“Dad, I Just Want to Go Home”: How I Was Kicked Out of My Own Flat Over a Bedroom
A story to wrench your heart—a daughter’s betrayal and the lifeline that arrived when hope was nearly lost.
Victor Andrews stood on the balcony of his crumbling London terrace, fumbling with a cigarette. His hands shook; his heart pounded like a drum. Who’d have thought that at 72, he’d be treated like a burden? Not long ago, he’d had a home, a family, a wife he adored…
“Dad, what’s this now?” burst in his only daughter, Emily. “We’re just asking for your room! Jack and Liam are practically teenagers, and they’re still sleeping on pull-out beds. It’s not fair!”
“Em, love…” Victor murmured. “Why should I spend my last years in some care home? If you’re short on space, rent somewhere or move in with your in-laws. I’m not some piece of furniture to shuffle off.”
“Cheers, Dad. That’s grand,” Emily huffed, slamming the door behind her, leaving nothing but a cloud of perfume and resentment.
Victor slumped into his armchair, stroking his old dog, Lucky, when suddenly—hot, unexpected tears. He hadn’t cried in years, but today? Today broke him. Five years since Margaret passed. Forty years married, side by side. He never dreamed their Emily—their bright, beloved Emily—would turn out like this.
They’d raised her with love, given her everything. And what grew up? A woman colder than a British winter.
“Grandad, don’t you love us?” Eight-year-old Jack burst in, wide-eyed. “Mum says you’re being selfish! Won’t even give us your room!”
“Who told you that, lad?” Victor’s voice cracked.
The truth hit him: Emily had turned his grandkids against him. He sighed, defeated.
“Fine. The room’s yours.”
Emily practically skipped in, beaming. “Dad, really? Brilliant! I’ve sorted this lovely retirement place—proper care, cosy, and they’ll even take Lucky! Honest!”
Two days later, Victor found himself in a grim care home on the outskirts of Essex. Damp walls, peeling paint, and a chorus of weary sighs from forgotten souls. No “care.” No “cosy.” Just a dumping ground.
“New here?” His bunkmate, Evelyn, eyed him. “Kids turf you out too?”
“Aye. Daughter. Needed my room.”
“Never had kids. Left my flat to my nephew… and he packed me off here. Could’ve been worse—could’ve been the streets.”
They talked, reminiscing, missing the families that didn’t miss them. Soon, Evelyn was the only light in Victor’s life. They’d walk the dreary garden, clinging to each other like teenagers sneaking a first romance.
Emily never visited. Wouldn’t even pick up the phone. All Victor wanted was to know—was Lucky alright? Alive?
Then, one day, a miracle: his old neighbour, George.
“Victor Andrews?! Emily said you’d moved to the countryside! Took Lucky with you, I bet?”
“…What?” Victor’s voice trembled. “What about the dog?”
“She chucked him out. I took him in, found him a proper home. Sweet old boy. But her? Renting out your place, living with her in-laws. What’s got into her, Victor?”
Victor buried his face in his hands, whispering, “Son… I just want to go home.”
“You’re not alone. I’m a solicitor. We’ll fix this. Tell me—did you sign anything?”
“No. But she’s got connections… might’ve forged—”
“Then pack your things. We’re sorting this.”
Before leaving, Victor peeked into Evelyn’s room.
“Ev, don’t cry. I’ll come back for you. Promise.”
“Oh, what’d you want with an old biddy like me…”
“Don’t be daft. I need you.”
Back at the flat, the locks were changed. George got to work. Turned out Emily had rented it out, betting Victor would fade away quietly. But her paperwork was dodgy. The court ruled in his favour—the law was on his side.
“Thank you, son… But I’m scared. What’ll she try next?”
“Sell the flat, give her a cut. Buy a cottage. Quiet. Safe. No one’ll bother you again.”
Months later, Victor and Lucky settled into a little house with a garden. Soon, Evelyn joined them. They planted roses, got chickens, and spent evenings hand in hand.
Life can be cruel, sure. But kindness? It always finds a way. Even on the darkest nights.
