**”Overhearing My Husbands Sister Plotting to Take My Flat I Gave Her an Unexpected Surprise”**
Emily shoved the dirty dishes into the dishwasher and switched on the quick-wash cycle. Friday nights dinner had gone wellOliver had devoured her signature steak and ale pie with enthusiasm. Even Sophie, who usually turned her nose up at anything “that upstart” cooked (as she called Emily behind her back), had helped herself to seconds.
“Im off for a shower,” Oliver called from the hallway. “Got football with the lads tomorrowneed an early night.”
“Go on, then,” Emily waved him off and began wiping down the countertop.
Sophie sat in the living room, glued to her phone. Shed arrived the night beforeas usual, unannounced, with a pile of shopping bags and her customary scowl. “Just popping in for the weekend,” shed said, like always.
“Fancy a cuppa?” Emily asked, leaning through the doorway.
“No,” Sophie snapped, not looking up.
Emily shrugged and returned to the kitchen. Three years of marriage had taught her not to react to her sister-in-laws barbs. Oliver always said, “Sophs prickly, but shes family. Dont take it to heart.”
The sound of running water came from the bathroom. Emily flicked the kettle on and reached for her favourite mug. Then she heard Sophies voice from the living room:
“Mum, hi Yeah, at theirs again No, she cooked her usual rubbish Listen, I spoke to the solicitor.”
Emily froze, mug in hand. Sophie had lowered her voice, but in the quiet flat, every word carried.
“Yes, through the courts Since the flat was left to Oliver, not both of them No, that idiot doesnt even realise she can be taken off the deeds Oliver will sign anything if you word it right”
The mug slipped from Emilys fingers and shattered on the tiles.
“What was that?” Sophies voice sharpened.
“Dropped a mug,” Emily managed, ice flooding her veins.
The flat Their three-bedroom in Kensington, where theyd lived for three years. A gift from Olivers grandmother. “For the two of you,” shed said. And now this snake wanted her out?
“Typical,” Sophie mused, appearing in the doorway. “Butterfingers, arent you?”
“Got distracted,” Emily bent to pick up the shards, relieved Sophie couldnt see her face.
“Use a dustpan, for heavens sake.”
Emily fetched it numbly, hands shaking.
“Why the dramatics? Its just a mug,” Sophie scoffed.
“Startled me, thats all,” Emily lied.
“Right. Our delicate flower,” Sophie sneered before flouncing back to the sofa.
One thought pounded in Emilys skull: *They want me out. Thats why shes here.*
Oliver emerged from the bathroom, humming.
“Broke a mug? No worries, weve got loads,” he grinned.
“Yeah,” Emily forced a smile.
He kissed her head and wandered off to bed.
That night, Emily didnt sleep a wink. Oliver snored beside her while she stared at the ceiling. Tell her husband? He adored Sophie. Complain to her mother-in-law? She was clearly in on it.
*I have to handle this myself*, she decided by dawn.
At breakfast, her hands trembled as she stirred sugar into her tea.
“Think,” she whispered.
Her eyes landed on a solicitors card tucked under a fridge magnetMr. Thompson had helped their neighbour with a property dispute. Emily grabbed her phone.
“Mr. Thompson? Its Emily Whitmore, from flat 3B. I need urgent advice. One oclock? Perfect.”
Oliver shuffled in, yawning.
“Off to see Lizzie today,” she said quickly. “Havent caught up in ages.”
“Lizzie?” He rubbed his eyes.
“From uni.”
“Right. Sophie fancied a film, so were off this afternoon.”
*Of course she did*, Emily thought bitterly.
The solicitors office smelled of leather and coffee. Mr. Thompson, a greying man in wire-frames, listened intently.
“The flat was a gift from your husbands grandmother. Are you on the deeds?”
“Registered, yes. Right after the wedding.”
“And the title? Sole ownership or joint?”
Emily blinked. “I dont know. Oliver handled it.”
Mr. Thompson sighed. “First, check the Land Registry. If its solely hisyouve got a problem. If joint, she cant touch you.”
“How?”
“Request a copy of the title register. Do it today.”
At home, Sophies heels littered the hallway.
“Back so soon?” Sophie smirked. “We missed you at the cinema. Oliver still picks those awful action flicks.”
Emily nodded stiffly. In the bedroom, she pulled out her phone and ordered the register.
That night, once Oliver was asleep, the email arrived. Her stomach lurched as she opened it.
**”Proprietor: Oliver James Hartley.”**
*So its true*, she thought, fury rising.
The next morning, she rang Mr. Thompson.
“Have you been registered there over three years?”
“Almost.”
“Good. Youve established beneficial interest. Plus, furnishings and renovations are matrimonial assets. Got receipts?”
“Every one.”
“Then youve a strong case. Gather proof. And *dont* sign anything they give you.”
Over the next days, Emily smiled through gritted teeth while compiling evidence: receipts for furniture, bank transfers for renovations, their prenup stating joint assets.
On Monday, Sophie announced she was staying another week.
“Took some leave,” she told Oliver sweetly. “You wouldnt turf your sister out, would you?”
“Stay as long as you like!” Oliver laughed.
Emily bit her tongue.
That evening, Sophies hushed voice carried again:
“Mum, its all sorted The papers are nearly ready Oliver wont suspect a thing”
Emilys blood boiled. *Not if I can help it.*
The next day, she visited a notary, then the Land Registry. By evening, she had a plan.
“Should we invite your parents this weekend?” she asked casually over dinner.
Sophies head jerked up.
“Brilliant idea!” Oliver beamed. “Soph, Mumll be chuffed youre here too.”
“Lovely,” Sophie muttered.
On Saturday, Emily cooked relentlessly. Roast beef, Yorkshire puddings, treacle tartshe poured everything into the meal. *The last supper*, she thought grimly.
By six, the table groaned. Olivers parents arrivedCharles and Margaret. Margarets smile didnt reach her eyes.
“You look well, Emily dear.”
“Thank you,” Emily replied evenly.
Once seated, Oliver raised his wine.
“To family!”
“To family,” Emily echoed, watching Sophie over the rim.
“Actually,” Emily said loudly, “theres something we need to discuss.”
Silence fell.
“Oliver, I overheard Sophie and your mum planning to have me removed from the deeds. To kick me out.”
“*What?*” Olivers fork clattered.
“Rubbish!” Margaret gasped.
“I heard every word. Sophie said, That idiot doesnt realise she can be taken off, and that youd sign anything if asked right.”
Sophie leapt up. “You *eavesdropped*?!”
“Overheard while cleaning. But the point isthey want me out of *my* home.”
“*Your* home?” Margaret scoffed. “Its Olivers! His grandmother left it to *him*!”
“Em, this is mad,” Oliver frowned.
Emily slid a folder across the table. “Receipts for every piece of furniture, every renovation. Bank statementshalf was my money. And a solicitors letter outlining my rights.”
Sophie paled. “You *lawyered up*?”
“Damn right. This is my home too.”
Oliver scanned the documents, jaw tightening.
“Sophie Mum Is this *true*?”
Margaret faltered. “We only wanted to protect your assets”
“By *deceiving* me?!” Oliver roared.
“Oliver, *think*,” Sophie snapped. “If you divorce, shell take half!”
“So you were *betting on my marriage failing*?” Olivers voice turned deadly quiet.
Emily stood firm. “Ive already filed to establish my share. With my contributions, its thirty percent. Fight me if you wantbut I *wont* walk away.”
Oliver stared at his family as if seeing them for the first time.
“Get out,” he said quietly. “Both of you.”
Margaret gaped. “Son”
“*Now.*”
After theyd gone, Oliver exhaled shakily. “Im
