In the dreary town of Blackmoor, where gray concrete houses huddled close to the biting wind, Anna’s parents had sacrificed everything to ensure their daughter could stand on her own feet. By her fourth year at university, Anna met Oliver—a young man from humble beginnings but with grand ambitions. Her mother, Margaret, watched him with unease. He seemed too much of a dreamer, but she bit her tongue. Let Anna choose her own path, she thought. Love blinded Anna—Oliver was her only world, and no whisper of doubt could shake her.
The wedding was a quiet affair, pennies too tight for extravagance. Oliver buried himself in his studies, refusing odd jobs to stay fixed on his goals. His parents, salt-of-the-earth folk, offered little help—not that anyone expected it. Their indifference hung in the air like the thick fog over Blackmoor’s river.
Then came the question: where to live? When Margaret’s father passed, Anna’s family made a hard choice—to hand their flat to the young couple and move in with an elderly aunt, tending to her needs. For Anna and Oliver, it was a lifeline—no money for rent, no dormitory spot due to Anna’s local ties. They took the gift without a thought for the cost their parents paid.
Life was no fairy tale. Oliver lost himself in research; Anna, fresh from university, found work. Children were out of the question—they scraped by, counting every pound. Her parents helped where they could, but then another blow fell: Anna’s grandmother died. The house went to Margaret and her brother. After bitter words, they agreed Margaret—having cared for their mother three years—deserved the lion’s share. The house was sold, the money split. With their portion, Margaret and her husband bought a crumbling two-bedroom flat. It needed fixing, but builders were beyond their means.
Desperate, they turned to their daughter: “Anna, we can’t afford laborers. We hoped Oliver might lend a hand, and you and I could manage the rest.” They waited for gratitude—after all, they’d given up their home. Instead, cold refusal. Oliver snapped, “Why didn’t they think ahead? Why buy a wreck if they can’t afford the repairs? Should’ve taken a sensible one-bed and saved the hassle. My folks live modestly, don’t drag us into their mess. I’m defending my thesis this year—I haven’t time to play handyman!”
Anna, flustered, relayed his words: “You know how focused Oliver is. If he doesn’t defend now, he’ll miss his shot at a contract in Sweden. Others did it and earn well now. Maybe start the repairs yourselves, and I’ll stop by after work? Or save up for builders later.” The words cut Margaret like a blade. They’d handed over their home, only to be accused of burdening their lives.
Resentment festered. Her parents decided to move back, taking the larger room, leaving Anna and Oliver the smaller. Two weeks in, Anna approached her mother, voice trembling: “Mum, how long will you stay? Oliver can’t work like this, and we’re tripping over each other in the kitchen.” Margaret met her gaze, weary but firm. “Anna, you’re no bother. But we can’t leave for three years. We’ve no strength for repairs, and saving for laborers takes time. We’ll manage till then.”
“Three years?!” Anna cried. “We’re at breaking point now! Oliver and I fight daily—we’ll divorce before you move out!” Her father, silent until then, added, “Let Oliver’s parents help. They’ve not lifted a finger, always leaning on us. We gave you a home, and you can’t even say thanks. Think on that.”
The family teetered on the edge. Anna and Oliver bickered endlessly; her parents’ bitterness swelled like a storm cloud. Would it end in divorce? Oliver repaid kindness with spite, now reaping his ingratitude. Or were her parents, stewing in hurt, wrecking their daughter’s future?
What do you think? Did her parents act rightly, teaching the young a lesson? Or was it spite and selfishness that moved them?
