“You’ll always be poor, stuck renting some dingy flat,” her mother-in-law had sneered. Now, the woman rented a room in *her* castle.

“Could we change the curtains?” Aveline’s voice behind her was as thick and heavy as the velvet drapes she so despised. “This colour… it weighs the room down. Makes it dreary.”

Katherine turned slowly. She’d chosen that fabric herselfdeep burgundy velvet, perfectly complementing the cream walls and antique dresser. A small design victory. “You dont like them?”

“Oh, dont fuss, dear. Beggars can’t be choosers, as they say. Just voicing my thoughts. Am I not entitled to an opinion in my own sons home?”

Aveline stood there, arms crossed, surveying the room with faint distaste. *Her* room. The very one Katherine and her husband had given her in their new house. Their “castle,” as James joked whenever he glimpsed the turrets Katherine had dreamed of since childhood.

“Of course, you are, Aveline.”

“Good. For a moment, I thought Id need permission just to breathe here.”

Twenty years. Two decades, and nothing had changed. Only the backdrop was different.

Once, it had been a rented one-bedroom with floral wallpaper. Now, it was a sprawling home, every inch earned through their sweat.

“I just want a bit of comfort,” Aveline added, trailing a finger along the polished dresser. “Dust. Should wipe that. Then again, youre used to it, arent you? All those years in other peoples spaces.”

Something clenched inside Katherine. Not painjust familiarity. Like phantom aches in a long-gone limb.

She remembered.

Remembered the day theyd moved into their first flat. Tiny, on the outskirts, with a leaky tap and creaky floors. Theyd been trembling with happiness.

Then Aveline arrived. Took one look at their modest life, pressed her lips, and pronounced judgmentnot to James, but to Katherine alone.

“Youre poor, and youll drag him down with you. Mark my wordsyoull never have anything of your own.”

Katherine had stayed silent then. What could she say? A lovesick twenty-year-old, certain love would conquer all.

And it had. But at the cost of twenty years. Twenty years of relentless work, sleepless nights, two engagement rings pawned, and one risky IT venture that finally paid off.

Meanwhile, Aveline had lost everything. First her husband, then her posh central London flatsunk into a scam recommended by a “very prestigious lady.” The hunger for easy money and status left her with nothing.

“James says you gave me the best guest room,” Aveline mused, drifting to the window. “Garden view. So I can watch you fuss over the roses and remember my place.”

“Your place *is* here now,” Katherine said firmly.

“My *place* was in *my* flat,” Aveline snapped. “This… is charity. A grand gesture. So everyone sees what a saint my son married. How forgiving.”

She turned, and in her eyes, Katherine saw the same cold, venomous disdain from twenty years ago.

“Just hope your castle isnt built on sand, Katherine. Falling from this height would hurt.”

That evening, Aveline circled back to the curtains, addressing only James.

“Darling, Ive been thinking… Youre a man of status now, with your own company. Clients will visit. The house should reflect that. These dark rooms… they feel oppressive.”

Katherine set down the salad. Her hands didnt shake. Shed learned that long ago.

“Mum, we like it,” James said gently. “Katie chose everything herselfshes got brilliant taste.”

“Practical taste,” Aveline corrected, bestowing a condescending smile. “Used to making do. A fine trait for lean times. But now… now you can afford lightness. A decorator friend could advise”

Katherine felt cornered. Refuse, and shed seem stubborn. Agree, and shed dismiss her own choices.

“Ill think about it,” she said evenly.

“Nothing *to* think about, dear. Before the whole house reeks of… middle-class dreariness.”

The next day, Katherine froze in the kitchen. Her spice jarscollected from travels worldwide, arranged just sohad been shoved aside. In their place stood Avelines china, the last relic of her old life.

“Just tidying,” Aveline said behind her. “Youre so haphazard. A man needs orderit soothes him.”

Katherine wordlessly returned her spices.

“You shouldnt have. Id have done it.”

“Of course you would,” Aveline sighed. “Always doing everything. Strong women like youthats why men grow weak. James never had to lead.”

The blow landed deep.

All those years coding alongside him, hunting investors, picking him up after failureserased in one sentence.

*Shed* made him weak.

That night, she tried talking to James. He listened, held her.

“Love, shes old, lost everything. She just wants to feel useful. Does it *really* matter, those jars?”

“Its not about the jars!” Katherine pulled away. “Its her erasing me, my choices*everything*!”

“She doesnt know you yet,” he soothed. “Give her time.”

But he didnt *see*. He loved her, but missed the poison dripping from his mothers words. Saw only her tragedy, never her cruelty.

Katherine stared at her garden that night. Every rose planted by her hands. This house was her proofAveline had been wrong.

Now the enemy was inside. And she wouldnt leave. Shed take this victory, twist it into *hers*.

No more pleading. No peace.

The breaking point came Saturday. Returning home, Katherine heard unfamiliar laughter on the terrace. Aveline, animated, gestured to a sleek woman in *her* favourite chair.

“…an alpine rockery *here*,” Aveline was saying. “And these dated rosesgone. A proper lawn. Open, *elegant*!”

Katherine stood shadowed by ivy.

“Brilliant, Aveline,” the decorator cooed. “This garden lacks metropolitan polish. Well overhaul everything. James will adore it.”

Something inside Katherine snapped.

*Her* garden. Every plant nursed, every bud cherished. And theyd decided its fateunasked.

Enough.

She didnt confront them. Just turned, drove away, and coldly dialled her estate agent.

Three hours later, she returned. James was home, tension thick in the air. Katherine dropped keys and paperwork on the table.

“Evening. Aveline, Rebeccaglad youve started redesigning *my* garden.”

Rebecca flushed. Aveline stiffened.

“We were brainstorming, dear. For the houses sake.”

“Of course.” Katherine turned to James. “Solved the problem.”

“What problem?”

“Your mothers discomfort. Shes rightshe needs her own space. Somewhere *she* controls.”

She opened the folder.

“A rental. New build, concierge, ten minutes away. Spacious, light, excellent finish. Viewing at ten tomorrow. Everythings arranged.”

Silence. James gaped. Aveline paled.

“Youre *throwing me out*?”

“Hardly.” Katherine smiled, icy. “Im giving you what you wantedfreedom.”

Freedom from her curtains, her spices, her roses. Aveline could hire any decorator, buy any furniture*their* expense.

A flawless move. Not an evictiona *gift*. Refusing would admit it was never about comfort, but control.

James tried laughing it off. Aveline spat venom.

“Youd let her do this? Your own mother?”

“Its *my* home too,” Katherine said. “And Im offering better.”

That evening, James pleaded.

“Too harsh. We couldve talked.”

“I *did*,” she said, steady. “For *twenty years*. You never heard. To you, it was just curtains and jars. To memy *life* trampled daily.”

She faced the garden.

“Twenty years, James. Twenty years of being told Im nothing. I built this house to prove her wrong. Now shed take *this* too.”

She met his eyes.

“I wont fight her. Ive removed her from the battlefield. Now choose.”

He understood then. Her love had limits.

Three days later, Aveline moved out in seething silence. Her new flatbright, emptyawaited.

Katherine left her there.

Two months on, their home breathed easy again. Laughter returned. The castle ceased being a fortressjust a home.

They visited Aveline weekly. Shed decoratedpale curtains, sterile elegance. No warmth.

Once, Katherine overheard her