…his mother.
It was the last option I had. If she couldn’t get him moving, then nothing could.
I dialed the number with trembling hands. Not out of fear, but out of nerves. I was seven months pregnant, exhausted, and living with a parasite who had invaded my privacy and peace.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Maria,” I said as calmly as I could. “I apologize for bothering you, but I think we need to talk about your son.”
After a pause, she sighed. “I already know. I know he’s still with you. He told me he’s only staying for a week.”
I laughed bitterly. “It’s been half a year. And not only does he contribute nothing, but he also sets conditions. He said he’s moving to the living room, but we should make sure the baby doesn’t wake him up at night!”
The silence on the other end of the line told me everything. She was embarrassed.
“Let me talk to him,” she finally said, her voice cold. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”
I hung up the phone and felt for the first time in months a glimmer of hope. But I said nothing to my husband. I knew he would try to stop her from coming or defend him again.
The next day, around noon, Mrs. Maria appeared at the door. Elegant, determined, with the look of a woman who doesn’t tolerate nonsense.
“Where’s that lazy son of mine?” she asked curtly, walking past us like a tank.
We found him, of course, in the living room. Feet on the table, eating cold pizza, the TV blaring.
“Mihai!” his mother said in a tone that would have made an army tremble. “Pack your things. Now.”
He laughed. “Come on, Mom, don’t start with me. I just finished a whole season of a show with your niece on the way.”
“Don’t you have any shame left? You’ve been living in your brother’s house for six months, you don’t bring any money in, and his wife is pregnant, and you… complain that a baby is crying?!”
For the first time in six months, Mihai was silent. He turned the volume down. He took his feet off the table. But he was still trying to evade.
“Just a few more days… it’s not a good time to move…”
“You’ve had 180 days of ‘bad timing,’ Mihai. Enough. Come on. Now.”
And she took him out. With the moral force of a mother who had lost her patience. Within an hour, all his things were in the trunk of the car, and our living room was free.
After they left, I collapsed on the couch. My husband said nothing. He looked at me with a mix of shame and relief.
“Thank you for not giving in,” he whispered to me.
“I didn’t do it for you,” I replied. “I did it for myself. And for our child.”
For the first time in a long while, the house was quiet. Clean. Ours.
And I knew, with all my heart, that that peace was worth any fight.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for how characters are portrayed and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
