Emma sat at a table in a cosy little restaurant in the heart of Manchester, waiting for her fiancé, Oliver. He seemed on edge, checking his phone every few minutes, barely looking up.
“Oliver, you’re acting really odd today. What’s going on?” she asked, trying not to sound too worried.
“Just hold on a sec, alright? We’re waiting for my parents,” he muttered, waving her off.
“Your parents? Why?”
“Yeah, and a couple of others with them. We’re not just here for dinner—there’s something we need to sort out.”
Emma tensed up. She’d known Oliver for six months and could always tell when he was about to drop some “big talk” on her. And it never ended well.
Ten minutes later, Oliver’s parents—David and Margaret—walked in, followed by two strangers.
“Right, this is Thomas and Sophie,” Oliver said with a grin. “They’re interested in renting out your flat. Long-term lease.”
“My… flat?” Emma nearly fumbled her fork.
“Course! They’re serious—willing to pay £2,000 a month. And after the wedding, we’ll move in with Mum and Dad. They’ve got that big house in the countryside, loads of space. No point leaving your place empty, right? Extra income!”
Emma felt her fingers go numb. Oblivious, Oliver pulled papers from a folder.
“Look, I’ve already sorted it with the bank. We’ll transfer your mortgage into both our names—better interest rate, easier payments.”
“Wait… you’ve already decided all this?” Her voice wavered. “Without even asking me?”
“Oh, don’t be so dramatic!” Margaret cut in. “Oliver’s just thinking ahead. You’re practically family now!”
Thomas and Sophie exchanged glances.
“Sorry—is the flat in your name?” Sophie asked Oliver.
“Not yet, but—”
“Right, well, this isn’t going to work for us,” Thomas said flatly. “Had no idea the actual owner wasn’t even involved. We’ll pass.”
They stood and left, leaving an awkward silence at the table.
“Well done,” Margaret huffed. “You just scared off perfectly decent tenants with that little tantrum, Emma!”
“Tantrum?” Emma stood slowly. “This isn’t a tantrum. It’s my right to decide what happens to *my* home.”
“You’re joking, right?” Oliver paled. “We had this all planned!”
“*You* had it all planned. For both of us. Without me. And I won’t build a future with someone who thinks that’s okay.”
“Emma, just calm down—”
“No. The wedding’s off.”
She walked out without looking back—and never replied to another message.
Back home, curled up by the window with a steaming cup of tea, she just thought to herself:
“Better alone—but respected—than with someone who doesn’t understand that.”
