«We’re selling your flat and moving in with my parents,» he repeated, stepping onto the balcony. «Mum and Dad have sorted everything. A room upstairs, our own bathroom. It’ll be proper convenient.»
Emma slowly set down the book she’d been reading. The spring air was crisp but pleasant after a stuffy winter. She studied her husband standing in the doorway. Oliver looked determinedtoo determined for a Saturday morning.
«What did you say?» she asked, hoping she’d misheard.
«We’re selling your flat and moving in with my parents,» he repeated. «They’ve already got it all arranged. A room upstairs, separate loo. It’ll be easier.»
Emma stared at him, trying to work out if he was serious. Three years of marriage had taught her his moods, but now she was lost.
«Ollie, this was Nan’s flat. She left it to me.»
«So? The place needs work, bills are steep. My parents have a big houseplenty of room. We’ll put the money from the sale into savings.»
«Whose savings?» Emma pressed.
«Ours, obviously. Mum says it’s the sensible choice. She’s always good with money.»
Emma stood from the wicker chair and leaned on the balcony rail. Below, kids played in the courtyard. She remembered running there herself as a girl, visiting Nan during school breaks.
«Your mum decided what I should do with my flat?»
«Don’t start, Em. We’re talking this through properly.»
«Talking? You’ve dropped this on me like it’s decided.»
Oliver stepped closer, reaching for her hand, but she pulled away.
«Listen, it makes sense. Why keep two places? My parents aren’t getting any youngerthey need help. And this flat… what’s so special? Just another two-bed in the suburbs.»
«My childhood was here,» Emma said quietly. «Nan left it to me because she knew I’d treasure it.»
«Sentiment’s sweet, but not practical. Mum’s rightwe’ve got to think ahead.»
«Whose future? Your mother’s?»
Oliver frowned. He never took well to criticism of his parents, especially his mum. Margaret had raised him alone till she met Robert when he was ten. Since then, Oliver felt it his duty to defend her.
«Em, enough. It’s decided. We’re meeting the estate agent Monday.»
«Decided by who?»
«By me. I’m the head of this family.»
Emma laughednot with joy, but bitterly.
«Head of the family? Honestly? Oliver, I thought we were equals.»
«Equals don’t cling to old things. My mum sold her place when she married Dad. They managed fine.»
«Your mum sold a studio flat in Croydon and moved into your dad’s detached house. Bit different.»
Oliver flushed. He hated being faced with truths he’d rather ignore.
«Don’t talk about my parents like that!»
«I’m stating facts. And here’s anotherI am NOT selling this flat.»
«We’ll see,» Oliver snapped, storming off.
Emma stayed put. The sun rose higher, warming her face. She thought of Nan, who’d worked her whole life as a nurse to buy this flat. «Love,» she’d say, «a woman should always have her own place. Remember that.»
That evening, Oliver brought his parents over «for tea.» Emma knew better. Margaret swept in first, eyeing the flat critically.
«Goodness, no one’s touched this place in twenty years,» she declared. «Peeling wallpaper, creaky floorboards. Imagine the cost to make it decent!»
Robert lingered in the living room, settling into an armchair without a word.
«Hello, Margaret, Robert,» Emma greeted. «Tea? Coffee?»
«Earl Grey, if you’ve got it,» her mother-in-law replied. «No sugar. Watching my figure.»
Emma went to the kitchen. Oliver followed.
«Don’t sulk,» he said. «They’re trying to help.»
«Help with what? Taking my home?»
«Don’t be dramatic. You won’t be homeless.»
«No, just living by your parents’ rules, on their schedule.»
«What’s wrong with rules? Mum likes things orderly.»
Emma brewed the tea and arranged biscuits on a tray. Her hands trembled slightly with held-back anger.
In the living room, Margaret was already spreading papers across the table.
«Emma, sit,» she said in a tone that brooked no argument. «We need to discuss details.»
«What details?»
«The sale, obviously. I’ve made inquiries. A place like this could fetch a fair sum, though we’d have to lower the price given the state of it.»
«Margaret, I am NOT selling.»
Her mother-in-law’s eyebrows shot up.
«Excuse me? Oliver said you’d agreed.»
«Oliver LIED.»
«Em!» her husband cut in. «We talked about this»
«You talked. I listened. And my answer was NO.»
Margaret stiffened, her face hardening.
«Girl, you don’t grasp the situation. Oliver is my only son. I won’t have some»
«Some WHAT?» Emma interrupted. «Go on, say it.»
«Some girl from who-knows-where dictating terms.»
«I’m dictating? Aren’t you the one demanding I sell my home?»
Robert cleared his throat.
«Margaret, perhaps we»
«Quiet, Robert!» his wife snapped. «Emma, be reasonable. You’ll be better off at ours. Big kitchen, garden, even a conservatory. What more could you want?»
«Freedom,» Emma replied.
«Freedom? From what? Family?»
«From your CONTROL.»
Margaret flushed.
«I’m controlling? I care! About my son, his future!»
«His future or YOURS?» Emma shot back. «Why do you need money from my flat?»
A heavy silence fell. Margaret and Robert exchanged looks. Oliver glanced between them.
«What are you implying?» he protested. «Em, that’s out of line!»
«It’s a fair question. If your parents are so well-off, why do they need my flat’s money?»
«It’s not yoursit’s ours! We’re family!» Margaret cried.
«NO,» Emma said firmly. «The deeds are in my name. It’s MINE.»
«Selfish!» the mother-in-law spat. «Oliver, see what you married?»
«Mum, calm down»
«Don’t tell me what to do! I raised you, gave up everything for you! And you bring this into our home»
«Enough,» Emma stood. «Please LEAVE.»
«What?» Oliver gaped. «Em, you can’t chuck my parents out!»
«I can, and I am. Margaret, Robertgoodbye.»
Margaret rose, shaking with rage.
«Oliver, we’re leaving. If your wife won’t value family, neither should you.»
«But, Mum»
«Now!»
Oliver looked helplessly at Emma, then his mother.
«Em, apologise. You’re in the wrong.»
«For what? Not handing over my home?»
«For insulting my mother!»
«She insulted me first. But of course you missed that.»
Oliver clenched his fists.
«You know what? Maybe Mum’s right. You only care about yourself.»
«And you only care about your mother. Maybe you should’ve married her?»
Oliver went pale. Margaret grabbed his arm.
«Come, love. Don’t waste breath on the ungrateful.»
They left, the door slamming behind them. Emma was alone. Papers Margaret had brought lay scatteredestate agent listings, solicitor contacts, even a draft contract.
«They had it all planned,» Emma realised. «Never doubted I’d cave.»
The days that followed passed in silence. Oliver slept on the sofa, left early, returned late. When she tried talking, he gave one-word replies.
On Thursday, Emma came home to find a stranger in the flat, jotting notes.
«Who are you? How’d you get in?» she demanded.
«James Whitmore, surveyor,» the man said. «Your husband gave me the keys. Asked for a valuation.»
«He had no right. Leave. Now.»
The surveyor shrugged and left. Emma called Oliver.
«How dare you bring a surveyor without asking?»
«Just getting figures. Nothing shady.»
«Oliver, this is MY flat. You can’t decide its fate.»
«You’re my wife. What’s yours is mine.»
«NO. It’s pre-marital asset.»
«Technicalities. We’re married.»
«Marriage doesn’t mean you STEAL my home.»
«Steal? That’s rich!»
«What else do you call selling what isn’t yours?»
Oliver hung up. He didn’t come home. Emma rang his mate Daniel.
«He’s with me,» Daniel said. «Em, what’s going on?»
«Ask him.»
«He says you won’t compromise.»
«I won’t sell my home. Is that a crime?»
«No, but… meet halfway?»
«How? Sell then rely on his mum?»
Daniel hesitated.
«Dunno. But Ollie’s gutted. Says his mum’s in bits.»
«Let her cry. Not my fault.»
Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. A woman in a sharp suit stood there.
«Victoria Hartley, solicitor for the Wilsons,» she introduced herself.
WilsonMargaret’s maiden name. Reluctantly, Emma let her in.
«Emma, I’m here about the flat.»
«Not for sale.»
«I understand. But be practical. You’ve been married three years. In that time, the Wilson-Harrisons have done much for you.»
«Like?»
«The wedding they paid for, that holiday in Spain, gifts…»
«Gifts, not loans. Or did Margaret expect payback?»
Victoria smiled thinly.
«Margaret is generous. But she expects the same in return.»
«So this is BLACKMAIL?»
«Not at all. Just reminding you family means give and take.»
«Give and take doesn’t mean ROBBERY.»
«You’re overreacting. The sale proceeds would benefit the family.»
«What benefits?»
Victoria hesitated.
«That’s private.»
«If it involves my flat, it’s MY business.»
«Emma, don’t make this harder. Margaret’s offering compromiselike your own room at theirs.»
«How KIND. A room for a two-bed flat.»
«Plus family support.»
«Support or STRANGULATION?»
Victoria stood.
«Think carefully. Oliver could file for divorce.»
«Let him.»
«And demand half the assets.»
«The flat’s pre-marital. Untouchable.»
«But you renovated the bedroom during marriage. With Oliver’s money.»
Emma laughed.
«You mean that £50 paint job? Seriously?»
«Any improvements can make it marital property.»
«Try proving that in court.»
Victoria left a card on the table. Emma tore it up.
At work Monday, her colleague Sophie approached.
«Em, is it true? You’re splitting?»
«Where’d you hear that?»
«Oliver posted online. Says you kicked him out, care more about bricks than family.»
Emma checked her phone. Oliver’s post whined about her selfishness, how she chose «an old flat over love.» Dozens of comments sided with him, calling her «greedy.»
She called him.
«Delete it.»
«Why? It’s true.»
«It’s LIES. I didn’t kick you out. You left.»
«After you disrespected my mum.»
«Oliver, DELETE it or I’ll post my side.»
«Go ahead. See who they believe.»
That evening, Emma wrote her versionfactual, calm. The post blew up. Friends divided. Some backed her, others Oliver.
A week later, Oliver returned. He looked roughtired, red-eyed.
«Em, we need to talk.»
«About?»
«Us. The future.»
«Is there one?»
Oliver slumped on the sofa, head in hands.
«I don’t want divorce. But Mum…»
«What about her?»
«She says if I don’t make you sell, she’ll cut me from the will.»
«And what’s in this will?»
«The house, savings, Dad’s shares.»
«So it’s me or your parents’ money?»
«It’s not that simple!»
«It is. Either you love me and respect my rights, or you love their MONEY.»
«Don’t twist it!»
«Then stop dodging. Oliver, truthwhy does your mum need my flat’s money?»
Silence. Then, quietly:
«They’re in DEBT.»
«What? I thought they were loaded!»
«Were. Dad made bad investments. Lost most. The house is mortgaged.»
Emma sat beside him.
«Why not say so earlier?»
«Mum forbade it. ‘Family business.'»
«And the solution’s my flat?»
«It’ll buy time. Pay off the worst debts.»
«Oliver, that’s a plaster, not a fix.»
«What then? Let them lose the house?»
«Honesty would’ve helped. Had they been upfront, we could’ve worked something out.»
«Like?»
«Rent the flat out. Steady income.»
«Mum would never take your rental money.»
«Then she finds another way.»
Oliver paced.
«You don’t get it. Losing that house would destroy her.»
«Oliver, I’m sorry. Truly. But I won’t pay for their mistakes.»
«Their mistakes? They’re my parents!»
«To me, they’re NEARLY STRANGERS. Especially after how they treated me.»
«You’re heartless!»
«Realistic. Your parents lied, bullied, humiliated me. Now I hand them my home?»
«To us! We’re family!»
«NO. Family means trust. Not lies and pressure.»
Oliver grabbed his coat.
«You know what? Mum’s right. You only care about yourself.»
«And you only care about your mother. Maybe that’s the real issue.»
He slammed the door. His phone, left behind, lit up with a text:
«Son, how did it go? Did she agree?»
Emma didn’t read further. She left it on the shelf and went to bed.
Next morning, the phone rang nonstop. She ignored it. By noon, pounding on the door.
«Emma, open up! I know you’re there!» Margaret shouted.
Emma opened the door on the chain.
«What do you want?»
«Oliver’s phone! Don’t play dumb!»
«It’s on the shelf. He forgot it.»
«Hand it over!»
«He can collect it himself.»
«He won’t see you!»
«Likewise.»
Margaret turned purple.
«How dare you! I’ll call the police!»
«Go ahead. Explain why you’re harassing me.»
«It’s my son’s home too!»
«No. He’s not on the lease.»
Behind her, Robert peeked in.
«Margaret, let’s go. Don’t make a scene.»
«Quiet! That girl ruined our boy!»
«Your boy ruined himself when he chose Mummy’s money over his wife.»
«You»
Neighbours, the elderly Thompsons, appeared.
«What’s all this?» Mr. Thompson asked sternly.
«Nothing serious,» Emma said. «Ex-relatives collecting a phone.»
«Ex?» Mrs. Thompson asked.
«Future ex,» Emma clarified.
Margaret scoffed, but Robert tugged her toward the lift.
«Come on. Oliver can handle this.»
They left. The Thompsons gave Emma sympathetic looks.
«Need help, dear, just ask,» Mrs. Thompson said.
«Thanks, but I’m fine.»
That evening, Oliver came for his phone and some clothes.
«I’ll get the rest later,» he muttered.
«Oliver, wait. We need to discuss the divorce.»
«What’s to discuss? You chose.»
«So did you.»
He paused at the door.
«I thought you loved me.»
«I did. Till you tried to STEAL my home.»
«I didn’t steal! I was helping my parents!»
«At my expense. That’s theft.»
He left. Emma leaned against the door. It hurt, but relief washed over herlike shedding a heavy coat.
The divorce was quick. Oliver didn’t contest the flat, knowing he’d lose. Emma asked for nothing.
A month later, she bumped into Daniel at a café.
«How’s Oliver?» she asked, stirring her tea.
«No idea,» she saidthen corrected with a small smile. «We don’t speak.»
«I do,» Daniel said. «All three are crammed in a one-bed in Peckham. Lost the house to debts.»
Emma nodded. Not surprised.
«Margaret’s working at a Boots now,» he added. «Oliver’s just a desk jockey. Skint.»
«I do feel for them,» Emma said, and meant it.
«Oliver asks about you. Says he messed up.»
«Too late.»
Daniel finished his coffee.
«You happy?»
Emma smiled.
«Redid the balcony. New chair, flowers. Mornings with a book, no regrets.»
«None?»
«Not one. Nan’s flat only became home when the lies left. Now it’s just me. Enough for now.»
She stood, grabbing her bag.
«Workers are comingnew wallpaper for the bedroom. My money, my flat. As it should be.»
Walking home, she breathed in the spring air, savouring the sunshineand her freedom.
