The flat we’re no longer welcome in: When a mother turned home into a battlefield
Oliver was at his desk when his phone rang. His wife’s name flashed on the screen—Emma. That was odd. She rarely called him during the day.
“Hey, love. Everything alright? I’m a bit tied up,” he said, glancing away from his monitor.
“It’s not,” her voice trembled, barely holding back tears. “We’ve been kicked out. We’ve got nowhere to live!”
“What?!” Oliver shot up from his chair. “What happened to the flat? Fire? Break-in?”
“The flat’s fine… we’re just not allowed to live there anymore,” Emma whispered.
“Not allowed? Who on earth can stop us living in our own flat?!”
“Who else… your mother!” Her voice cracked, thick with pain, hurt, despair.
Years ago, Emma and Oliver had moved to London with their kids. The eldest was seven, the youngest five. They’d started off renting, working nonstop. Then luck struck—Emma’s dad unexpectedly inherited a flat from a distant relative.
“Keep it,” the old man had said. “I’m retired, the taxes don’t bother me. The place is in my name, but we won’t get in your way.”
They renovated, bought furniture, made it home. In their minds, it was theirs—even if not on paper. But Emma always had this nagging worry.
“Everything we’ve put into this place, and it’s not legally ours,” she’d say.
“Don’t stress. Mum and Dad wouldn’t kick us out. We’re family.”
But worse happened. They were thrown out—not by strangers, but by their own.
It started at her father-in-law’s anniversary party. They’d gone, celebrated. The next day, his mother dropped the bomb.
“We’ve decided—Liam, your cousin, is moving in with you. He’s starting uni, the halls are cramped. You’ve got space. And—” she added sharply, “the flat’s in our name. We decide who lives there.”
Emma nearly choked. But Oliver just nodded.
“No problem. Plenty of room.”
She bit her tongue. Not the time. But something inside her snapped.
Liam strutted in like he owned the place. Ate on the sofa, swore, never cleaned. Ruined everything he touched. Then Oliver’s parents came to visit “their boy.” And the war began.
“Liam’s shoes are filthy!” his mother scolded. “Why isn’t his coat washed? Where’s the pie?”
She bossed everyone around—cooking, cleaning, policing. Then, point-blank to Emma:
“I don’t see how my son puts up with you. You should leave. Give up the flat.”
“And go where? The girls have their own lives, rent’s sky-high—”
“Not my problem. Pack your things.”
When Emma refused, she hissed, “I’ll talk to Oliver. He’ll sign the divorce papers.”
Emma silently packed, tears streaming.
Oliver found out and stormed over.
“Mum, what the hell?! You threw my wife out?!”
“She’s deadweight. And a drunk!”
“What?!”
“I heard bottles clinking in her bag. Hiding something? I won’t have that under my roof. My flat, my rules.”
“Mum, that was Liam! He took out the recycling!”
“Don’t pin this on him! If she steps foot here again, don’t come crying.”
“Then I’m leaving with her.”
“Good. Liam’s got a girlfriend now—needs the space.”
Oliver clenched his fists.
“Fine. Two days.”
“Emma, don’t cry. We’ll get everything out—William’s got a garage. It’ll be alright. We’ll buy our own place. Maybe not what we dreamed of, but it’ll be ours.”
Three days later, his mum barged in with Sarah—arms loaded like they were prepping for a siege. Meat, veg, tins, sacks…
“Have they—?” Sarah gaped.
“Gone. The cooker’s gone… fridge… furniture…”
“Stick it on the balcony.”
“It’s raining! Mum, there’s not even a bed!”
Margaret dialled her son—no answer. The grandkids ignored her calls too.
“Maggie? It’s Grandma…” she pleaded to one granddaughter. The reply was sharp:
“Stop calling!”
The flat was empty—just a grubby old sofa. A bucket in the bath, like a bitter full stop.
Six months later, Emma was cooking in their new flat. The phone rang. Unknown number.
“Oliver? It’s me… Mum. You never call. I’m sorry. Come back. Live here.”
“We are living. In our own home.”
“Yours? Why? You’ve got ours!”
“Yours is yours. Ours is ours.”
“And the girls? They’ve cut me off!”
“They don’t need anything. We’re sorted. Forget that flat. We’re never coming back.”
Oliver hung up. That chapter was closed. For good.
