I prepped the guest room, added fresh sheets, and even put a lavender-scented candle on the nightstand. I stocked her bathroom with extra toiletries and made her favorite scones.
It never occurred to me that she had no intention of staying in the guest room.
I was busy at work when she arrived, so Jake picked her up from the airport. I assumed everything was fine—until I walked through the front door and headed to my bedroom to change.
Doreen was standing in the middle of my bedroom, casually unpacking her suitcase like she owned the place.
And my clothes? They weren’t in my closet anymore. They were dumped in a pile on the floor.
My shoes had been tossed into a laundry basket. My dresses were wrinkled and shoved into the corner like garbage.
Meanwhile, her expensive silk blouses were neatly hung up, her jewelry case displayed on my vanity.
For a moment, I just stood there, frozen, my brain struggling to process what I was seeing.
“Oh! Good. You’re back, Phoebe!” she greeted me, then added cheerfully, “Be a sweetheart and move your stuff to the guest room, would you? There’s hardly any space in here with all my things.”
I blinked. Had I heard her right?
Then Jake walked in behind her, carrying another one of her suitcases.
“Hey, Pheebs,” he said casually, as if this was all completely normal. “Can you clear out of the room? Mom needs to rest. She’s had a long flight. You can set up in the guest room for the week. I’ll be in my office because you know my back can’t handle the guest room bed.”
My stomach twisted. He was talking to me like I was the guest here.
Doreen let out a dramatic sigh, barely pausing in her unpacking.
Jake gave me a look—the one that said I was the unreasonable one here.
“You were saying?” he muttered.
As if I was making a scene. As if I was the one being difficult.
“Come on, Phoebe, it’s not a big deal, babe.”
Then, he added, “Mom is used to better accommodations, and we want her to be comfortable. It’s only a week, Phoebe. You’ll survive the guest room.”
I could barely believe what I was hearing.
Doreen had just kicked me out of my own bedroom, and Jake was acting like I was the problem.
“Honestly, dear,” she said sweetly from my bed, then added with a casual wave of her hand, “It’s the least you could do. Family takes care of family, after all.”
I felt something sharp twist in my chest.
Oh. Family takes care of family?
Funny how that only seems to apply when I’m the one being inconvenienced.
Jake, looking suddenly uncomfortable, rubbed the back of his neck.
“So let me get this straight,” I continued, my voice steady but firm. “Your solution to having a guest in our home… was to move me out of my own bedroom?”
Silence.
Doreen simply raised an eyebrow. Jake shifted on his feet.
Yeah. That’s what I thought.
“Well, when you put it like that…”
I didn’t laugh.
I gestured toward the mess on the floor. “I literally just walked in and found my clothes in a pile on the floor,”
Then, crossing my arms, I looked at him and asked, “Did it ever even cross your mind to just, oh, I don’t know, stay in the guest room? I had it set up for you, too.”
“Oh, honey. The guest room is far too small for me, Phoebe. It’s perfectly fine for you, though.”
That’s when I realized something. She wanted me to be upset. She wanted me to feel small.
And Jake? He was standing there, letting it happen.
That’s when I made my decision.
I actually laughed out loud.
Jake shot me a warning look, like I was the one about to start trouble.
“Phoebe, let’s not make this a thing. Please.” he said cautiously.
I tilted my head, watching him. Really watching him.
He stood there, trying to play mediator when he should have been standing beside me.
That’s when I realized—it wasn’t just about the room.
It wasn’t even about Doreen.
This was about respect.
And I had just figured out that I didn’t have any in my own home.
I wasn’t going to argue.
I wasn’t going to fight.
I was just… done.
So I smiled. A big, sweet smile.
Then, I walked out.
I went to my closet—well, what was left of it—grabbed a suitcase, and started packing.
Some clothes, my toiletries, my laptop. Enough to be comfortable.
Then, I wrote a little note and placed it neatly on the guest room nightstand.
With that, I slung my bag over my shoulder, grabbed my keys, and walked straight out the front door.
Not a chance.
If they wanted to treat me like a guest, then fine—I’d be a guest.
Somewhere better.
So, I booked myself a luxury hotel across town.
Room service. A spa. A king-sized bed.
And because life is about balance? I put it all on Jake’s credit card.
Soft music played in the background. The scent of lavender and eucalyptus filled the air.
And yet?
I couldn’t relax.
“Your water, ma’am,” a staff member said softly. “It’s cucumber and lemon infused.”
I smiled politely and nodded, but inside, my thoughts were racing.
But instead, all I could think about was the look on Jake’s face.
Like I was overreacting.
Like I was difficult.
Like I was supposed to just accept being treated like a guest in my own home.
It wasn’t even about Doreen.
It was about Jake.
It was about how he had looked at me when I walked in—like I was the problem.
Like I was an inconvenience.
Like my feelings didn’t matter.
For years, I had put up with Doreen’s little jabs.
For years, I had swallowed her passive-aggressive comments.
For years, I had let her push boundaries because I wanted to keep the peace.
And now?
Now she had taken over my room.
And Jake had let her.
How had it come to this?
Jake and I had built this life together. Together.
And yet, the moment his mother arrived, he had erased me from it like I was some temporary guest.
I clenched my jaw.
No.
I wasn’t going to sit here feeling sorry for myself.
If Jake wanted me back in that house, he was going to have to understand exactly why I left in the first place.
For now?
I was going to finish my spa day.
But soon?
I was going to have a conversation Jake would never forget.
Silence settled around me.
It smelled clean—lemon-scented polish and freshly washed linens.
Like someone had been desperately trying to make the house feel normal again.
Good.
Jake was already waiting.
His arms were crossed, jaw tight. He had dark circles under his eyes.
He hadn’t been sleeping well.
Good.
“Phoebe, you’re back,” he said, his voice unreadable.
Something flickered in his expression, but he masked it quickly.
“Well, thanks for finally coming home.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice steady. “Did my absence inconvenience you?”
“You didn’t have to leave.”
Actually laughed.
“I didn’t?” I gestured toward the bedroom. “Jake, you and your mother literally kicked me out of my own bed. You didn’t ask. You didn’t suggest. You told me.”
Jake let out a deep sigh.
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?” I challenged. “Because from where I was standing, it looked a hell of a lot like you were telling me I didn’t belong in my own damn home.”
He knew I was right.
He just didn’t want to say it.
“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” he finally admitted.
“You didn’t think it was a big deal?” I repeated, shaking my head. “Of course, you didn’t. Because it wasn’t your bed being taken—you willingly gave it. Your clothes weren’t thrown to the floor, your cupboard was perfectly untouched…”
Good.
Let it sink in.
“Jake, you stood there and watched while she erased me from our space. You just let it happen.”
“That’s not what I meant to do,” he muttered, looking down.
“But it’s what you did.”
For the first time, I saw it.
The realization.
Not just that he had messed up.
But why.
“I thought I was keeping the peace,” he murmured.
Finally, he exhaled.
“She left early, you know,” he admitted. “She said that she needed the cooking and cleaning to be done if she was going to be relaxed. She couldn’t handle the fact that she needed to do it.”
I tilted my head slightly, watching him.
“I know,” I said, my voice even. “I didn’t expect her to stick around long after I left. She just wanted to be waited on.”
For the first time, he looked tired. Not just physically, but emotionally.
Like he was finally understanding just how much he had screwed up.
His voice was quiet. “I hate that you felt like you had to leave,”
I crossed my arms, waiting.
“I hate that I wasn’t made to feel like I could stay,” I said.
He exhaled sharply.
The weight of it finally settling on him.
Good.
Let him sit in that feeling.
Let him feel what it was like to be erased.
He swallowed hard. “Good.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then, hesitantly, he spoke.
“I’ll order takeout,”
I nodded, my expression unreadable.
“Fine with me, Jake,”
Then, without another word, I turned and walked toward our bedroom.
My clothes? Back in place.
My shoes? Lined up neatly.
My space? Restored.
Finally, I belonged here again.
But did Jake?
That was a question only time would answer.
Would you have forgiven him? Would you have walked away?
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.