18October2025
I woke up with a knot in my stomach, the memory of last nights argument still clinging to me like damp fog. My motherinlaw, Mrs. Thompson, had been standing in the kitchen, eyebrows knitted, when she finally said, Emily, Im not looking for a fight, but youre pushing us both into it. Live peacefully in our flat; no ones going to kick you out. And stop pressuring my son. If I have to, I can separate you two. Where will you go with the child then? Lets try to get along, love. Her words felt like a cold wind through the curtains, and I wondered how far wed fallen.
***
Emily sat at her desk in the openplan office on Fleet Street, eyes fixed on the screen. A sudden rustle of paper caught her attention a bouquet of fresh red roses placed neatly on her keyboard. She looked up to see Leon, the new data analyst, hovering shyly nearby.
This is for you, Emily, he said, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
Thank you, really, but you didnt have to, she replied, keeping her tone even.
Leon had been making small gestures for weeks now: bringing coffee, dropping compliments, always lingering a little longer than needed. I brushed them off, pretending not to notice. He was unremarkable, a bit of a bookworm, nowhere near the type I fancied.
During lunch, my colleague Claire sidled up to my table.
Emily, why are you turning Leon down? He seems decent enough, she nudged.
Its not his look, Claire. Hes just too calm, I said.
Calm is reliable. You dont find that many steady lads these days. And, by the way, hes got his own flat. Not many people his age can brag about that, she added.
A flat, you say? I mused. Property mattered to me. Someone who could earn and own a home ticked an important box in my mental checklist for a future partner.
That evening I stayed late to finish a quarterly report. As I packed my bag, Leon appeared in the doorway.
Emily, may I walk you to the car? he offered.
Thanks, Leon, but Ive booked a taxi, I replied.
Just to the taxi stand then, he persisted.
On the short walk he chatted about his hobbies, his job, his plans. Then, out of the blue, he asked me out on a date. I hesitated, then agreed. I told myself it was a chance to see him more clearly, especially after Claires comment about his flat.
Our first date was at a cosy café in Camden. Leon turned out to be an engaging conversationalist, surprisingly witty.
Where do you live? I asked, trying not to sound too eager.
In my own flat, he said proudly. My parents helped me buy it when I finished university.
That’s wonderful, I admitted sincerely.
After a few more meetups, I started to notice qualities Id previously missed. Leon was attentive, dependable, a good listener, honest and respectable. My parents and friends liked him almost immediately.
One afternoon I asked him about his dreams.
Leon, what do you think about, what do you hope for? I probed.
I dream of a family, children, he replied. A warm, cosy home of our own.
A house would be lovely, but first we need a flat, I said.
No problem, we already have one, he smiled. We can start thinking about a house whenever were ready.
A year later we married in a modest but heartfelt ceremony at a local church. We moved into Leons flat in Islington. I felt blessed married to a good man, with a roof over our heads.
Two years on, our son Jack was born. Leon proved to be a wonderful father, caring and affectionate. We were a tightknit family, and I never doubted my choice.
One night, after putting Jack to sleep, I mentioned the idea of a second child.
Leon, I think its time we have another baby, I said casually.
Another one? he looked surprised. Why? Jacks still little.
Id like a daughter, I confessed. We have the money, the flat why not sell the flat, buy something bigger?
Money, yes, he agreed. But the flat
What about the flat? I asked, puzzled.
Its not entirely mine, he hesitated. Its actually still in my fathers name.
I felt the floor drop beneath me.
You mean its not yours? You said your parents helped you buy it! I stammered.
They did, but the title is under my dads name. They wanted to protect it in case of a divorce, he whispered, eyes downcast.
My legs trembled. I sank onto the bed, trying to process the revelation.
Youve been lying to me all this time? Why? I asked, fighting tears.
I didnt lie, I just left out details. My parents asked me not to mention it. They feared Id marry you just for the flat. I now realise you love me for who I am, Leon pleaded. What do we do now?
We love each other, we have Jack. My parents wont take the flat away, right? I whispered, voice shaking.
If they ever wanted it, they could try, but I dont think they would, he said, trying to stay calm.
My motherinlaw thinks otherwise, I muttered, remembering her earlier warning.
She had warned me not to expect the flat to be sold, threatening to involve my husbands family if I pressed. Shed said shed make my sons life miserable if I pushed any further. The thought of being forced to leave the flat with a newborn terrified me.
The night ended in a heated argument. I barred Leon from the bedroom; he spent the night on the sofa.
***
Three days have passed without a word between us. Leon goes to work, I cook his meals, iron his shirts, all in a strained silence. He tries to talk, but I ignore him, retreating from his touch. When he approaches Jack, I whisk the boy into the other room, afraid of any confrontation. I keep hoping Leon will bring news that his father finally transferred the flat into his name, so we can sell the twobedroom and buy a threebedroom house, maybe even a small cottage on the outskirts.
Instead, the news never comes. My motherinlaw, Mrs. Thompson, visited while Leon was at work, picking a moment when the house was empty.
Whats happening here? she asked, eyes sharp. Your son looks off, somethings bothering him. Tell me, Emily, whats wrong?
Nothing, Mrs. Thompson, everythings fine, I said, forcing a smile. I dont know why Leons been so gloomy.
Youre lying, she said, leaning in. Why are you after someone elses flat? You live here peacefully, we wont evict you, your husband, or our grandson. Whats wrong with the flat that makes you so restless?
I clenched my fists, trying to stay composed.
Mrs. Thompson, Im not trying to steal your flat. Leon told me its his, but in reality it belongs to your husband. Im worried about our future. If something happens, we cant do anything with this twobedroom. I want a second child, and this flat is cramped. Weve saved some money, but not enough for a threebedroom. If we sold the flat, we could afford a bigger place. I dont want to keep begging you for permission to sell. Were a family, we should decide where we live, I said, voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill.
She smiled smugly. Thats why I kept my son safe, to protect him from naïve girls like you. You think Im as gullible as Leon? I see right through you. Youre chasing after my modest programmer because you think hell give you a comfortable life. I wont let this flat be sold, no matter what. It will stay in my husbands name. If you think you can take half in a divorce, think again. Perhaps you should start contributing to the household budget, then youll have some say over the money.
She left, her footsteps echoing down the hallway. I sighed heavily and turned to make dinner, the clatter of pots a thin veil over the turmoil inside. I told myself Id have to accept the situation for now. Leon earns a decent salary; well keep saving for a bigger home. The flat may stay, but Ill push him to work harder, to make our dream a reality. I just have to keep my head down and hope that, someday, the pieces will fall into place.
