Emily was at her desk when a knock sounded at the study door. Oliver stepped inside, glancing around the familiar room with an odd, appraising look.

“Mind if I come in?” he asked, though hed already crossed the threshold.

She nodded without looking up from her screen. The house had been left to her by her late aunt Margaret five years agospacious, bright, with three bedrooms. Emily had turned one into her perfect workspacea sanctuary of order and quiet.

“Listen,” her husband began, perching on the edge of the sofa, “Mum and Dad are going on again about how exhausting London is.”

Emily finally turned to him. After a decade of marriage, she knew his tones well. There was something hesitant in his voice now.

“Mum says she cant sleep for the noise,” Oliver continued. “And Dads fed up with the commute. Plus, the rents gone up again.”

“I see,” she replied curtly, turning back to her work.

But the mentions of his parents didnt stop. Every evening, Oliver found a new reason to bring them up. One night it was the pollution giving his mother headaches, the next it was their upstairs neighbours blasting music, then the lift in their building breaking down.

“They just want some peace, you know?” he said over dinner one evening. “A proper home, somewhere quiet.”

Emily chewed slowly, thoughtful. Oliver had never been one for long conversations. This sudden preoccupation with his parents troubles felt off.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked carefully.

“Nothing, really,” he shrugged. “Just thinking about them.”

A week later, Emily noticed Oliver lingering in her study more often than usual. At first, it was under the pretence of looking for paperwork, then for no reason at all. Hed pause by the wall, eyeing the space as if measuring it.

“Nice room,” he remarked one evening. “Plenty of light.”

Emily glanced up from her papers. There was something evaluating in his tone.

“Yes, I like it here,” she said.

“You know,” Oliver mused, walking to the window, “you could always set up a desk in the bedroom. Itd work just as well.”

Something tightened in her chest. Emily set her pen down and studied her husband.

“Why would I move? This works fine.”

“Just a thought,” he mumbled.

But the idea stuck. Emily began noticing how Olivers gaze swept over the study, mentally rearranging furniture. How he lingered in the doorway as if already imagining something else in its place.

“Listen,” he said a few days later, “you should probably clear this room out. Just in case.”

The words came like a foregone conclusion. Emily stiffened.

“Why would I do that?” she asked, sharper than intended.

“No reason,” Oliver hedged. “Just thought itd be handy for guests.”

But she understood now. All the talk about his parents, all the offhand comments about her studypieces of a plan. A plan made without her.

“Oliver,” she said slowly, “be straight with me. Whats going on?”

He turned to the window, avoiding her eyes. The silence stretched. Emily realisedsomething had already been decided. Without her.

“Oliver,” she repeated firmly.

He turned back, his expression caught between guilt and resolve.

“Mum and Dad are really struggling in the city,” he began cautiously. “They need somewhere quieter.”

Emily stood. The unease shed ignored for weeks swelled.

“And what are you suggesting?” she asked, though she already knew.

“Were family,” Oliver said, as if that explained everything. “Weve got the space.”

Space. Her study, her refugejust spare space. Emily clenched her fists.

“This isnt spare space,” she said tightly. “This is my office.”

“You could work in the bedroom,” he shrugged. “My parents have nowhere else to go.”

The line sounded rehearsed. Emily understoodthis wasnt the first time hed had this conversation. Just not with her.

“Oliver, this is my house,” she said coldly. “I never agreed to your parents moving in.”

“You wouldnt mind, would you?” he countered, irritation creeping in. “Were family, arent we?”

That word again. Family. As if it erased her right to an opinion. Emily walked to the window, steadying herself.

“What if I do mind?” she asked, her back to him.

“Dont be selfish,” Oliver snapped. “Theyre getting on.”

Selfish. For wanting to keep her workspace. For expecting to be consulted. Emily turned.

“Selfish?” she repeated. “For wanting a say in my own home?”

“Oh, come off it,” he scoffed. “Its family duty. We cant just leave them to struggle.”

Family duty. Another phrase meant to silence her. But Emily wasnt staying quiet anymore.

“What about my duty to myself?” she asked.

“Stop overreacting,” Oliver dismissed. “Just move your computer. Its not a big deal.”

Not a big deal. Years of making this room hersdismissed. Emily saw him clearly then, as if for the first time.

“When did you decide all this?” she asked quietly.

“I havent decided anything,” Oliver backpedalled. “Just weighing options.”

“Youre lying,” she said. “Youve already talked to your parents, havent you?”

His silence was answer enough. Emily sat heavily in her chair, the truth settling like a weight.

“So, youve discussed it with everyone but me.”

“Enough,” Oliver snapped. “What does it matter who Ive talked to?”

What it mattered. Her consent, her homewhat it mattered. Emily realised he saw himself as the one in charge, her ownership irrelevant.

The next morning, Oliver walked into the kitchen like a man whod made his decision. Emily waited, coffee in hand, for the inevitable.

“Look,” he began bluntly, “Mum and Dad are moving in.”

Emily looked up. There was no room for debate in his tone.

“Clear out the study. Theyll need the room,” he added, like an order.

For Emily, it was a moment of clarity. She hadnt even been consulted. He hadnt askedhed cut her out entirely.

Her cup trembled. A cold fury rose as the betrayal sank in. Oliver stood there, waiting, as though she were staff taking instructions.

“Are you serious?” she said slowly. “Youve just decided for me? I made myself clear yesterdayI dont want this!”

“Dont be dramatic,” he waved her off. “Its logical. Where else would they go?”

Emily set the cup down and stood. Her hands shook with anger.

“Oliver, youve betrayed me,” she said plainly. “Youve put your parents before our marriage.”

“Dont twist it,” he muttered. “Its family.”

“And what am I? Not family?” Her voice turned sharp. “Youve trampled over my boundaries in my own home!”

Oliver looked away, unprepared for her pushback. For years, shed gone along with his decisions. But something had broken now.

“You treat me like an afterthought,” Emily continued. “You expect me to just swallow this.”

“Stop with the hysterics,” he snapped. “Its not that serious.”

Not that serious. Her voice ignored, her space takennot that serious. Emily stepped closer.

“Im not giving up my study,” she stated. “And Im not hosting your parents when no ones asked me.”

“How can you be like this?” Oliver exploded. “Theyre my parents!”

“And this is my house!” Emily shot back. “And I wont live with a man who treats me like I dont matter!”

Oliver stepped back, seeing real fury in her for the first time. Her eyes held a resolve hed never faced.

“You dont get it,” he fumbled. “My parents are relying on us.”

“And you dont get me,” Emily cut in. “Ten years, and you still dont see Im not just here to obey.”

She walked to the counter, gathering herself. Words shed held back for years spilled out.

“You know what, Oliver?” she said, turning. “Get out.”

“What?” He gaped. “You cant be serious.”

“Deadly,” she said flatly. “I wont live with someone who doesnt respect me.”

Oliver opened his mouth, but nothing came. He hadnt expected this.

“This is our home,” he tried weakly.

“Legally, its mine,” Emily reminded him coldly. “And I want you gone.”

He stood stunned, realisation dawning that hed pushed too far.

“Em, lets talk this through,” he pleaded.

“Too late,” she said. “That shouldve happened before you decided.”

He tried to argue, but the steel in her eyes stopped him. The compliant wife whod yielded for years was gone.

“Pack your things,” she said calmly.

A week later, Emily sat in