**Diary Entry**
*10th June*
«Mum, what do you mean, ‘your flat’? What flat?»
I nearly dropped the phone. My pulse spiked, my knees buckled, and I had to sit down before my legs gave way entirely.
«Gran’s flat,» I managed, voice trembling. «The one he left to me. You even rented it outdont you remember?»
«Oh. That one.» Her tone was casual, as if discussing the weather. «It was never really yours, Emily. I sold it.»
My chest tightened like a vice. I couldnt breathe.
«How? When?»
«Same as anyone else. Listed it online, found a buyer. Stephens car broke down, and you know hes hopeless without it. Needed the cash.»
I hung up before she could say another word. The betrayal burned like ice in my veins.
I remembered Grandads proud smile as he showed off the freshly decorated bedroom, ruffling my hair. «When youre older, love, thisll be yours. A proper little fortress. Youll thank me then.»
He passed when I was twelve. Back then, I barely understood what owning a flat even meant. So when Mum declared it would stay in her name»just until youre older, darling»I didnt argue.
«Its simpler this way,» shed said. «Ill handle the tenants, the bills, the upkeep. You dont want some run-down wreck when its finally yours, do you?»
Of course I didnt. So I agreed.
Years slipped by. The flat faded from my thoughtsuntil sixth form, when I tentatively suggested moving in with my best mate.
«Adult life at eighteen?» Mum scoffed. «Howll you afford it? Work and uni? Impossible. And what if she moves in with some bloke? Then itll be, Mum, save me!»
Her logic stung, but I cavedapologised to my friend, buried the dream.
Then Mum offered an alternative: «Why not apply up North? Theyve halls there. Same freedom, just cheaper. Ill send you a bit from the rentnot much, but enough.»
I hugged her, overjoyed.
For six months, it worked. Then the payments shrank. «Dentist bills,» shed sigh. Then they came latethe 10th became the 20th, then the 30th
Then I found out about Stephen.
He was married. Stringing her along with divorce promises. And draining her dryfree meals, new coats, even «loans» for his kids day out.
«He asked me to pay for his kids outing,» shed whine.
«And you did?»
«Well, what choice did I have? Decent men are hard to find!»
«Decent?» Id snap. «Hes using you!»
«Stop it! Im not some gold-diggerI love him!»
The final straw came in third year. «Laid off,» she announced. «Youll have to manage alone.»
I scraped bytutoring, odd jobsuntil graduation. Then I called, ready to reclaim my flat.
Only to learn it was gone.
But I had a trump card: half of *her* flat.
«Either buy me out,» I said, voice steady despite the storm inside, «or I sell my share to strangers.»
«You ungrateful! After all Ive done?»
I hung up. Sent the notice by post. No face-to-face.
A month later, the money hit my account. Enough to start fresh.
«Sorry, Grandad,» I whispered. «But you taught me not to trust promises.»
Guilt gnawed at mehed wanted harmony, two homes side by side. But mine had become tyres on Stephens car. So I fought dirty.
Just like she had.
