, plate empty.
Im not mocking anyone. Im eating.
Charlie was hungry all day!
And where were you all day?
At work!
Fine. Then tomorrow leave him some money for lunch or cook in the morning.
I fell silent, realizing I had no argument. After dinner I went to the shop and bought convenience foodsready meals, sausages, instant noodles.
Tuesday morning the same routine repeated. I boiled the ready meals, but overcooked them until they turned to mush. Charlie poked at the soggy dough with his spoon and sighed.
Dad, can I go to Grandmas?
Why?
No reason its just boring here.
Bear with it a bit. Youll get used to it.
But Charlie never got used to it. He drifted around the flat, watched TV, played on his phone. By midweek he complained the place felt stale and uncomfortable.
Dad, when is Mum coming back from America?
Shes not coming back, Charlie. She lives there now.
Maybe I should fly to her then?
I didnt answer, but it was clear my patience was wearing thin. I wasnt used to cooking, washing, or keeping things tidy. By Thursday a mountain of dirty dishes piled up in the sink, laundry lay scattered across the bedroom, and the bin overflowed with empty packets from convenience foods.
Everythings on me! I exploded that evening. Im working, cooking, cleaning!
Welcome to adulthood, Emma replied calmly, rinsing her plate.
You can see Im not managing!
I can. And?
Help me!
Why? This was your decision.
I clutched my head and paced the kitchen.
Youre cruel!
Im consistent.
Charlie is a child!
Hes your child. Youre his father. Deal with it.
Emma stood and retreated to her room. Half an hour later I tried to start a scene in the bedroom, but she kept repeating the same thing:
That was your decision.
Friday evening the landline rang. I snatched the receiver.
Hello, Mum Yeah, everythings fine Hows Charlie? Hes adjusting
The voice on the other end grew louder. I caught fragments:
He called me! Hes complaining! Hes going hungry!
Mum, come on
Bring him over immediately! Today!
I tried to object, but my mother clearly wasnt listening. The call lasted about ten minutes. I hung up, sighing heavily.
Mums taking Charlie to her place.
Good, Emma said, not looking up from her book.
Good? You dont care?
Its not that I dont care. Its that I feel relieved. The flat will be tidy again.
Are you serious?
Absolutely.
Saturday was still raining. I packed Charlies things into the same blue suitcases Id brought a week earlier. He helped me, but it was obvious he was more relieved than anything to be moving to his grandmothers.
Mrs. Patel is a good woman, Emma told me. Shell handle him better than you.
Shes a pensioner! Shes seventy!
But experienced. She raised a son; shell raise a grandson.
I zipped the suitcase and straightened up.
Maybe I was wrong somewhere.
Not somewhere. Specifically. You made a decision without consulting me and shifted the responsibility onto my shoulders without asking.
I dragged the suitcases into the hall. Charlie put on his things and stood by the door.
Emma, thank you for letting me stay, he said quietly.
Youre welcome, Charlie. You can always visit, but as a guestwhen youre invited.
He nodded, catching the subtext.
The door shut behind us. I was left alone in the quiet flat. I walked through the rooms, assessing the mess. A major cleanup would be neededthe men had made quite a shambles.
First, I sank into an armchair and opened the novel Id set aside for a week. The home now smelled of cleanliness and calm. No one had to be fed against my will. No one was dumping their duties on another.
Around eight, Lily came back from Sophies weekend.
Mom, where is everyone?
Charlie moved to his grandmothers; your stepdad took him.
Did he tell us?
He did just now, Emma smiled.
So were having dinner for two?
For two.
Mother and daughter set the table for two. Lily chatted about her weekend at Sophies, and I listened, realizing the week of standoff hadnt been for nothing. My wife had learned the main rule: in this house, decisions are made together, and no one bears anothers responsibilities alone.
Around nine, I returned, looking tired and guilty.
How are things? Emma asked.
Fine. Mum cooked him soups for the week. She was happy to have her grandson.
Thats good. Mrs. Patel loves looking after someone.
And you dont? I asked quietly.
I do, but only when I choose it. And when Im asked, not forced.
Emma nodded and sat at the table. I placed a bowl of soup in front of her. She looked up in surprise.
Thats for you. Because today you did the right thingyou found the child a suitable place without dumping the responsibility on me.
I lifted the spoon and ate. Over the week Id come to understand that parenting is hard workand forcing that work onto others is wrong and unfair.
Emma, Im sorry, I said between spoonfuls.
For what?
For not thinking. For not asking. For deciding for you.
Good. The important thing is it doesnt happen again.
It wont.
I poured myself a cup of tea and sat across from my wife. Peace and order had returned to our flat. Most importantly, Id learned my wife would not let anyone decide for her, and I would not take on someone elses duties without my own consent.
The evening passed quietly. The three of usEmma, Lily, and Idinner, a bit of TV, and plans for the next day. No one was forced to eat. No one complained about discomfort. Harmony was restored in our home, built on mutual respect and shared decisions.
