The guests had destroyed her life… until she learned to say “no.”
As Emma forced a tight-lipped smile and waved at the disappearing car full of so-called “friends,” fury boiled inside her. She wanted to scream, smash plates, throw them all out. But she only hissed through clenched teeth at her husband:
“If you invite anyone else without asking me first, I’ll throw you out too.”
“I didn’t even invite them,” Daniel shrugged. “Tom just invited himself. What was I supposed to do—say no?”
“That’s exactly the problem! They treat this place like a free bed-and-breakfast. We built this country house for ourselves—not for every freeloader who fancies a weekend in the countryside. Every Saturday, another car pulls up! I’m afraid to answer the phone anymore—they don’t even ask, they just show up!”
The house sat on the outskirts of York, nestled near a pine forest. A grand brick home with a loft and a bright veranda. The garden, the sauna, the patio, the pool—all of it built by Emma, Daniel, and her mother. They had dreamed of peace and quiet. Instead, their dream had turned into endless cooking, packs of unruly children, and a mother-in-law who never lifted a finger.
“They bring their own food,” Daniel said calmly. “Fresh air is good for everyone.”
“Especially your sister,” Emma sneered. “Dumped her two brats here all summer without a single pound to help. My mum’s in the kitchen all day while yours lounges in the hammock. Those kids aren’t even family!”
“Keep it down—they’ll hear you.”
“Let them! Maybe then they’ll realise they’re not welcome. My mother’s joints are killing her, and you still complain she struggles with the cooking?”
“She helps however she can. My mother lives here full-time. And the kids—that was her idea, dragging them here. They’re her grandkids. I don’t mind making dinner, but why is it always on us?”
Emma yanked the veranda curtain shut, exhaling sharply.
“Honestly, the worst aren’t even the relatives—it’s the uninvited guests. The calls start on Thursday, and by Saturday, they’re banging on the gate. Your sister Sarah rolls in—‘Where’s the barbecue? When’s the sauna?’ Why doesn’t she go to her mum’s old cottage? Oh, right—because that would mean *actual* work.”
“You’ve gotten petty,” Daniel said, rolling his eyes.
“And you’ve gotten spineless. And, by the way, I’m now off to scrub ketchup and charcoal off your precious nephews’ T-shirts—since they thought it’d be fun to ‘roast sausages in the fire pit’ and then dive into it!”
She slammed the bathroom door. Her mother peeked in, hearing the shouting.
“Emma, what’s wrong?”
“You really need to ask? We’re here cooking, cleaning, breaking our backs, while a herd of other people’s kids runs wild—and no one even asked if they could come!”
“You’re the lady of the house. Your property, your rules. Tell them straight—you weren’t expecting guests.”
“What if they’re already at the door?”
“Perfect chance to say, ‘We’ve got plans. Just brought in a load of manure—care to help spread it?’ Or set them to work weeding. The men can chop wood and fix the roof. Suddenly, the ‘holiday spirit’ fades.”
“Mum, it’s awkward. That sounds ridiculous.”
“Then stop complaining. But next time, I’m not lifting a finger—no chopping, no cooking. Enough.”
From Friday onward, Emma turned off her phone. On Saturday, she was picking strawberries when a car rolled up the drive. *Not here, please…* She braced herself. The car door clicked. Familiar laughter. Sarah and her husband. Again.
“Coming!” Daniel’s voice rang from inside. He caught Emma’s glare—pure fury.
“Sorry!” he whispered. “Just for the day…”
Through gritted teeth, she forced, “Come in,” while wishing the ground would swallow her whole. The guests gushed about the scenery, plucked strawberries from the bushes, praised the crisp country air. By evening, they were sprawled in the patio, stuffing themselves with barbecue, and her brother-in-law, Mike, started hinting at using the sauna.
Then her mother stood. Her tone was calm, unyielding.
“Mike, weren’t you the one who refused to lift a finger when we built that sauna? Now you’re begging to use it? We didn’t build it for guests. And, by the way, no one’s cleaned it after you’ve left.”
“Come on, I was busy then—”
“And now you’re not? You treat this place like a holiday lodge. We *never* get a break. Would you like strangers traipsing through your home every weekend, eating your food, leaving you to scrub up after them?”
“Margaret, you’re overreacting,” Mike muttered.
“No. But I’ll offer a solution: the plot next door is for sale. Build your own house—sauna every day if you like.”
“And the sauna’s closed to guests,” Emma added. “Sorry.”
They left in a huff, but for the first time, Emma felt relief. Her mother hugged her.
“Well done. That’s how it’s done. This is *your* house. *You* make the rules.”
From then on, Emma answered calls with, “No, we’re spending time as a family.” If anyone showed up unannounced, she lied: “We’re just leaving.” Some wheedled—
“Can we just sit in the garden? We’ll leave the key under the stone!”
“And if there’s a fire? Or a robbery? No. You can’t.”
By August, the uninvited crowd vanished. But Emma’s peace was shattered when her mother-in-law announced:
“Danny! Surprise! My sister and the grandkids are coming for the rest of the month. I’ve already told them everything. They’ve booked their tickets.”
“No,” Emma cut in. “This is *my* home. You should’ve asked. I’m not hosting your relatives anymore. Tell them to cancel.”
“How *could* you? They’re children! Have you no heart?”
“No. I’ve run out—for myself and my mother. Your family’s kids aren’t my responsibility.”
“You’ve become so… cruel. Where are my tablets?”
For days, her mother-in-law staged theatrics, reeking of lavender oil, but Emma stood firm. Now, she invited guests *she* wanted—once a month at most.
As she strode past her mother-in-law, her mum whispered, “Taught you well.” And for the first time in forever, Emma felt it—her home was truly her castle.
Best of all? She’d learned to say *no*. And no one would trample her boundaries again.