Olivia trudged wearily down the pavement, her feet moving on autopilot. The day had been unbearably long—back-to-back meetings, a supplier dispute, reports needing corrections because of an intern’s mistake. By evening, her head throbbed, her thoughts tangled. All she wanted was to get home, kick off her uncomfortable heels, take a hot shower, and sink into oblivion.

Her bag vibrated. Olivia reluctantly fished out her phone, assuming it was Darren asking what to cook for dinner. But the screen showed an unknown number. Normally, she’d ignore unfamiliar callers, but something told her to answer.

“Hello?” Olivia muttered, still shuffling toward home.

“Where the bloody hell are you, you daft cow? We’ve been sitting outside your flat for an hour—starving!” barked a rough voice.

Olivia froze mid-step. Pedestrians swerved around her, hurrying on with their evenings, but she stood rooted, unable to believe her ears. That tone—harsh, with its distinct inflection—belonged to her husband’s aunt, Margaret.

“Excuse me?” Olivia asked, hoping she’d misheard.

“Are you deaf? We’re here! Me, your mother-in-law, and Tom. Been waiting ages. Did you forget?”

Olivia frowned, racking her brain. No birthdays, no holidays. No warning about relatives descending.

“Margaret, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t told you were coming,” she said carefully.

“How could you not know? Darren sorted it a week ago! He was supposed to tell you.”

Olivia inhaled sharply. Wonderful. Another of her husband’s little surprises. Darren often “forgot” important details to dodge responsibility.

“He didn’t mention it,” she said flatly. “I’m still at work. I’ll be home in forty minutes.”

“Forty?! We’re starving and knackered! Can’t you hurry?”

Olivia felt irritation simmer. His relatives show up unannounced, insult her, demand she drop everything to feed them… A thought flashed: *What if I’d stayed at a friend’s tonight? Or was away on business?*

“Listen, I didn’t know you were coming,” she said, forcing calm. “Give me time to get home.”

“We haven’t got all night!” Margaret huffed. “Tom’s about to lose it from hunger!”

Tom—Darren’s thirty-five-year-old cousin who still lived with his mum and couldn’t boil an egg.

“Where’s Darren?” Olivia asked, feeling heat rise.

“How should I know? He’s not answering. Probably working late,” Margaret snapped. “So, are you coming or not?”

Olivia hung up without another word. Her pulse hammered. She dialled Darren. Ringing. Voicemail. Tried again—same result. She knew this trick: Darren avoided calls when he sensed trouble.

*So he knows exactly what’s happening*, she thought. *And he’s hiding. Left me to deal with it, as usual.*

Her phone rang again—her mother-in-law, Susan.

“Liv, love, are you nearly here?” Susan’s voice oozed fake sweetness. “We’re freezing, and Margaret’s getting cross.”

“Susan, I’m sorry, but I wasn’t warned about this visit,” Olivia said, straining to stay polite. “Darren didn’t tell me.”

“He didn’t?” Susan feigned surprise. “He swore he’d sorted it! Oh well, these things happen. Hurry, dear. Margaret’s unbearable when she’s hungry.”

Olivia shut her eyes, counting to ten. Again—everyone expected her to abandon her life and fix a mess she didn’t create.

*Why should I pay for someone else’s incompetence?* The thought burned. *Since when is this acceptable?*

Suddenly, Olivia realised her anger wasn’t just at the relatives—it was at the whole dynamic. The assumption that she’d come running whenever summoned.

“Susan, I’m on my way, but don’t expect me to cook immediately,” she said firmly. “I’m exhausted. If you’re hungry, there’s a café down the road.”

“Liv, don’t be ridiculous!” Susan’s voice turned wounded. “We’re family! Besides, Tom’s allergic to café food.”

Olivia nearly laughed. She’d seen Tom inhale takeaway like a man possessed.

Dark clouds gathered overhead. The brewing storm mirrored her mood. Why should she rush home for people who couldn’t be bothered to warn her? Why was Darren hiding like a coward?

*Why not say no?* The thought startled her.

Olivia turned and headed the opposite way. Around the corner was a cosy Italian place with heavenly pasta and tiramisu she’d been meaning to try. She pushed the door open and chose a window table.

“Evening,” the waitress smiled. “What can I get you?”

“Carbonara and a glass of white wine,” Olivia said, suddenly ravenous. “And tiramisu for after, please.”

As she ordered, her phone buzzed again—Margaret. Ignored. Another call—Susan. Then a text from Darren: *Where are you? Mum says you’re ignoring them. They’re outside.*

Olivia smirked. *There he is—only when there’s fallout.*

“Got held up at work. Be late,” she replied shortly and muted her phone.

The wine arrived. She took a sip, tension easing. What was the worst that could happen? They’d wait. Or solve their own problem. The world wouldn’t end.

Her silenced phone vibrated relentlessly. Olivia powered it off. For the first time in ages, she felt something unfamiliar—a mix of guilt and liberation. A friend’s words echoed: *You keep solving other people’s problems until they become yours.*

Regret surged. How often had she let people walk over her? Apologising for their mistakes, racing to please, for what? To be called a *daft cow*?

The pasta was divine. Or maybe it was the freedom of putting herself first. She savoured every bite, lingered over dessert, sipped coffee unhurried. A small act, yet her heart felt lighter.

She did return home eventually. Expecting chaos, she found silence. Empty takeaway containers littered the doorstep—a petty parting gift.

The telly droned from the lounge. Darren sat stiffly, pretending to be engrossed. He tensed when she entered.

“Finally gracing us,” he muttered, but without his usual bravado.

Olivia hung her coat, turned on her phone, and whistled softly—dozens of missed calls, furious messages. Susan played martyr: *How could you abandon us?* Margaret raged: *You’re heartless!*

“See this?” Darren nodded at her phone. “Mum called me every five minutes. I looked like a right prat coming home to find them huddled outside like homeless.”

Olivia studied him. He seemed rattled, uncharacteristically wary.

“You went too far… They’re family…” he mumbled weakly.

Olivia sat opposite him. Calm settled over her. Instead of defending herself, she smiled.

“You’re right—family’s important,” she said evenly. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll tolerate disrespect. Your aunt called me names, and you didn’t even warn me.”

“I meant it as a surprise,” Darren mumbled at the floor.

“Surprises are flowers or back rubs,” Olivia scoffed. “Demanding service with no notice is just rude.”

Darren blinked, thrown.

“Here’s the thing,” she continued. “Next time they visit, *you* handle the food. I’m not hired help.”

“Mum and Margaret are really upset,” he tried. “Maybe just call and apologise?”

Olivia shook her head. Instead, she opened a grocery delivery app.

“What’re you doing?” Darren gaped as she loaded the cart with premium items.

“Helping your relatives,” she said smoothly. “If I must feed them, here’s their food.”

She added luxury groceries, then entered Susan’s address. Under *Payment*, she entered Susan’s phone number and noted: *Cash on delivery—recipient must inspect goods.*

“You’re mad!” Darren laughed nervously at the total. “They’ll go spare!”

“So?” Olivia shrugged, hitting *Confirm Order*. “They wanted feeding. Problem solved.”

Darren fell silent, eyeing her with something like fear and newfound respect.

For the next hour, tension hung thick. Olivia bathed, changed, checked emails while Darren fidgeted, watching his phone like a ticking bomb.

At eleven, Olivia’s phone blared.

“What is this nonsense?!” Susan shrieked. “A delivery bloke just turned up with a trolley of food—demanding payment!”

“Is there a problem?” Olivia feigned innocence. “You insisted I feed you. There’s your groceries—cook away.”

“This is £500 worth!” Susan gasped.

“Feeding three adults isn’t cheap,” Olivia countered. “Only the best for family.”

Silence. Then muffled arguing—likely Susan consulting Margaret.

“Liv, perhaps we overShe hung up, leaned back with a quiet smile, and realised—sometimes the only way to teach people how to treat you is to show them you won’t accept less.