Husband’s Parents Came to Visit for Three Days, but Their Son’s Been Living Elsewhere for Ages

The inlaws arrived for a threeday visit, though the son had not lived here for years. Emma Harper hesitated at the door, keys dangling in her hand as if the ring had never reached her ears. Her coat was damp, the umbrella dripped, and the milk bag she clutched bore a torn handle. Evening was fading, the hallway already smelled of someones dinner and a cats soft fur.

Behind the door stood Victoria Harper, her knitted scarf wound tight, patentleather shoes shining, a wheeled suitcase rolling, a steaming parcel in both hands. Her voice carried the timbre of a classic cinema actressbright, tinged with drama.

Good day, my sunshine! Im here for three days, with a cherry piePaul loves it, she announced, already stepping into the corridor while Emma exhaled a breath of relief. Why didnt you tell me youd changed the code? I was about to leave, then turned back with my suitcase, barely found the caretaker and begged him for the new numbers.

Emma remained silent, a nod drifting toward an unseen shoulder, as if someone else lingered there, though the flat was oppressively quiet.

Wheres Paul? Victoria asked, slipping into different shoes, glancing at the empty coat hook in the entryway. No mens jacket, no boots, no trace of his scent or his chaos. Hell be later, right? Well sit down to dinner; I brought pilaf. Peter, Pauls father, will be back soonhe had to dash off to a friends urgent business. And Sam? Still at nursery, I suppose?

A thin smile flickered on Emmas lips, as if a thread had been pulled.

His meeting ran over, she replied.

Victorias eyes darted, too fast. She noticed a single cup on the shelf, a halfused bottle of shampoo in the bathroom, childrens drawings on the fridge, and the absence of Pauls photographs.

In the kitchen, Victoria placed the pie on the table, gently opened the pilaf container, and took Emmas hand.

Dont worry, love. Breathe out. Well sit, well eat. Peter will be hereyoull have a good laugh with him. Hes a kind soul.

Emma nodded, sat down, lifted a plate but did not eat. The kettle began to roar as if it were shouting.

Later they went to fetch Sam. Victoria carried mittens and a thermos of compote; Emma walked silently, gripping her sleeve. In the lift, on the way back, they ran into the neighbour Lydia. She grinned, then slipped into a rapid, familiar tirade:

Emma, your ex is out again with that paintedup lady from the shop, pushing a pram? He never deals with the child, does he?

Victoria pressed her lips together, staring past both women.

Lydia Emma whispered out of breath.

Honestly, Im just telling the truth. Everyone knows everything, Lydia replied.

That evening, Victoria pulled a blanket from the wardrobe and carefully smoothed the makeshift bed on the sofa. She paused, holding a pillow for a long moment before, without looking up, asking:

Has he gone? Wheres my son? What happened?

Emma stood in the kitchen doorway, back straight, hands on the kettle.

Three months ago. He said he was going to a meeting and never returned.

Who did he go with?

Emma said nothing, merely looked past.

Victoria sat, placed the blanket beside her, set a small plasticmoulded cake on her lap.

I baked this especially for you. He told me everything was fine that you all wanted a summer holiday together he

She gasped, as if climbing a long staircase. Emma approached, but did not touch, only set a teacup beside her.

The room was silent. Outside the window an old doubledecker bus hummed. Emma stared out; Victoria sat unmoving. Each was wrapped in her own hush.

A sudden clickPeter always slammed the door with a vigor that announced his presence. He burst in, brisk in a coat with a fur collar, a bag of clementines and a newspaper tucked under his arm.

Hello, lovelies! Look what Ive broughtclementines from the south, sweet as childhood, he declared, shedding his coat, heading to the kitchen. The silence remained, pierced only by three gazes: Emmas tired one, Victorias anxious stare, and a bright, childlike look from Sam, who, hearing his grandfathers voice, dropped his biscuit, lunged forward, clutched the trousers as if they were a tree, and beamed.

Whats the silence about? Peter asked, puzzled. Did I come at a bad time?

Paul Victoria began, but her voice slipped.

Emma answered calmly, as if rehearsed a hundred times: Paul left three months ago.

The clementine bag thudded softly on the table, the newspaper followed. Peter sat, stared out the window as if seeking an answer in the streetlight.

You think youve done something here? he shouted suddenly. You drove him away, Emma. You pressed, you nagged, like a nail in wood. He walked home like a condemned man!

Peter, Victoria whispered.

What? Peter barked, Everythings hidden, and nowhello! You just ruined it.

Emma said nothing, only carried a cup to the sink, then stood rooted, torn between leaving and staying.

Victorias face turned ashen. She rose, went to Peter, squeezed his shoulder; his reaction was delayed.

He told me everything was fine. Sams healthy, youre doing great, youre planning a holiday. Do you realise he lied? To me. To his mother.

Peter looked up, for the first time at a loss for words.

I I thought he stammered. Hes not a child. He decides for himself. Maybe someone

Hes been with someone for a long time, Emma said without turning. He lives with her. The one from work. The one he texts in the bathroom.

Peter rose, stepped onto the balcony, closed the door behind him. A cigarette sparked in the dusk like a lighthouse. He never smoked around his grandson, but now he did.

Ill call him, Emma said. Let him explain himself.

Victoria said nothing, merely closed her eyes.

The phone screen displayed Paul. It rang, a dull buzz, then a weary voice answered:

Hello?

Come now. Father and mother are here, Sam too. We need to talk.

A pause, a long one, then a reluctant Alright. The line clicked off.

Emma looked out the window. Beyond the glass, someone was shovelling snow from a pathway. A white night, silent, winterbound.

Twenty minutes later the lock clicked; Paul entered as if stepping into a strangers flat. He wore the same puffy coat from which Emma once retrieved gum and receipts. His hair was slightly tousled, a faint trace of foreign cologne lingered. He halted at the threshold.

Hello, everyone he said in a hollow tone.

Sam darted forward but stopped halfway. Paul sat awkwardly, pulling the boy close.

Hey, buddy, how are you? he asked.

You dont live with us, Sam replied matteroffactly, not as an accusation but as a statement.

Paul pressed Sam to his chest but never met his eyes.

The kitchen filled with a thick silence. Peter emerged from the balcony, a wisp of smoke trailing. Victoria watched her son as if seeing him for the first time.

You told me she began, you said everything was fine. You said Emma was wonderful. You said Sam was happy. Did you lie to me, Paul?

I didnt want to hurt you.

And her? Victoria nodded toward Emma. Did you not want to hurt her? Or was it easier just to vanish?

Peter suddenly whispered, What did you do to your own mother?

Paul sat, hands flat on the table, as if surrendering.

I owe no one anything. Not you, not her. I left because I didnt want to keep lying. I couldnt be with Emma any longer, nor with you.

You left because it was easier than staying and being a man, Victoria retorted. You betrayed her, us, yourself.

Emma sat in the corner, mute, as if she no longer needed to know anything. She already knew everything.

Victoria stepped to her son, touched his shoulder; her hand trembled.

You were better, Paul. I remember you differently.

He gave no answer, only shut his eyes.

Sam peeked into the kitchen again, this time standing in the doorway, watching.

Paul rose, took a step back, looked at everyone. His face hardened, a mask set in stone. He turned sharply and left, slamming the doornot loudly, but unmistakably, like the period at the end of a sentence.

Morning came. A bleak light washed the window; fresh snow rested on the sill. Peter read the newspaper again, Sam ate porridge, Victoria moved dishes around, and Emma stood at the window.

Emma straightened, her voice steadier: I can collect the appliances you gave usmicrowave, slow cooker, kettle. Take them if you wish. I was going to remodel anyway. Changes wont stop us. It just feels right to clear everything to the ground.

Victoria snapped around.

Have you lost your mind? Its only morning and youre already talking about furniture. We have nothing to split. Were not vultures. We should apologise, not loot.

Sam, playing with toy cars on the carpet, looked up.

Grandma, will Daddy come?

Victoria inhaled deeply, knelt, and smoothed his hair.

Hell come, little man, but a bit later. Want a cartoon now?

Sam nodded.

Emma lingered in the doorway, neither crying nor angry, only a hollow numbness, like the calm after a long roaronly silence remained in her ears.

She set the kettle on; it shouted, a soundtrack to their quiet.

The day stretched ahead, ordinary yet feeling like a fresh start.

The flat smelled of soap and dry air. Victoria stood in the bathroom, washing the basin slowly, as if meditating. Emma entered, reached for a towel, but froze.

Leave it, Victoria said without turning. Ill take it myself.

Emma stayed silent, took the towel, placed it nearby, and waited.

I wasnt angry at you, she finally said, Im just tired of explaining that Im not the only one at fault.

Victoria leaned on the sinks edge, shook her head.

I was angryat myself. At what I didnt see, at what I refused to see. I thought you had everything: love, family, happiness. I told everyone that.

Emma nodded. The two women stood in the cramped bathroom, bound by a son, a house, a past.

Sorry, Victoria whispered. For everything. I truly believed you could have stopped it. Now I see you were holding us all together, even when we didnt need it.

Emma sat on the tubs edge, quietly:

Ill hold myself. Only myself. No one else.

From the kitchen Sam shouted, Mum, where are the sharkprint socks? and something clattered.

And him, Emma added, Ill keep him a little longer.

They smiled, not bewildered, but in a weary, genuine, feminine way.

Later, at the doorway, they embraced for a long while. Peter stood nearby, shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

I was wrong too, he muttered. We men arent taught to speak, not as kids, not later.

Learn, Emma said. As long as theres someone to talk to.

He nodded.

Sam raced up, slipped into shoes that didnt quite fit, and bolted down the stairs.

Well call you, Victoria said. Or you call us. Were family nowwhere else can we run?

Emma nodded, hugging him.

The flat was almost empty. The furniture was minimal, boxes lined a wall, a single mug perched on the windowsill. Emma placed a spoon in the kettle, poured boiling water, opened the window; a cool draft slipped in, fresh and new.

Sam lay on the floor, drawing a sky with a green marker.

Why not blue? Emma asked.

Because spring will be green, he answered. Spring is green.

Emma watched his hand sweep the paper, then adjusted his collar.

Shall we get bread later?

Yes! And clementines. With leaves!

She smiled.

Outside a tram rumbled by, laughter echoed from below, light fell across the floor. In that light lay everythingpain, forgiveness, and the sense that something was beginning again.

Emma sat beside him, simply. No fear. For the first time, no fear.