My Mother-in-Law Wanted to Split My Flat in Two

Author Harlan CovingtonReading 5 minViews 1

Dear Diary,

Its been six years since Jack and I tied the knot. When our little boy, Harry, was born we decided to sell the cosy onebedroom flat wed been living in, take out a mortgage and buy something with a bit more space. We imagined that soon Harry would need his own room and that wed finally have a place where we could be alone together.

The flat was registered solely in my name, so I was the only legal owner. Because we bought it after we were married, the law says that, should we ever part, the property would be split equally between me and Jack, regardless of the deposit wed each contributed from the sale of my premarriage flat.

When we moved into our new house we never thought divorce would be on the horizon. Yet something went wrong. Perhaps we simply grew tired of each other, or perhaps life just swept us apart.

I suspect Jack has been sharing his worries with his mother. Im sure he meant wellperhaps he was looking for a seasoned womans advicebut the outcome was the opposite of what he expected.

A few days ago my motherinlaw called to say shed be stopping by for tea. I felt a flutter of anxiety; normally were the ones who visit her. Her sons parents rarely come over, always citing the inconvenience of the journey from their home in the countryside. I wondered whether she truly missed her grandson or simply wanted an excuse. I resolved to bake a cake and set the table.

She arrived while Jack was still at work. I was in the kitchen, laying out the china, when she slipped straight into the matter at hand, ignoring Harrys curiosity.

Emily, she began, I need to have a serious word with you. Ive heard you and Jack are having problems, and if you end up divorcing, youll leave my sonyour husbandwithout a roof over his head.

Her words left me momentarily speechless. I blurted out, Why would you think we should split up? And why are you meddling in how Jack and I would divide our assets? Weve talked about this for years, remembering what wed do if a divorce ever happened.

She replied, Im not happy with the way things are. These days wives are quick to take everything from their husbands, and Im determined you hand over half the house now before any real conflict erupts. I think you should transfer half of your property to my son, so he isnt left out on the street if trouble arises.

I felt my heart drop at her presumptuous tone.

Do you forget that half of our house was bought with money from the sale of my premarriage flat? And it was I who kept up the mortgage after my maternity leave, I snapped.

She countered, During a divorce the whole estate acquired during the marriage is divided 5050. Have you spoken to my son about this?

I wont involve him, I said firmly. Men shouldnt be dragged into these matters. I can decide on my own.

She raised her voice, Listen to me! I wont argue with you any longer. Jack and I can decide what to do without your interference. Thank you for your helpful advice, but I refuse to discuss this further. You can wait until your son gets home from work, but Im going for a walk now, and you should leave the house while Im out.

I went to change my top, and three minutes later the front door slammed. Jack walked in half an hour after my motherinlaw had left, looking bewildered that his mother hadnt waited for him. I tried to recount the whole exchange as calmly as possible. When the initial shock wore off, he told me he knew nothing of his mothers plans and hadnt spoken to her about it.

Jack promised he would have a serious talk with his mother and make it clear that such topics are offlimits. After she left, I found it hard to settle down. Perhaps I said too much in the heat of the moment, but I also believe that even family members need firm boundaries.

Now Im left wondering how to keep the peace while protecting our futureand our homefrom being torn apart by someone elses fears.

Emily.

The Unwanted Child — So, have you chosen a name for your little girl? — The elderly doctor smiled his professional smile at his young patient. — We haven’t decided yet, — Natalia, who was sitting by the bed, interjected. — Naming a baby is a serious matter, Dasha needs to think carefully. — I don’t want to. — To everyone’s surprise, the young mother herself spoke up. — I’m not planning on taking her home at all. I’m going to write a refusal. — What are you saying? — The woman shot up, then gave the girl a furious look and turned to the doctor. — She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Of course we’ll take the baby. — I’ll come back later. Try to get some rest, — the doctor said, clearly uninterested in witnessing a family row. As soon as the man left, Natalia turned on the girl with reproaches. — How dare you say something like that? What will people think of us? We had to move to this city as it is, trying to keep everything quiet. That baby is staying in this family. — And whose fault is that? — Dasha stared right at her. — If you’d listened to me back then, none of this would’ve happened. I’d have finished school in peace and gone off to uni. So, if you want this baby so much, you can have her. She turned to the wall, signalling the conversation was over. Natalia tried for a few more minutes to talk sense into her daughter, but then a nurse came and asked her to leave. The patient needed rest. Dasha was finally alone in the ward. She wept quietly into her pillow, praying to every god she knew for it all to end soon. A timid knock at the door forced Dasha to wipe away her tears. She exhaled deeply, then said: — Come in. Expecting a nurse or, at worst, her father, Dasha was surprised to see a complete stranger. — Can I help you? — Who could know how hard it was to keep up her mask of cool composure! — I just overheard… By complete accident! The doctors were talking in the corridor… — The woman fidgeted, clearly not sure how to voice her question. — Yes, I want to give up the baby. It’s true. Is that what you wanted to know? — I saw your mum… — She’s not my mum! — snapped Dasha, the mask cracking in a flash. — Just my stepmother who thinks the world revolves around her. My actual mum works abroad. — I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, — the woman stammered. — It’s just… I have three kids of my own, and I can’t understand… I grew up in care, and I’m worried for your little one. She’s blameless in all this! — Babies this little are adopted quickly, that’s what they told me. — Dasha shrugged. — And I can’t even force myself to hold her, let alone more than that. If Natasha hadn’t got involved back then, I wouldn’t even be here right now. — But you’re old enough to decide for yourself — you’re over fifteen, aren’t you? — It’s such a scandal! — Dasha mimicked her stepmother’s tone. — What will people say? — I don’t understand… — I’ll tell you, — Dasha gave a crooked smile. — Maybe then you’ll stop judging me. ***************************************************** Dasha’s last year at school had gone terribly. On top of her beloved Pasha being conscripted into the army, a new boy joined the class. Fresh from London, his wealthy dad had exiled him to the provinces as punishment. His reputation for chasing girls had already gotten him into trouble. Mak was flashy: expensive gifts, club nights, posh dinners. One by one, the girls fell for his act, each thinking she’d be his princess. Dasha was the only one who resisted. She was in love; she wanted no one but Pasha. Eventually, it seemed Mak had accepted she was off-limits and set his sights elsewhere. Or so she thought. How wrong she was. The trouble started at a friend’s birthday party just before Christmas. The whole class was there, including Mak, but he was clearly up to something. Halfway through the evening, Dasha left the room to take a call. When she returned, Mak was sat in her seat. She didn’t think anything of it… but soon began to feel ill… In the morning, Dasha woke groggy and confused — Mak lying beside her, grinning. — See? You put up such a fight for nothing, — he said as if nothing unusual had happened. — Consider this some compensation. I’m honestly surprised. Your Pasha’s a real mug. Getting home was a nightmare. She could hardly stand, and passersby looked at her with disgust. Too weak to fish out her keys, she rang the doorbell. She was certain her stepmother would answer. — Out all night, not answering your phone, and look at the state of you! Your dad would have a fit if he saw you! — snapped Natasha. — Get a doctor and the police, — Dasha interrupted. — I want to report it. He needs locking up. Natasha hesitated, then, piecing things together, came to her own conclusions. — Who? — Mak, who else? — Even speaking made Dasha queasy. — No one else would dare. Call them, or I’ll do it myself. — Let’s not rush things, — Natasha calculated quickly. — He’ll just get away with it. Let’s do things differently. I’ll contact his father and ask for compensation. — You’re mad! — Dasha couldn’t believe what she was hearing. — What compensation? I’ll go to the police myself! — No you won’t! — Natasha yanked Dasha to her room. She hadn’t the energy to resist. — You’ll just get blamed — everyone will gossip. I’ll handle it. With no phone and the door locked by her stepmother, escape was impossible. Her head spinning, Dasha collapsed onto her bed. A few days later, she was sent to her grandmother’s, a hundred miles away. She pretended nothing was wrong to save the old woman worry. A month on, Dasha got the worst news imaginable. That night had left its mark — she was having a baby. Natasha was ecstatic: this baby would set the family up for life! The grandfather would pay handsomely to protect his son. Keep quiet until the fifth month, was the plan. Dasha’s wishes? Ignored. At word that she might want to terminate, Natasha kicked up a huge fuss and watched her every move. The grandfather was none too happy but coughed up money, promising more to come. **************************************************** — So you see? — Dasha’s voice was bitter. — I’ve been through hell because of this baby. Pasha dumped me. My friends turned their backs. We had to move. I didn’t even get to finish school! — I’m sorry, — the woman replied quietly. — I blamed you without knowing. — Dasha, we need to talk! — Natasha barged into the room, dragging her husband. — Visitors out, this is a family matter! With a sympathetic look, the stranger left, closing the door behind her. — I won’t let you ruin my plans. Leave that baby here, and you’re not coming home. And where will you go? Your beloved gran’s gone, her flat’s gone to your uncle. You’ll be on the streets! — No — she’s coming with me. — A well-dressed woman strode into the ward. Dasha’s eyes lit up with joy. — Mum! You came! — Of course, darling. I couldn’t leave you to struggle. — Albina hugged her tight. — If only you’d told me sooner, I’d have taken you home right away. I thought it would be easier for you to finish school here. — I thought you didn’t want me, — Dasha sobbed, for all the world still a child. — Someone told me you wanted nothing to do with me. My gifts sent back unopened, you never picked up. I thought you couldn’t forgive me. Well, never mind, — she wiped Dasha’s tears. — We’ll go, and you’ll forget all this… *************************************************** Dasha left. Natasha kept the baby, still dreaming of easy money. But when the powerful grandfather learned the truth, he came and took the baby. Mak was made to accept his responsibility, though he fought it. Dasha is happy now. She’s finally living with the one person who’ll never let her down…

Another Woman’s Son — Your husband is the father of my child. With these startling words, a stranger approached Christine as she quietly enjoyed her lunch. Making herself comfortable across from her, the woman seemed to wait for any kind of reaction to her bold claim. “And how old is your little one?” Christine replied, completely unphased, as though such announcements were an everyday occurrence. “Eight,” Marina answered, pursing her lips in frustration. This was not the shock or outrage she had been expecting! No denial, no accusations, not even a hint of disdain? “Wonderful,” Christine smiled slightly and returned to her delicious cherry pie — served only at this particular café. “We’ve only been married for three years, so anything that happened before me isn’t relevant. Just one question — does Arthur know?” “No,” the woman retorted, leaning back in her chair. “But it doesn’t matter! I’m demanding child maintenance! He will pay, do you understand?” “He will, of course,” Christine agreed. “My husband adores children, and if he’d known sooner, he certainly would have wanted to be part of your son’s life. What’s his name, by the way?” “Ethan,” Marina replied automatically, then frowned. “Don’t you care that your darling husband has a child with another woman?” “As I said, anything before our marriage doesn’t concern me,” Christine’s soft smile didn’t leave her lips. “I knew perfectly well I was marrying a grown man, not some innocent lad. Naturally, he had a past, and that doesn’t bother me. What matters is that I’m the only one now.” “Fine. See you in court. You’d better get ready to fork out, because I’ll be demanding everything my son is legally entitled to.” With that, Marina left, leaving behind an overpowering scent of perfume. Christine struggled not to grimace — it was as if the woman had doused herself in half a bottle. “Go ahead, try your luck,” Christine mused philosophically, finishing the last bite of her pie. “I wonder how you’ll react when you find out Arthur’s official salary is only thirty thousand? The business is in his father’s name… Plus, he’s caring for his elderly, ill mum at the moment. You’ll barely see a penny.” Christine even felt a little sorry for the innocent boy. Maybe she should pay them a visit, see how they lived, and perhaps arrange a decent monthly sum for the child — provided Ethan really was Arthur’s son. She’d met women like this before… ********************* The DNA test was done quickly — when you have money, many things are resolved with the snap of a finger. The result was clear: Ethan was indeed Arthur’s son. In fact, Christine found the boy unnervingly quiet and withdrawn. What eight-year-old sits motionless and silent for ninety minutes while paperwork is filled out? He didn’t ask for cartoons, didn’t run about, didn’t make a sound… Nothing like other kids his age forced to wait around. It was odd. Christine was now even more certain she should visit this new “relative.” The flat was in a posh part of town, with a concierge at the entrance, two bedrooms, modern decor, everything top-notch. Christine made note of these things, unable to fathom why a woman living in such comfort could complain of being hard up. “Court’s in a week,” Marina grumbled, letting her in. “You could have waited to talk there.” “I wanted to get to know Ethan a bit better. Arthur is keen to be involved in his life — maybe take him on weekends, once he’s settled.” “As if I’d let him!” Marina bristled. “The court will decide,” Christine replied coolly. “He’s the boy’s father — it’s his right. But… I don’t see a single toy around here?” “I don’t have spare money for that nonsense,” Marina said dismissively. “Can barely afford him clothes, never mind toys.” “Seriously?” Christine glanced pointedly at Marina’s designer handbag, the expensive clothes strewn over the sofa, the premium cosmetics beside the mirror. “You’re short of cash?” “I’m still young. I want a family — that’s not your business,” Marina snapped, bristling at Christine’s tone. “And who looks after your son while you’re out at all hours?” Christine pressed, beginning to understand why Ethan seemed so quiet and detached. “He’s not a baby. Can stay by himself,” Marina muttered. “Is that all? See you in court!” “I’ll insist you’re accountable for every penny given for Ethan’s upkeep,” said Christine, fighting the urge to stay any longer. She was horrified by the woman’s attitude towards her own child. “I doubt you’ll be pleased with what the judge decides…” ********************** “…the court has ruled: Marina Lipova’s claim is granted in part. Arthur Malin is recognised as the father of Ethan Lipov. The register office is to amend the birth certificate accordingly. The claim for maintenance is denied. Arthur Malin’s counterclaim for residence is granted…” Christine smiled contentedly — she had achieved her goal. Ethan would live with them. Some might judge her for “taking a child away from his mother,” but it was the right thing to do. All of Marina’s neighbours agreed the boy was unwanted — she’d scream at him for no reason, hit him openly, heedless of witnesses. The child psychologist insisted Ethan needed to be removed for his own welfare. His teachers and former childminders said the same. Now Ethan would have his own spacious room, stacks of toys, a computer… And, most importantly, the love of parents he’d never felt before, as both Arthur and Christine were now utterly smitten with this wonderful little boy.