Valentine’s son-in-law asked them to move out.

Valentine froze with her mug in hand when she heard her son-in-law’s voice from the hallway. He was on the phone, speaking quietly, but the walls in their flat were thin. Every word carried into the kitchen.

*”Yeah, I know, Mum, the place is small. But what can we do? Until we find something to rent, we’ll just have to put up with it… No, she’s fine, doesn’t nag much. I just want my own space, you know?”*

Valentine carefully set the mug down. Her heart hammered so hard it stole her breath. She strained to listen—Oliver went on.

*”Emma doesn’t know yet. I don’t want to upset her—she’s so attached to her nan… No, it’s not like Mum does anything wrong, it’s just… living with someone else wears on you. You get it.”*

**Someone else.** The words cut deep. She’d lived in this flat for thirty years. Raised Emma here alone after her husband left her for his young secretary. And now—she was *someone else* in her own home.

The front door creaked. Footsteps. Valentine grabbed a cloth and started wiping the already-clean table.

*”Morning, Nan,”* Oliver said, stepping into the kitchen and reaching for the kettle.

*”Morning,”* she replied shortly, not looking up.

Eight years of living together, and they still used formal nicknames. Oliver was polite, even kind, but there was always an invisible wall between them. She’d told herself it was just his nature—quiet, private. Now she knew the truth. He’d just been counting the days until he could call the place his own.

*”Emma still asleep?”* he asked, pouring hot water into his cup.

*”She is. Late night at the warehouse—stocktake.”*

Oliver nodded, stirring his tea. Valentine watched from the corner of her eye. Tall, broad-shouldered, with sharp features—a handsome man, no denying that. Emma adored him, always gushing to her friends: *I hit the jackpot with Oliver!* But whether Valentine had been just as lucky was another matter.

*”Actually, Nan,”* Oliver set his cup down, *”wanted a word with you.”*

Her heart skipped. Was this it? Straight out with it?

*”Go on.”*

*”Emma and I’ve found a place to rent. Not far—new part of town. Two-bed, decent price.”*

Valentine sank onto the stool. Her legs gave way.

*”So, you’re moving out?”*

*”Yeah. We’re thirty now—time to have our own nest. You’ll be all right here, no one underfoot.”*

**No one underfoot.** God—had they ever been in her way? If anything, they’d kept the place alive. Without them, it’d be a silent tomb for a lonely old woman.

*”Emma know about this?”*

Oliver hesitated.

*”Not yet. Wanted to talk to you first. She’s… attached. Might take it hard.”*

*”She might,”* Valentine said softly. *”It’s her home.”*

*”Yeah, I know. But you’re all right with it? Won’t take it personal? Not that we don’t appreciate—just want our own space.”*

Valentine walked to the window. Outside, pensioners fed pigeons while kids played in the sandpit. A normal morning—but for her, a line drawn. Before and after.

*”It’s your life,”* she said, not turning. *”Do what’s right for you.”*

*”Thanks. I’ll tell Emma tonight.”*

He drank his tea, rinsed the cup, and left. Valentine stayed by the window, staring at nothing. **Someone else.** Eight years under the same roof, and he’d always seen her as a stranger.

Emma stormed in that evening like a hurricane.

*”Mum! Oliver’s found us a flat! Says it’s a steal—two beds, new build—”*

Valentine set her knitting aside.

*”He mentioned it.”*

*”What d’you think?”* Emma flopped onto the sofa. *”I’m torn. I mean, our own place’d be brilliant—but leaving you?”*

*”Love, you’re grown. It’s time.”*

*”But you’ll be lonely! And I will too! I’m used to you—to home. Remember reading me stories? Your cheese pasties? Oliver loves those, by the way.”*

**Loves them.** Had he said that to his mother when he’d complained about the cramped flat?

*”Don’t fuss, love. I’ve got the neighbours, my mates. Work keeps me busy.”*

*”Mum—what if you came with us?”* Emma blurted. *”Two bedrooms—one for us, one for you. Same as here, really.”*

Valentine imagined Oliver’s face. He’d go pale with horror.

*”No. Young couples need their own space.”*

*”But I can’t just leave you!”* Emma jumped up and hugged her. *”You’re my family! When Dad left, you said, ‘We’re a team—we’ll manage.’ And we did! Now I’m ditching you—”*

*”You’re living your life. That’s how it should be.”*

*”What if Oliver says no?”*

Valentine gently pulled free.

*”Emma, sit. Let’s talk.”*

Her daughter obeyed, suddenly looking like the little girl who’d whispered school secrets twenty years ago.

*”Be honest,”* Valentine said. *”Was this your idea or his?”*

*”What? He suggested it, I agreed. Makes sense—”*

*”But if he hadn’t?”*

Emma paused.

*”Dunno. Probably wouldn’t have thought of it. I like it here. Thought you did too.”*

*”So—it was Oliver.”*

*”Yeah. What’s wrong with that? Man should steer the ship.”*

*”Should. But whose ship is it?”*

Emma frowned.

*”Mum—what’re you saying?”*

Valentine sighed. She hadn’t wanted this. But silence wasn’t an option now.

*”I overheard Oliver on the phone. He told his mum he was tired of living with a stranger.”*

*”A stranger?”* Emma recoiled. *”Who?”*

*”Me. I’m the stranger.”*

Emma’s face shifted—confusion, then anger.

*”No way. Oliver respects you! Always thanks you for dinner, carries your shopping—”*

*”Politeness. Truth is—I’ve been a burden.”*

*”Mum, maybe you misheard?”*

*”Word for word: ‘Want my own space. A stranger in the house wears on me.’”*

Emma clenched her fists.

*”I don’t believe it.”*

*”He said it. And—he’s right. Couples need their own life. I forgot children grow up and leave.”*

*”But you’re Mum! How can Mum be a stranger?”*

*”I’m the mother-in-law. That’s a different beast.”*

Emma stood abruptly.

*”I’ll talk to him. Now.”*

*”Don’t,”* Valentine stopped her. *”No need for rows. He’s a good man—just spoke freely where he thought no one heard.”*

*”But it’s not fair! You do everything—cook, clean—and he calls you a lodger!”*

*”Not a lodger. A stranger. There’s a difference.”*

*”Not to me!”* Emma snapped. *”You know what? Sod him! I’m not going!”*

*”Emma, don’t be daft. He’s your husband.”*

*”And where does that leave you? Out on the street?”*

*”My place is here. This is my home. You build yours.”*

Emma burst into tears.

*”I don’t want to leave you!”*

Valentine held her like she had when Emma skinned her knees as a child.

*”You won’t. You’ll visit. This is better—close, but not in each other’s pockets.”*

*”What if Oliver stops me?”*

*”He won’t. He’s not cruel—just wanted space.”*

At dinner, Oliver enthused about the new flat—big kitchen, proper bathroom. Emma nodded along, but Valentine saw her heart wasn’t in it.

*”When’s the move?”* Valentine asked.

*”Soon as we like,”* Oliver said. *”Place is empty—could go tomorrow.”*

*”Maybe wait a bit?”* Emma said weakly. *”Think it*”No need to wait,”* Valentine said gently, *”it’s time for you both to start your new chapter—and mine will be just fine here, love.”*