Always Room For A Gift

(I am about 13. My parents are on the brink of divorce. My mum refuses to sleep in her room with my dad anymore; instead, she sleeps in my bed, with me. I am weirded out by this, but she’s being unusually sweet and affectionate with me, reading with me, and so on, so I let it go. One day we have a fight — over something I can’t remember, now — and I tell her I don’t want to sleep with her anymore. How strange does that sound?)

Me: “Just leave me alone, Mum!”

(She continues arguing, but I cut her off again.)

Me: “Get. Out! This is my room. Get out of my room!”

Mum: *blows up* “Your room? What do you mean, your room?”

Me: “This is my room! You have your room; I have mine! Get out of my room!”

Mum: “This is my house! All the rooms in this house belong to me! How dare you claim this as your room?!“

(My dad has not interfered in this argument up until this point, but he’s finally had enough. He walks up to my room and pokes his head in the door.)

Dad: “[Mum], this is actually my house. I paid for it, and the title of the house is in my name, so it’s my house. [My Name], I hereby gift you this room. It is now your room.” *walks off*

(I was grinning from ear to ear. It was a glorious victory for me, although my mum immediately and inevitably turned her wrath on my dad. They ultimately divorced the next year.)