So, my ex-mother-in-law showed up out of the blue. Had no idea wed split up.
“Can you believe it?” Lydia said, shaking her head. “Margaret has no clue Oliver and I are divorced. And now shes on her way here.” She tossed her phone onto the sofa and shot her friend Emma a panicked look.
“Youre joking!” Emma gasped. “Here? To this flat?”
“Thats the problem,” Lydia muttered, rubbing her temples. “Shes under the impression were still together. Says she misses the grandkids.”
“Why are you so scared? Shes nothing to you now. Dont let her rattle you.”
“Easy for you to say. Youve never met her. Shes formidable. You wouldnt believe the connections she has. If she thinks Ive been hiding this from her on purpose, shell take it personally. And then shell make my life hell.”
“Waithas she really not spoken to you all this time?” Emma frowned.
“We fell out. Last time she visited from Edinburgh two years ago, we had a massive row.”
“Over Oliver?”
“Not just him,” Lydia sighed. “Everything, really. Margaret wasnt happy with how we hosted her, how we were raising the kids You name it.”
“And?”
“And what? She had her say, I gave her mine. One thing led to another. She told me she never wanted to see me again and left. After that, she only spoke to Oliver.”
“And what did he do?”
“What do you think? He milked it. Said if I didnt respect his mum, I didnt love him. Blamed me for his work troubles too. Then he vanished for a week. When he finally called, he said hed met someone else and we were done.”
“So Oliver never told his mother you divorced,” Emma mused.
“Apparently not.”
“And he didnt mention he took half the flat, leaving you and the kids with just a room in a shared house?”
“Exactly. She thinks everythings fine. Said shes got urgent business in London and needs to stay with us for a week.”
“Wheres us now?”
“Right here,” Lydia said, gesturing around the cramped space.
The doorbell rang.
“Thats her,” Lydia whispered, frozen. “What do I do? How do I explain this?”
“Tell her the truth.”
“Shell blame me for everything. Start shouting. I cantmaybe we just dont answer?”
“Worse idea. Then shell really think youre hiding something.”
The bell rang again.
“Go on,” Emma urged. “And dont be scared. Let her yell. Youve done nothing wrong. Ive got your back.”
Lydia opened the door.
“Hello, Margaret,” she said softly.
“Why did you take so long?” Margaret demanded, sweeping in with two suitcases. “Hiding someone?”
“No ones here,” Lydia said. “Just chatting with my friend.”
“What friend?”
Emma stepped into the hall. “Hello. Im Emma. Lydias friend.”
Margaret gave her a once-over, unimpressed. “Wheres Oliver? At work?”
“Probably,” Lydia said.
“Probably? You dont know where your own husband is?”
Lydia shrugged helplessly.
“Hes not her husband!” Emma cut in, chin up.
Margarets eyes narrowed. “Meaning?”
“Exactly that,” Emma said, grinning.
(Secretly, she was thrilled. Always wanted to say that to her own ex-mother-in-law. Never got the chance. Thisll do.)
“Lydia and your precious boy divorced a year ago,” Emma went on. “And the two-bed flat they bought together? Had to split it. Oliver sold his half. So now Lydias stuck in a shared house with two kids, a cat, and a dog. Any other questions?”
Margaret turned to Lydia. “Is this true?”
“It is,” Lydia admitted. “We split last autumn.”
“Not that. Did he really take the flat?”
“Yes. Legally, he could. It was joint ownership. Besides, hes remarried now.”
“Remarried?” Margaret echoed.
“Says his new wifes expecting. Asked me not to hassle him for child supportpromised hed pay up later. Claims works been rough.”
“And you believed him,” Emma snorted. “Sweetheart, hes lying. No work troubles, no baby on the way, and shes not even his wife. Theyre just shacked up. The baby bit? Pure guilt trip.”
“Why didnt he tell me about the divorce?” Margaret murmured.
“Maybe he didnt want to upset you?” Lydia offered weakly.
“Perhaps,” Margaret said. But the real reason was simpler.
Oliver had kept quiet because it suited him. “Let her think Lydia and I are still together,” hed schemed. “Mum loathes Lydia, but she adores the grandkids. Thats my leverage. Shell help me buy a flat.”
Every month, hed called his mother with the same sob story: four of them crammed into a two-bed, no space for the girls. Sent photos, knowing theyd melt her heart. “Were managing,” hed sigh. “But imagine if we had a proper place. The eldest starts school soonnowhere to put a desk! If only we could afford something bigger. Maybe sell your cottage in the Cotswolds? A four-bed in London near Regents Park would cover it. Not that Id askI know how much you love that place.”
Oliver knew what he was doing. Mum would cave.
And now, fresh off the train from Edinburgh, Margaret saw the truth.
“I see,” she said coolly. “Where are the girls?”
“At nursery.”
“And your job?”
“Remote work.”
“Whos the housemate?”
“Just a neighbour. Lovely woman. Didnt mind the pets. Recently divorced too. Shes at work.”
“Lovely,” Margaret smirked. “Right. Fine. Ill go.”
She left without another word.
“That wasnt so bad,” Lydia exhaled, locking the door. “I thought shed scream the place down.”
Two months later
“Should check in with Mum,” Oliver thought. “Remind her of my *struggles*.”
“Hi, Mum! All good? Great. Us? Oh, same old. Still packed like sardines. Actually remember that idea you had? Selling the cottage? Yeah, that one. Prices near Regents Park still line up. The girls could finally have their own Wait, what? *What* cottage?! Burned down? No? Oh, thank God. Then what? You *sold* it? The moneys gone? On *what*? A four-bed? For *who*? The kids? *My* kids? Theyre six and four, Mum! Thats allowed? Why would you Why didnt you *ask* me?
“Yes, I said they needed rooms! But you couldve bought it in *my* name! Wait You came to London? When?! Alexandra Palace area? Mum, I I think I need to sit down.”
The next day, Oliver stormed into Lydias new flat. For twenty minutes, he paced, scowling at the walls.
“All this shouldve been *mine*,” he seethed internally. “Lydias conned Mum. But its not over. Ill remarry her, then boot her out. She can keep her *single room*.”
“Listen, Lydia,” he announced. “After everything, we can start fresh. Mums forgiven youotherwise, she wouldnt have bought us this flat.”
“She didnt buy it for *us*.”
“What?”
“Its in the girls names.”
“Same difference. And now, you *will* marry me again.”
“Will I?”
Oliver glared. “You misunderstand. This isnt a request. Day after tomorrow, our old registry office. 10 AM. By the lamp postremember? Right of the entrance.”
“Like I could forget.”
“Dont be late. You know I hate that.”
“Wouldnt dream of it,” Lydia said.
Naturally, she stood him up. Oliver fumed. Called her. “Sorry, slipped my mind,” she said. They rescheduled. She no-showed again.
“How *dare* you!” he screamed into the phone.
“Oops,” Lydia replied. “Forgot again.”
They set another date. And another. And another.
Six months on, Oliver still waited by that lamp post in rain, sleet, and once, during a full-blown storm.
The registry staff watched in awe.
“Now *thats* true love,” they whispered. “Hes here every time. Remember the hurricane? Trees uprooted, and he *still* turned up. If he ever stops coming, we should erect a statue. A monument to steadfast devotion!”
