**Betrayal in the New Home**
Oliver and Emily married and moved into a new flat on the outskirts of Manchester. Joy overflowed as the young couple turned it into a home, filling it with warmth and dreaming of their future. But six months later, Oliver’s parents came to visit. At first, they seemed puzzled by Emily’s presence, but over dinner, after a few drinks, a storm erupted.
“What’s this girl doing here?” snapped his mother, her voice sharp as glass.
“What do you mean? I’m his wife!” Emily shot back, heat rising in her cheeks.
“His wife?” The woman laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. “Don’t make me laugh! Oliver already has a wife—and two children. Our grandchildren! And who are you? Just after his flat, eh?”
Emily turned to Oliver, but he only lowered his gaze, murmuring, “Go to your mum’s. I’ll sort this. They’ll be gone by morning.”
When Emily turned eighteen, her mother began gently pressing her about marriage. She wasn’t pushy, but concern gnawed at her—Emily spent too much time indoors with her books. The girl wasn’t a recluse; at school and uni, she’d been lively, but she brushed off every boy who showed interest. Stories in novels fascinated her more than dates ever could. Her mother feared she’d end up alone.
After graduating, Emily became a project manager, but her routine barely changed: home, work, home. So her parents decided it was time she lived independently. Years ago, they’d bought her a three-bed flat in an older building, renting it out until now. With the place freshly renovated, they handed her the keys—effectively nudging her out.
Emily felt betrayed. How could they just toss her out? But life demanded she adapt. She hated cleaning the spacious flat and grocery runs until Oliver came along. He took over the chores, and that won her heart.
When she introduced him to her parents, her mother frowned. She’d wanted a husband for her daughter with a degree and his own property. Oliver, a mechanic, rented a small room nearby. Her father only said, “We’ll see.”
But Oliver loved her, and that was enough. Their wedding was quiet, just her parents in attendance. His family, from a distant village, didn’t come, and though they planned to visit, life kept delaying it.
A year later, they started thinking about children. Oliver suggested selling the old walk-up flat and buying a new one in a modern estate, even if it was further out.
“How will we manage a pram on the fifth floor?” he reasoned.
Emily agreed, though her mother objected. On signing day, Oliver landed in hospital with appendicitis. Emily handled the paperwork alone, bringing her mother along—still leaning on someone to decide for her.
When Oliver came home, it was to their new flat. They decorated with excitement, hanging curtains, arranging furniture. Life felt like a dream—until his parents arrived.
Over dinner, his mother unleashed her venom. Emily sat stunned, barely breathing. Oliver said nothing, just told her to leave. She packed a bag and went to her mum’s, heart shattered by humiliation.
The next day, she returned. His parents were gone; the flat gleamed.
“What was your mum talking about?” Emily asked, voice trembling.
“Had a woman before, two kids. But I’m with you now,” Oliver said carelessly.
“You lied to me! That’s betrayal!” Emily screamed. “I can’t stay with a liar!”
“Can’t? Then go. The flat stays with me. Sue me, and I’ll pay your share—bit by bit, forever,” he sneered.
“No, *you’re* leaving,” Emily said icily. “Good thing Mum made sure the flat’s in my name. She sensed this.”
Alone in the spacious flat, Emily spent evenings with books again, but they brought no comfort. Her heart ached. She’d loved him, trusted him—and he’d hidden another family.
Her mother visited, soothing her. “Love, I told you he wasn’t right. But you’re not alone—I’m here.”
Emily nodded, but emptiness lingered. She didn’t file for divorce—let *him* deal with it. The flat her parents bought was her fortress now, yet also a reminder of broken dreams. Oliver called, begging forgiveness. She never answered.
Some nights, lost in a novel, Emily imagined how things might’ve been without his lies. But reality was harsh: alone again, just her books and a heart in pieces.
