So, this is the adapted versionjust imagine Im chatting with you over a cuppa, yeah?
“Were selling your flat and moving in with my parents,” he repeated, stepping onto the balcony. “Mum and Dad have got everything sorted. A room upstairs, our own loo. Itll be proper cozy.”
Emily slowly set down the book shed been reading. The spring air was crisp but lovely after a stuffy winter. She glanced at her husband standing in the doorway. William looked dead seriousway too serious for a Saturday morning.
“Say that again?” she asked, hoping shed misheard.
“Were selling your flat and moving in with my parents,” he repeated, stepping closer. “Mum and Dadve arranged it all. Room on the first floor, en suite. Sorted.”
Emily stared, trying to work out if he was joking. Three years of marriage had taught her to read him, but now? No clue.
“Will, this was Nans flat. She left it to *me*.”
“So? The place needs work, bills are mad. My parents have a massive houseplenty of space. Well stick the sale money into savings.”
“*Whose* savings?” Emily pressed.
“Ours, obviously. Mum says its the smart move. Shes always spot-on with money.”
Emily stood from the wicker chair and walked to the railing. Kids were playing in the garden below. She remembered doing the same as a girl, visiting Nan during school breaks.
“Your mum decided what I do with *my* flat?”
“Dont start, Em. Were just talking.”
“Talking? Youve handed me a done deal.”
William reached for her hand, but she pulled away.
“Listen, it makes sense. Why keep two places? My parents arent getting any youngerthey need help. And this flat its just a two-bed in the suburbs.”
“My childhood was here,” Emily said quietly. “Nan left it to me because she knew Id care for it.”
“Sentiments sweet, but its not practical. Mums rightweve got to think ahead.”
“Whose ahead? Your mums?”
Williams face darkened. He wouldnt tolerate anyone criticising his parents, especially his mum. Margaret had raised him alone till she met Henry when he was ten. Ever since, William saw defending her as his duty.
“Em, enough. Its decided. Were meeting the estate agent Monday.”
“Decided by *who*?”
“By me. Im the head of this family.”
Emily laughedbitter, not amused.
“Head of the family? Seriously? Will, I thought we were equals.”
“Equals dont cling to old junk. My mum sold her flat when she married Dad. Theyre fine.”
“Your mum sold a studio in Croydon and moved into your dads five-bed. Bit different.”
William flushed. He hated when she pointed out the obvious.
“Dont talk about my parents like that!”
“Im stating facts. And heres anotherIm *not* selling this flat.”
“Well see,” William hissed, storming off.
Emily stayed put. The sun warmed her face. She thought of Nan, whod worked her whole life as a nurse to buy this place. *”Love,”* shed say, *”a woman needs her own space. Remember that.”*
That evening, William brought his parents round “for tea.” Emily knew better. Margaret swept in, eyeing the flat like a surveyor.
“Christ, no ones touched this place in decades,” she announced. “Peeling wallpaper, creaky floorboards. Imagine the cost to fix it up!”
Henry lingered quietly in the sitting room, perching on the armchair. He rarely spoke up when his wife was on a roll.
“Tea? Coffee?” Emily offered.
“Earl Grey, no sugar,” Margaret said. “Watching my figure.”
Emily headed to the kitchen. William followed.
“Dont be like this,” he muttered. “Theyre trying to help.”
“Help *what*? Steal my home?”
“Dont be dramatic. You wont be homeless.”
“No, Ill be living by *your* mums rules, on *her* clock.”
“Whats wrong with rules? Mum likes order.”
Emilys hands shook as she set out biscuits.
Back in the sitting room, Margaret had papers spread on the table.
“Sit, Emily,” she commanded. “Were sorting the details.”
“What details?”
“The sale, obviously. Ive had a lookthis place could fetch a tidy sum. Well have to knock a bit off for the state of it, but still decent.”
“Margaret, Im *not* selling.”
Margarets eyebrows shot up.
“Excuse me? William said you agreed.”
“William *lied*.”
“Em!” William cut in. “We talked about this”
“You talked. I said *no*.”
Margaret stiffened, face like stone.
“Girl, you dont grasp the situation. Williams my only son. I wont have some”
“Some *what*?” Emily interrupted. “Go on, say it.”
“Some girl from God-knows-where manipulating him!”
“*Im* manipulating *him*? Youre the one strong-arming me out of my home!”
Henry cleared his throat.
“Marg, maybe”
“Quiet, Henry!” Margaret snapped. “Emily, be reasonable. Our houses betterbig kitchen, garden, even a hot tub. What more dyou want?”
“Freedom,” Emily said.
“Freedom? From *family*?”
“From your *control*.”
Margaret went red.
“*Im* controlling? I *care*! About my son, his future!”
“His future or *yours*?” Emily shot back. “Why dyou need my flats money?”
Silence. Margaret and Henry exchanged glances. William looked torn.
“Whatre you implying?” he sputtered. “Em, youre out of line!”
“Its a fair question. If your parents are so well-off, why do they need my flats cash?”
“Not *yours**ours*! Were *family*!” Margaret cried.
“No,” Emily said firmly. “The flats in *my* name. *My* property.”
“Selfish!” Margaret spat. “William, see what you married?”
“Mum, calm down”
“Dont tell *me* what to do! I raised you, gave up *everything*! And you bring *this* into our home”
“Enough,” Emily stood. “Get out of my flat.”
“*What*?” William gaped. “Em, you cant kick my parents out!”
“I can, and I am. Margaret, Henrygoodbye.”
Margaret stood, shaking with rage.
“William, were leaving. If your wife doesnt value family, neither should you.”
“But, Mum”
“Now!”
William glanced helplessly at Emily, then his mother.
“Em, apologise. Youre in the wrong.”
“For *what*? Not handing over my home?”
“For insulting my mother!”
“She insulted *me*. But of course you missed that.”
William clenched his fists.
“You know what? Maybe Mums right. You only think about yourself.”
“And you only think about your mum. Maybe you shouldve married *her*?”
William went pale. Margaret yanked his arm.
“Come on, love. Dont waste breath on ingrates.”
They left, door slamming. Emily was alone. Margarets papers lay scatteredestate agent listings, sale drafts.
“They planned it all,” Emily realised. “Never doubted Id cave.”
The next days passed in silence. William slept on the sofa, left early, came back late. Any attempt to talk got one-word replies.
On Thursday, Emily came home to a stranger pacing the flat, scribbling notes.
“Who are you? Howd you get in?”
“Martin, valuer,” he said. “Your husband gave me the keys. Assessing the place.”
“He had no right. Leave.”
“Nearly done”
“*Now*.”
The valuer left. Emily rang William.
“How *dare* you bring a valuer without asking?”
“Just getting a proper price. Not a crime.”
“Will, this is *my* flat. Youve no say.”
“Youre my wife. Whats yours is mine.”
“*No*. Its pre-marital.”
“Technicalities. Were in love.”
“Love doesnt mean *stealing* my flat.”
“*Stealing*? Youre accusing me of *theft*?”
“What else dyou call trying to sell someone elses home?”
William hung up. Didnt come home. Emily called his mate Tom.
“Hes with me,” Tom said. “Em, whats going on?”
“Ask *him*.”
“He says you wont compromise.”
“I wont sell my home. That a crime?”
“No, but meet halfway?”
“What halfway? Sell it and be at his mums mercy?”
Tom hesitated.
“Dunno. But Wills gutted. Says his mums in tears.”
“Let her cry. Not my problem.”
Saturday morning, the doorbell rang. A woman in a sharp suit stood there.
“Victoria, solicitor for the Harris family,” she said. “May I come in?”
HarrisMargarets maiden name. Reluctantly, Emily let her in.
“Emily, lets discuss the flat.”
“Nothing to discuss. Not selling.”
“I understand. But be fairyouve been married three years. The Harrises have done a lot for you.”
“Like what?”
“The wedding, holidays, gifts”
“*Gifts*. Not investments. Or did Margaret expect payback?”
Victoria smiled thinly.
“Margarets generous. But she expects the same.”
“So, *blackmail*?”
“Of course not. Family means helping each other.”
“Helping isnt *robbing*.”
“Dont exaggerate. The sale moneys for family needs.”
“*What* needs?”
Victoria hesitated.
“Private matter.”
“If its about my flat, its *my* matter.”
“Emily, dont make this harder. Margarets willing to compromise. Youd get your own room at theirs.”
“How *generous*. A room for a two-bed flat.”
“Plus a loving family.”
“A family *bleeding* me dry.”
Victoria sighed.
“Youre being difficult. William could file for divorce.”
“Let him.”
“And demand half the assets.”
“The flats pre-marital. Its mine.”
“But you renovated the bedroom with his money.”
Emily laughed.
“You mean the £50 wallpaper? *Seriously*?”
“Any improvements during marriage can make it joint.”
“Try proving that in court.”
Victoria stood.
“Think, Emily. Is a flat worth losing your family?”
“*Im* not losing anything.”
The solicitor left a card. Emily tore it up.
Monday at work, her colleague Sarah pulled her aside.
“Em, is it true youre divorcing?”
“Whered you hear that?”
“William posted online. Says you kicked him out, care more about *things* than family.”
Emily checked her phone. Williams post was a sob storyhow his selfish wife chose a “crumbling flat” over his parents “loving home.” Dozens of comments trashed her.
She called him.
“Delete it.”
“Why? Its true.”
“Its *lies*. I didnt kick you out. *You* left.”
“After you slagged off my mum.”
“Will, *delete it* or Ill post my side.”
“Go ahead. See who they believe.”
That evening, Emily wrote her versionfacts only. The pressure to sell, the threats, the solicitor.
The fallout was nuclear. Friends picked sides.
A week later, William turned up. He looked roughunshaven, bloodshot eyes.
“Em, we need to talk.”
“About?”
“Us. The future.”
“Do we *have* one?”
He sank onto the sofa, head in hands.
“I dont want a divorce. But Mum”
“What about her?”
“She says if I dont make you sell, shell cut me out of the will.”
“Whats in this *will*?”
“The house, savings, Dads business.”
“So its me or your parents money?”
“Its not that simple!”
“It *is*. You either love *me* or your mums *cash*.”
“Dont twist it!”
“Then *un*twist it. Will, be honestwhy does your mum need my flats money?”
Silence. Then, quietly:
“Theyre in *debt*.”
“What? I thought they were loaded!”
“Were. Dad made bad investments. Lost most of it. The house is mortgaged.”
Emily sat beside him.
“Why didnt you *say*?”
“Mum swore me to secrecy. Family business.”
“And the solutions *my* flat?”
“Itll buy time. Pay off the worst debts.”
“Will, thats not a fix. Its a *sticking plaster*.”
“What then? Let them lose the house?”
“Honesty wouldve helped. We couldve worked something out.”
“Like what?”
“Rent the flat out. Steady income.”
“Mum would *never* take your rental money.”
“Then she finds another way.”
William paced.
“You dont get it. Losing that housell destroy her.”
“Will, Im sorry. Truly. But I wont pay for their mistakes.”
“Their *mistakes*? Theyre my *parents*!”
“To me, theyre *strangers*. Especially after how they treated me.”
“Youre *heartless*!”
“Im *realistic*. They lied, bullied, humiliated me. And now Im meant to *reward* them?”
“Not them, *us*! Were *family*!”
“No, Will. Family doesnt *manipulate*.”
He grabbed his coat.
“You know what? Mum was right. You *are* selfish.”
“And youre a *mummys boy*. Maybe thats the real issue.”
He slammed the door. His phone buzzed on the tablea text from Margaret:
*”Well? Did she agree?”*
Emily left it there.
Next morning, the phone rang nonstop. Around noon, pounding on the door.
“Emily! Open up!” Margaret screeched.
Emily unchained the door but kept it ajar.
“What?”
“Williams phone! Dont play dumb!”
“Its on the shelf. He forgot it.”
“Hand it over!”
“He can fetch it himself.”
“He doesnt *want* to see you!”
“Likewise.”
Margaret turned purple.
“How *dare* you! Ill call the *police*!”
“Go on. Explain why youre harassing me.”
“Its my *sons* home too!”
“No. Hes not on the lease.”
Behind her, Henry shuffled.
“Marg, lets go. This is embarrassing.”
“*Quiet*! That girl *ruined* our son!”
“Your son ruined *himself* choosing *your* money over his wife.”
“You”
Their elderly neighbours, the Wilkinsons, peered out.
“Everything alright?” Mr. Wilkinson asked sternly.
“Fine,” Emily said. “Just collecting a phone.”
“*Ex*-in-laws,” Mrs. Wilkinson guessed.
“Future ex,” Emily confirmed.
Margaret huffed, but Henry dragged her toward the lift.
The Wilkinsons gave Emily a sympathetic look.
“Need help, love? Just knock.”
“Thanks, but Im good.”
That evening, William grabbed his phone and some clothes.
“Ill get the rest later,” he muttered.
“Will, wait. We need to sort the divorce.”
“Whats to sort? You chose your *flat*.”
“*You* chose your *mum*.”
He paused at the door.
“I thought you loved me.”
“I did. Till you tried to *steal* from me.”
“I wasnt *stealing*! I was *helping*!”
“At *my* expense. Thats theft.”
He left. Emily leaned against the door. It hurt, but relief washed over herlike shedding a heavy coat.
The divorce was quick. William didnt fight for the flatknew hed lose. Emily asked for nothing.
A month later, she bumped into Tom at Costa.
“Hows Will?” she asked, stirring her latte.
“No idea. We dont speak.”
“I do,” Tom said. “All three of them are crammed into a one-bed in Walthamstow. Lost the house to debts.”
Emily nodded. Not surprised.
“Margarets working at Boots now,” he added. “Wills just a desk jockey. Skint.”
“I *do* feel for them,” she said, meaning it.
“Will asks about you. Says he messed up.”
“Too late.”
Tom finished his coffee.
“You happy?”
Emily smiled.
“Finally redid the balcony. New chair, plants. Mornings with a book? Perfect.”
“No regrets?”
“Not one. This flat only felt like *home* after the lies left. Now its just me. And thats enough. For now.”
She stood, slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Gotta go. Decorators comingnew wallpaper for the bedroom. *My* money, *my* flat. As it should be.”
Walking home, she breathed in the spring airsweet with freedom.
