**Betrayal in the New Home**
Oliver and Emily married and moved into a new flat on the outskirts of Manchester. Overflowing with joy, the young couple decorated their home, crafting a cosy haven as they dreamed of their future. But six months later, Oliver’s parents came to visit. At first, they seemed surprised by Emily’s presence, yet over dinner, after a few drinks, an argument erupted.
*“Why did you bring this floozy here?”* Oliver’s mother snapped.
*“What do you mean? I’m his wife!”* Emily shot back, her face burning.
*“Wife?”* His mother laughed, the sound dripping with scorn. *”What kind of wife? Don’t make me laugh! Oliver already has a wife—and two children. Our grandchildren! And who are you? After his flat, are you?”*
Emily turned to Oliver, but he just looked down, murmuring, *”Go stay at your mum’s. I’ll sort this out. I’ll send them away tomorrow.”*
When Emily turned eighteen, her mother had begun gently nudging her toward marriage. She wasn’t pushy, but she worried—Emily spent too much time alone, buried in books. She wasn’t a recluse; at school and university, she’d been lively, popular even, but she turned down every boy who tried to court her. She’d rather lose herself in a novel than waste evenings on dates. Her mother fretted she’d end up alone.
After graduating, Emily started work as a manager, but life barely changed—home, work, home. Eventually, her parents decided she needed independence. They’d long owned a three-bed flat in an older building, renting it out until now. After renovations, they handed her the keys, all but evicting her.
She felt betrayed. How could they toss her out so easily? But life forced her to adapt. She hated cleaning the spacious flat, hated grocery runs—until Oliver appeared. He took over the chores, and in doing so, won her heart.
When Emily introduced him, her mother frowned. She’d hoped for a man with a degree and his own flat. Oliver, a car mechanic, rented a room in a shared house nearby. Her father, though, just shrugged. *”We’ll see.”*
Oliver loved her, and that was enough. The wedding was small—only her parents attended. His folks, from a distant village, never came, and the young couple kept postponing the trip to visit them.
A year later, they started thinking about children. Oliver suggested selling the old walk-up flat and buying a new-build on the outskirts. *”How are we meant to haul a pram up five flights?”* he argued.
Emily agreed, though her mother objected. On the day they signed for the new flat, Oliver landed in hospital with appendicitis. Emily had to handle the paperwork alone, bringing her mother—force of habit, always needing someone to decide for her.
Oliver came home to the new flat. They decorated excitedly—hanging curtains, arranging furniture. Life felt like a fairytale… until his parents arrived.
Over dinner, his mother launched into accusations. Emily stood frozen, stunned. Oliver stayed silent, just telling her to leave. She packed a bag and fled to her mother’s, her heart shredded by pain and humiliation.
The next day, she returned. Oliver’s parents were gone; the flat gleamed, spotless.
*”What was your mother talking about yesterday?”* Emily asked, fighting tears.
*”Don’t worry about it. There was a woman, she had my kids. Now it’s just you and me,”* Oliver tossed out, casual.
*”You lied to me! That’s betrayal!”* Emily screamed. *”I can’t live with a liar!”*
*”Can’t? Then piss off. The flat stays with me. Take me to court—I’ll be paying your share for life.”* He smirked.
*”You’re the one who’s leaving,”* Emily said coldly. *”Good thing Mum insisted the flat be in my name. She had a feeling about you…”*
Emily stayed alone in the spacious flat. Evenings were spent with books again, but they brought no comfort now. Her heart ached from betrayal. She’d loved Oliver, trusted him—yet he’d hidden another family.
Her mother visited, soothing her. *”Darling, I told you he wasn’t right. But you’re not alone—I’m here.”*
Emily nodded, but the emptiness remained. She didn’t file for divorce—let him take the step. The flat, bought by her parents, became her fortress—and a bitter reminder of shattered dreams. Oliver called, begging forgiveness, but she never answered.
Sometimes, turning pages, she’d imagine how their life could’ve been—without the lies. But reality was cruel. Once again, she was alone—with her books, and her broken heart.
