“Vacate the flatI’m getting married, and we’ll be living here now,” declared the stepdaughter.
“Margaret, you forgot to sign your holiday request form. HR needs it by lunch,” said the young colleague.
Margaret lifted her head from the computer and smiled. “Thanks, Emily. Ill pop over now.”
She set aside her work and headed to HR, thinking about her upcoming break. She fancied a seaside trip, but Edward, her husband, insisted on staying at their cottage. “Why waste money when we can relax in nature for free?” hed say. Margaret didnt argue. After eight years of marriage, shed learned to pick her battles.
Back at her desk, she noticed several missed calls from Edward. Oddhe rarely rang during work hours. She called back.
“Margaret, can you come home early?” His voice was tense.
“Has something happened?”
“Sophies here. Says she needs to talk.”
SophieEdwards daughter from his first marriage. Twenty-seven, living in another city, only appearing when she needed something.
“Fine, Ill try for six.”
Margaret excused herself and left. The three-bedroom flat in the suburbs had been hers long before Edward. Shed never thought to draw up a prenuplove and trust had been enough.
The moment she unlocked the door, voices spilled from the living room. Sophie was animated, Edward murmuring agreement. Margaret kicked off her heels and walked in.
Sophie lounged on the sofa in an elegant dress, a young man in a sharp suit beside her. A bottle of champagne sat open on the table.
“Ah, Margaret, finally,” Sophie said, eyeing her. “Meet Oliver, my fiancé.”
“Pleasure,” Margaret said, shaking his hand.
“Sit,” Edward gestured to a chair. “Sophie has something important to discuss.”
Margaret sat, unease prickling. Something was off.
“Clear out the flat. Im getting married, and well be living here,” Sophie announced.
Margaret blinked. Had she heard right?
“What did you say?”
“You heard me. I need this place. Oliver and I are marrying next month, and we need somewhere to live.”
“Sophie, this is Margarets flat,” Edward said weakly.
“Dad, youve been registered here eight years. By law, youve got a claim. And Im your only daughteryour heir.”
Margarets face went cold. “Edward, what is this?”
He wouldnt meet her eyes, fiddling with a napkin.
“Margaret, listenSophies not entirely wrong. Maybe we should talk”
“Talk about what? This is *my* flat. My parents bought it. I grew up here.”
“But Dad has rights,” Sophie said, pulling papers from her bag. “Ive spoken to a solicitor. Eight years of cohabitation, shared billsa court could award him half.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Margaret turned to Edward. “Say something!”
“Margaret, lets stay calm. Sophies young, shes building a life. We could rent something smaller”
Margaret couldnt believe her ears. The man shed trusted for eight years was calmly discussing evicting her.
“Edward, be reasonable,” Oliver cut in. “A young couple needs space. Two people dont need three bedrooms.”
“Excuse mewho are you to decide what we need?” Margaret kept her voice steady, though fury simmered.
“Ill soon be family.”
“Youre *no* family of mine.”
“Dont be rude to Oliver,” Sophie snapped. “His father owns a construction firm.”
“Lovely. Let *him* buy you a flat.”
“Why buy when we can take this one?” Sophie shrugged. “Dad, you want me happy, dont you?”
“Of course, love.”
“Then talk sense into her. Its your flat too.”
Margaret pulled out her phone.
“What are you doing?” Edward asked.
“Calling my solicitor. And I suggest you all leave.”
“Margaret, dont” He reached for her, but she stepped back.
“Hello, Mr. Harrison? Margaret Davies. I need urgent advice. Tomorrow morning? Thank you.”
She hung up, staring at them.
“Now, get out. I need to think.”
“This is my home too,” Edward said.
“No. Its *mine*. Youre here out of my kindness.”
“Dad has every right to stay,” Sophie stood. “And so do I, as his guest.”
“Sophie, leave. Or Ill call the police.”
“How *dare* you!” Sophie flushed. “Dad, youre letting her?”
Edward wavered between them.
“Margaret, please”
“Nothing to discuss. Im staying with a friend. When I return, I expect her gone.”
Margaret grabbed her bag and left. Her hands shook in the lift. Eight years. Eight years, and hed betray her for his daughters greed.
Her friend Helen lived nearby. One look at Margarets face, and she knew.
“Come in. Talk.”
Over tea, Margaret relayed the disaster. Helen listened, shaking her head.
“I *told* you to get a prenup. But nolove, trust”
“Not now, Helen.”
“Fine. Whats the plan?”
“Solicitor tomorrow. Thendivorce.”
Edward called. She ignored it.
“Not talking?”
“No. His choice is made.”
She slept at Helens. The next morning, she went straight to Mr. Harrison: a silver-haired man with keen eyes.
“Margaret, dont fret. The flat was yours pre-marriage?”
“Yes. Inherited two years before Edward.”
“Good. Its yours alone. He has no claim.”
“But his names on the”
“Registration isnt ownership. At worst, hed get time to find a place post-divorce. A month, perhaps.”
“And Sophies threats?”
“Nonsense. Joint assets are *marital* acquisitions. This isnt one.”
Relief washed over her.
“So they cant take it?”
“Never. If they harass you, report it. Extortion.”
Work was a blur. Edward rang repeatedly. She ignored him.
That evening, she returned home. Edward sat at the kitchen table, nursing tea. No Sophie.
“Margaret. Youre back.”
“Wheres Sophie?”
“Gone to Olivers. Margaret, lets talk.”
“About what? How you stood by while she demanded my flat?”
“I was shocked. I never thought shed”
“Really? Shed *consulted a solicitor*. This was planned.”
“I didnt know, I swear.”
Margaret studied himolder, tired. Once, hed been lively, attentive. Routine had dulled that.
“Edward, tell me honestlydid you ever consider siding with me? Or was it always her?”
He stared into his tea.
“Margaret, shes my daughter. My only”
“And Im what? Eight years together.”
“You matter. But Sophie”
“Right. Im filing for divorce.”
“Margaret, wait”
“No. The solicitor confirmed itthe flats *mine*. Youve got a month to leave.”
“Pleasewe can fix this.”
“Fix *what*? She marched in and demanded my home, and you *said nothing*. Whats left to fix?”
Her phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Margaret? Mrs. WhitmoreOlivers mother. I must apologise for yesterday. Oliver told me everything. Appalling behaviour.”
Margaret paused. “Thank you, but”
“Id like to meet. We should talk about Sophie.”
“Why?”
“Please. Its important. Café tomorrow?”
Curiosity made her agree. The next day, an elegant woman in her sixties waited at a quiet table.
“Thank you for coming,” Mrs. Whitmore said. “Coffees ordered.”
“Whats this about?”
“My sons in lovefirst time, seriously. And this Sophie… shes manipulating him.”
“How?”
“Shes claiming shes pregnant. Demanding a rushed wedding. When Oliver asked for time, she said she *had* a flat.”
“*My* flat.”
“Exactly. Margaret, I looked into her. No job, floats between men. A gold-digger.”
“And your proposal?”
“We work together. You keep your flat; Ill wake Oliver up.”
“Pregnancy?”
“Doubt its real. But if sopaternity tests exist.”
Margaret exhaled. A bizarre turn.
“Fine. What do I do?”
“Just hold firm. Ill handle my side.”
At home, Sophie was *there*, rifling through papers.
“What are you doing?”
“Dad gave me keys. Checking *my* future home.”
“Get out.”
“Make me. Dad said”
Margaret dialled 999.
“Police? A trespasser refuses to leave.”
Sophie paled.
“Youre *mad*.”
“Try me.”
“Im *family*”
“Ex-stepfamily. Leaving, or waiting for officers?”
Sophie stormed out. Margaret cancelled the call, sinking onto the sofa. Exhausted.
Edward returned that night, silently packing a bag.
“Staying with a mate.”
“Fine.”
“Youre really divorcing?”
“Yes.”
“Shame. We couldve”
“No. You chose her over us. Its over.”
He left. The flat was quiet, emptybut peaceful.
A week later, Mrs. Whitmore rang.
“News. Sophies *not* pregnant. Oliver demanded a test.”
“Shocker.”
“Theyve split. Olivers in Brussels for work. Sophies already found another target.”
“Efficient.”
“Her type always is. Take care.”
The divorce was swift. Edward didnt fight it, only apologised. She forgavebut there was no going back.
At work, a new colleague arrivedDaniel, a soft-spoken programmer from Manchester. He fixed her computer once, then asked her for coffee.
“Married?” he asked bluntly.
“Was. Divorced recently.”
“May I ask why?”
Margaret smirked. “Long story. Lets say we wanted different things.”
“Understandable. My divorce was five years ago.”
They started seeing each othercinema, walks, talk. Daniel was witty, well-read.
One evening, strolling through Hyde Park, they bumped into Edward and Sophie. Edward stiffened; Sophie glared.
“Margaret.”
“Edward.”
“Youre… well?”
“Very. This is Daniel.”
The men shook hands. Sophie tugged Edwards sleeve.
“Dad, *come on*.”
They left. Daniel squeezed her hand.
“Ex-husband?”
“Yes.”
“And the flat-thief stepdaughter?”
Margaret blinked. “How?”
“Helen mentioned it. We share a department.”
“Ah. Helen *loves* gossip.”
“She speaks highly of you. Said you did the right thing.”
“I hope so.”
Daniel smiled. “Glad you divorced.”
“Why?”
“Or wed never have met.”
That night, Margaret studied old photos of Edward. Eight yearsgood times, too. But when tested, hed failed. She hadnt.
Her phone chimed. Daniel: *”Today was lovely. Tomorrow?”*
She typed back: *”Absolutely.”*
Life went on.
