Husband Refuses to Give Inherited Flat to Our Daughter – Is It Fair to Split It Equally, Give It to Our Eldest, or Is There a Better Solution?

Author Mitsuko NagasakiReading 3 minViews 3

My husband inherited a flat from his aunt. Its a small place right in the centre of town. We have three children together. Our eldest daughter, Emily, is nineteen now and currently at university. Our oldest son, Oliver, is twelve, and our youngest, Harry, is just five. We live in a spacious three-bedroom flat where everyone has plenty of room.

Recently, my husband and I had a quarrel over what to do with his inherited flat. I suggested that Emily should move in, since shes grown up and may soon want more independence, especially if she gets married in the next few years. However, my husband feels its terribly unfair to our boys. His idea is to sell the flat and split the money equally amongst the children. Personally, I think thats quite foolishour kids wouldnt be able to buy anything significant with their share, given how expensive everything is these days.

Even if we follow my husbands suggestion, the money would just sit in their accounts until the boys turn eighteen. Meanwhile, Emily might be able to buy herself an inexpensive car with her share, but hardly a home. I believe that a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, and at least by giving the flat to one child, we secure a roof over one headand when the boys are older, perhaps well find a solution for their housing too.

My husband insists that if we give Emily the flat, it will cause resentment and ruin the relationship she has with her brothers, and theyll never live at peace with one another. But I think our children will adapt; after all, the boys dont truly grasp the situation yet, and we have time to plan for their futures as well.

We havent shared any of these thoughts with Emily yet, because first we want to decide together. The flat from my husbands aunt also needs a lot of workits not fit for anyone to live in at the moment, and we dont have the funds right now for a full refurbishment.

Looking at all this, I find myself wondering which of us is rightshould I keep arguing for Emily, or would it be wiser to side with my husband? Or perhaps theres another solution that neither of us is seeing. Life tends to present us with choices that arent just about fairness, but about compassion and practicality too. In the end, the lesson is this: sometimes, the best answers come when we look beyond our own opinions and think togetherseeing the needs of all our children, not just today, but for years to come.

You Just Don’t Realise What True Happiness Is — Half a million? — Karina reread the notification on her phone three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? Dmitry was sitting on the sofa, glued to his smartphone, not even looking up. — Oh, that… Yeah, just a small thing. For Mum’s renovations. You know her plumbing’s a disaster, parquet’s warped, wallpaper peeling… — Wait. — Karina sank onto the edge of the armchair, her legs refusing to hold her. — You got a loan. For half a million. And gave it all to your mum. Without saying a word to me? Finally, Dmitry tore himself away from the screen. His face was sincerely perplexed, as if his wife was asking something completely obvious. — Karina, it’s Mum. She lives on her own, tiny pension. Who else would help her? — And talking to me about it? — Karina started shouting, unable to stop. — Asking my opinion? At least telling me? — You would’ve argued, — Dmitry shrugged. — And Mum needed it urgently. Four years. Four years she’d tolerated this woman who called every evening to ask what Dima ate for dinner. Who arrived unannounced and criticised the cleanliness of their flat. Who, at every family dinner, seated the guests so Karina ended up at the furthest corner of the table. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — Dmitry continued, calm as ever. — We’ll manage. We’ll pay it off, it’s not that much. It’s family. The tears came hot and angry. Karina wiped them away with the back of her hand, mascara smudging across her cheeks. — Family? Am I family? Or am I just an add-on? Remember when your mum decided it was time to change our car and you sold ours without asking? When she threw my things out of the spare room because she ‘couldn’t sleep among someone else’s rubbish’? When, on my birthday, you two went off to buy her a new fridge? — All minor stuff, — Dmitry dismissed. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karina looked at this man — tall, soft features, dimples she’d once found adorable. Now she saw a thirty-year-old child who couldn’t cut the apron strings. — We’ll manage, — he repeated, like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karina stood up silently and walked to the bedroom. The two big holdalls — the ones she’d arrived with when she moved in — lay on the top shelf. She pulled them down, flung them on the bed, and started opening cupboards. Dmitry appeared in the doorway twenty minutes later, just as one bag was completely full. — What are you doing? Karina, this is stupid. You can’t be serious? She didn’t answer. Folded jumpers, jeans, underwear with care. Took down the jewellery box — gifts from her parents and friends, nothing from him. — Where will you go? To your mother? She’s in Manchester! She zipped up the second bag. Checked her handbag — passport, card, keys to her mum’s flat, just in case. — Karina, say something! You can’t just leave me. I love you! She gave him a long look. Then picked up her bags and left the flat. …The next morning, Karina stood in line at the registry office holding her completed divorce papers. It was drizzling outside, grey clouds hung low, but inside she felt calm. The decision was made. The first call came at half past two in the morning. Karina sprang up on her friend Lena’s sofa, confused about her surroundings. — We need to talk, — Dmitry panted, his words jumbled. — I understand now, I’ll change. Give me a chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karina, I can’t live without you. You’re the meaning of my life. By morning there were forty-three messages. Each one lengthy, tearful confessions, promises, threats. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what I’ll do.” “Mum says you’re just being difficult.” “I’ll always wait for you.” A week later, he started turning up at her office. Karina went out for lunch — there he was, by the sandwich stall. Walking to the tube after work — he was standing across the road. — Just passing by — Dmitry smiled, when Karina demanded an explanation. — Just wanted to see you. One evening, there was a knock at Lena’s flat. Karina opened the door expecting a pizza delivery. Dmitry stood on the doorstep with a bouquet of red roses. — One chance, — he whispered. — Nothing more. Karina silently closed the door. He stood outside for two hours until the neighbours threatened to call the police. She learned to live with it — like living with chronic pain. Not reading his messages, never answering unknown numbers, never glancing round in the street. She got a remote job, moved to a suburb where Dmitry could never just ‘happen by’. The divorce was finalised in three months. Karina left the court clutching the official papers, crying on the steps — not from grief, but relief. Those first months of freedom were terrifyingly empty. Karina was used to checking every decision, even when someone else always made the final call. Now she could buy any yogurt she pleased, without wondering if Elena Victoria would approve. She could watch any film, no one to say, “No respectable woman watches that.” She could breathe. Signed up for English classes — a long-held dream Dmitry considered “a waste”. Started yoga at sunrise, when the city’s just waking up. Took a weekend trip to Cambridge alone, wandered the streets and ate scones. After six months, the calls stopped. The messages too. Karina waited for trouble another month, then another, before letting herself relax. She joined a marketing agency — lively office, young team, vibrant projects. Life was beginning. …She met Andrew at a company party, dragged there by her workmate, Mary. — This is our lead programmer — Mary introduced the tall man in glasses. — Andrew, meet Karina from Marketing. He shook her hand — firm but gentle. Smiled — simply, no attempt to impress. — You hid from karaoke too? — he nodded at the stage where the finance director mangled “Don’t Stop Believin’.” — I’m saving my nerves, — Karina smiled. They talked all night — about books, travel, life’s strangeness. Andrew listened more than he spoke. Asked questions, waited for answers, never interrupted. Never told her how to live. When he learned she was divorced, he just nodded and changed the subject. …Six months later, they moved in together, choosing a bright, small flat in the city centre, high ceilings, view of a quiet courtyard. — Are you sure you like the flat? — Karina asked as they inspected it for the lease. — Should we see more? — Do you like it? — Andrew turned to her. — Yes. Very much. — Then let’s take it. Little things — being able to have an opinion that mattered — were worth more than any grand declarations of love. He proposed on the rooftop as the sun set, painting the sky gold and rose. Produced a small box, opened it — inside, a diamond ring sparkled. — I’m no good at speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you can put up with my snoring and my rubbish coffee. Karina laughed through her tears and nodded… …That May night started off ordinary. Andrew was stuck at work — urgent deadline, code bug. Karina was making pasta, humming to the radio, when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent, demanding. She looked through the peephole — and recoiled. Dmitry stood in the hallway. Pale, dark circles, crumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence — and now he was here. — Karina, open up! — he hammered at the door. — I know you’re in there! We need to talk! She grabbed her phone, dialled Andrew. Engaged. — We love each other! — Dmitry shouted through the door. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shuddered — he threw his weight against it. Karina braced her back to the wood, feet on the floor. — Go away! — she yelled. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice hit a shriek. — You were mine, you’ll always be mine! Two years I’ve waited for you to see sense! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — Nothing’s over! — another shove, she barely held the door. — I’ve changed! Mum says you just don’t realise your own happiness! Open the door, let’s talk! She watched his distorted, obsessed face through the peephole — not the man she’d once shared a bed with. Karina picked up her phone and dialled 999. — Dima! One press and the police will be here. Leave. Now. Dmitry froze. Silent for a few seconds. Then turned sharply and stomped down the stairs. The building door crashed below. Karina slid to the floor, ears ringing. Only half an hour later could she call Andrew. She filed a police report the next day. The officer — grey-haired, moustached — took her statement, listened, nodded. — We’ll sort it. Have a word. Whatever he said to Dmitry, Karina never knew. But after that, her ex-husband vanished. No calls, no texts, no accidental meetings. …They married in June, a small countryside restaurant — twenty guests, just close friends. No fuss, no groom’s family demanding traditions. Karina stood opposite Andrew in a simple white dress, her hands in his. Birch trees rustled outside, the country air thick with flowers and fresh-cut grass. — Do you… — the celebrant began. — I do, — Karina interrupted, and the guests laughed. Andrew slipped a slim gold ring onto her finger. Inside, three words engraved: “Forever with you.” Karina looked up at the man who would be her husband. Not a mummy’s boy, not an obsessed stalker. Just a man who knew how to listen, respect, and love. Ahead was a life where her voice finally mattered…

03

You’re Just Jealous “Mum, are you serious right now? The Savoy Grill? You know that’s at least a hundred quid per person for dinner.” James tossed his house keys onto the console with such force that they clattered against the wall. Anna glanced up from the stove, where she was stirring a thick sauce, and immediately noticed the pallor of her husband’s clenched knuckles gripping his phone. He listened to his mother for a few more minutes, then swore under his breath and abruptly hung up. “What’s happened?” Anna asked gently. Instead of replying, James collapsed heavily at the kitchen table, staring gloomily at his plate of potatoes. Anna turned off the burner, dried her hands on a tea towel, and sat across from him. “James…” “She’s lost the plot, Anna. Absolutely lost it now. Gone completely bonkers in her old age.” He looked up, and Anna’s heart tightened at the simultaneous anger and helplessness in his eyes. “Remember I told you about that bloke—Leonard—from the ballroom class?” Anna nodded. His mother had vaguely mentioned a new friend a month ago—some charming fellow from the local community centre who waltzed her around the dance floor and made her blush like a schoolgirl. It had seemed sweet: a 58-year-old widow, five years alone, finally meeting a kind gentleman at dance class. “Well.” James pushed his plate away. “She’s taken him to the Savoy. Three times in two weeks. Bought him a suit—four hundred quid. Last weekend, they spent two nights in Bath. Guess who paid for the boutique hotel and Roman Baths tour?” “Your mum.” “Bingo.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “She’s spent her savings—the stuff she’s put aside for emergencies, for the extension, all of it—on some man she’s known a month and a half. It’s a shambles.” Anna paused, choosing her words carefully. She knew her mother-in-law as open-hearted, dreamy, trusting—a hopeless romantic even after five decades of life. “James, listen…” She took his hand gently. “She’s a grown woman. It’s her money. Her choice. Let her be. She won’t hear you right now anyway.” “She’s making mistake after mistake!” “Yes. But it’s her right to make them. And honestly, love, you’re winding yourself up.” He shrugged but didn’t pull away. “I just hate watching her—” “I know. But you can’t live her life for her.” Anna squeezed his wrist. “She has to make her own mistakes. Even if we don’t like it. She’s not lost her wits.” He nodded moodily. *** Two months slipped by. Talk of Leonard faded—James’s mother called less often, was vague on the details, as though hiding something. Anna assumed the romance had fizzled out and stopped worrying. But then, on a Sunday evening, the doorbell rang and there was his mum, flushed with excitement. “Darlings! Oh, darlings!” She swept through the doorway, trailing her sweet perfume. “He proposed! Look! Look!” A modest ring sparkled on her finger, tiny gemstone and all. Cheap, but she gazed at it like it was a Cartier diamond. “We’re getting married! Next month! He’s just… Oh, I never thought, at my age…” She laughed, giddy and girlish. “To feel this again!” James hugged her, and Anna saw his shoulders finally relax. Maybe things weren’t as bad as they’d thought. Perhaps Leonard truly loved her after all. “Congratulations, Mum.” James smiled, stepping back. “Oh—and I’ve signed the flat over to him! Now we’re a proper family!” his mother beamed. Time seemed to freeze. Anna inhaled sharply. James recoiled, as though struck. “What did you say?” “The flat, dear!” She waved her hand as though it was nothing. “To show him I trust him, of course. That’s what love is, isn’t it? Trust.” Silence so heavy, Anna could hear the clock ticking. “Mrs. Walker,” Anna said at last, steady and slow, “You’ve handed your flat over to a man you’ve known three months? Before the wedding?” “And so what?” She sniffed, chin high. “I trust him. He’s not what you think. I know you think badly of him. You all do!” “We don’t—” Anna tried, but— “No! You don’t understand! This is proof of my love,” she folded her arms, “What do you two know about real feelings? About trust?” James finally unclenched his jaw. “Mum—” “NO!” She stamped her foot, suddenly more adolescent than grown woman. “I don’t want to hear another word! You’re just jealous! Jealous of my happiness! Want to ruin everything!” She stormed out, banging the door so hard the windows shivered. *** The wedding was low-key—local registry, a second-hand dress, a clutch of supermarket roses. But his mum glowed as if she were getting married at Westminster Abbey. Leonard—heavyset, balding, with an oily grin—played the perfect gent, hand-kissing, chair-pulling, pouring bubbly. The ideal groom. Anna watched him over the rim of her glass. Something didn’t fit. His eyes. Cold, calculating, even when he looked at her. Practised tenderness. Rehearsed concern. She said nothing. What was the point? *** For the first few months, his mum called weekly—bubbling over with happiness, listing restaurants and shows Leonard treated her to. “He’s so thoughtful! Brought me roses, just because!” James listened, nodded, hung up. He’d sit, silent, for a long time afterwards. Anna waited. A year whisked by. And then—the doorbell. Anna opened it and barely recognised the woman standing there. Ten years older in just one, deep lines, hollow eyes, stooped shoulders, clutching a battered suitcase, the very one she’d once taken on a weekend to Bath. “He threw me out.” His mum’s voice was barely a whisper. “Filed for divorce. Kicked me out. The flat… it’s his now. By law.” Anna wordlessly stepped aside to let her in. The kettle boiled quickly. His mum sat in the armchair, clutching her tea, crying quietly, hopelessly. “I loved him so much. Gave him everything. And he just…” Anna comforted her in silence, rubbing her back, waiting for the tears to wear out. James came home an hour later. He froze in the doorway at the sight of his mother. “Son…” She stood, reaching for him. “I’ve got nowhere to go. You’ll let me stay? I just need a room. Children ought to look after their parents, it’s—” “Stop.” James raised his hand. “Stop, Mum.” “I’ve got no money. It’s all gone. Every penny. My pension’s tiny, you know that.” “I warned you.” “What?” “I warned you.” James sank to the sofa, as though crushed under a heavy weight. “I said: Don’t rush. I said: Get to know him. I said: Don’t sign the flat over. Do you remember what you said to me?” His mum lowered her gaze. “That we didn’t understand real love. That we were jealous of your happiness. I remember, Mum. I remember it all!” “James—” Anna tried, but he shook his head. “No. Let her hear this.” He faced his mum. “You’re an adult. You made your choices. Ignored everyone who tried to help. Now you want us to clean up the mess?” “But I’m your mother!” “That’s why I’m angry!” He shot up, voice breaking. “I’m tired! Tired of watching you throw your life away and expecting me to bail you out every time!” His mum shrank, defeated. “He tricked me, son. I really loved him, I swear…” “So much you gave your home away to a stranger. Brilliant, Mum. Brilliant. Did you forget Dad bought that flat with his own hands?” “I’m sorry…” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I know I was blind. But please…please, just give me one more chance. I’ll never—” “Grown-ups live with the consequences of their choices.” James spoke quietly, wearily. “You wanted independence—now you have it. You’ll have to sort yourself out. Find somewhere to stay. Find a job.” His mum left, sobbing on the landing. Anna spent the night by James’s side, holding his hand in silence. He didn’t cry—just stared at the ceiling, sighing now and then. “Did I do the right thing?” he asked near dawn, when the sky paled. “Yes.” Anna stroked his cheek. “Harsh. Painful. But right.” In the morning, James called his mum. He rented her a bedsit on the outskirts, paid six months up front. It was the last help he gave. “From now on, it’s on you, Mum. We’ll help with legal stuff if you want to fight it, but that’s it.” Anna listened in quiet reflection. Sometimes the harshest lesson is the only lesson that works. His mother had finally been forced to learn the cost of blind faith. And somehow, that realisation brought a sense of both sadness and calm. She couldn’t help feeling, though, that this wasn’t the end—and that, somehow, one day things would be alright. Just maybe, they would.

04

You Just Don’t Realise What True Happiness Is — Half a million? — Karina reread the notification on her phone three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? Dmitry was sitting on the sofa, glued to his smartphone, not even looking up. — Oh, that… Yeah, just a small thing. For Mum’s renovations. You know her plumbing’s a disaster, parquet’s warped, wallpaper peeling… — Wait. — Karina sank onto the edge of the armchair, her legs refusing to hold her. — You got a loan. For half a million. And gave it all to your mum. Without saying a word to me? Finally, Dmitry tore himself away from the screen. His face was sincerely perplexed, as if his wife was asking something completely obvious. — Karina, it’s Mum. She lives on her own, tiny pension. Who else would help her? — And talking to me about it? — Karina started shouting, unable to stop. — Asking my opinion? At least telling me? — You would’ve argued, — Dmitry shrugged. — And Mum needed it urgently. Four years. Four years she’d tolerated this woman who called every evening to ask what Dima ate for dinner. Who arrived unannounced and criticised the cleanliness of their flat. Who, at every family dinner, seated the guests so Karina ended up at the furthest corner of the table. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — Dmitry continued, calm as ever. — We’ll manage. We’ll pay it off, it’s not that much. It’s family. The tears came hot and angry. Karina wiped them away with the back of her hand, mascara smudging across her cheeks. — Family? Am I family? Or am I just an add-on? Remember when your mum decided it was time to change our car and you sold ours without asking? When she threw my things out of the spare room because she ‘couldn’t sleep among someone else’s rubbish’? When, on my birthday, you two went off to buy her a new fridge? — All minor stuff, — Dmitry dismissed. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karina looked at this man — tall, soft features, dimples she’d once found adorable. Now she saw a thirty-year-old child who couldn’t cut the apron strings. — We’ll manage, — he repeated, like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karina stood up silently and walked to the bedroom. The two big holdalls — the ones she’d arrived with when she moved in — lay on the top shelf. She pulled them down, flung them on the bed, and started opening cupboards. Dmitry appeared in the doorway twenty minutes later, just as one bag was completely full. — What are you doing? Karina, this is stupid. You can’t be serious? She didn’t answer. Folded jumpers, jeans, underwear with care. Took down the jewellery box — gifts from her parents and friends, nothing from him. — Where will you go? To your mother? She’s in Manchester! She zipped up the second bag. Checked her handbag — passport, card, keys to her mum’s flat, just in case. — Karina, say something! You can’t just leave me. I love you! She gave him a long look. Then picked up her bags and left the flat. …The next morning, Karina stood in line at the registry office holding her completed divorce papers. It was drizzling outside, grey clouds hung low, but inside she felt calm. The decision was made. The first call came at half past two in the morning. Karina sprang up on her friend Lena’s sofa, confused about her surroundings. — We need to talk, — Dmitry panted, his words jumbled. — I understand now, I’ll change. Give me a chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karina, I can’t live without you. You’re the meaning of my life. By morning there were forty-three messages. Each one lengthy, tearful confessions, promises, threats. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what I’ll do.” “Mum says you’re just being difficult.” “I’ll always wait for you.” A week later, he started turning up at her office. Karina went out for lunch — there he was, by the sandwich stall. Walking to the tube after work — he was standing across the road. — Just passing by — Dmitry smiled, when Karina demanded an explanation. — Just wanted to see you. One evening, there was a knock at Lena’s flat. Karina opened the door expecting a pizza delivery. Dmitry stood on the doorstep with a bouquet of red roses. — One chance, — he whispered. — Nothing more. Karina silently closed the door. He stood outside for two hours until the neighbours threatened to call the police. She learned to live with it — like living with chronic pain. Not reading his messages, never answering unknown numbers, never glancing round in the street. She got a remote job, moved to a suburb where Dmitry could never just ‘happen by’. The divorce was finalised in three months. Karina left the court clutching the official papers, crying on the steps — not from grief, but relief. Those first months of freedom were terrifyingly empty. Karina was used to checking every decision, even when someone else always made the final call. Now she could buy any yogurt she pleased, without wondering if Elena Victoria would approve. She could watch any film, no one to say, “No respectable woman watches that.” She could breathe. Signed up for English classes — a long-held dream Dmitry considered “a waste”. Started yoga at sunrise, when the city’s just waking up. Took a weekend trip to Cambridge alone, wandered the streets and ate scones. After six months, the calls stopped. The messages too. Karina waited for trouble another month, then another, before letting herself relax. She joined a marketing agency — lively office, young team, vibrant projects. Life was beginning. …She met Andrew at a company party, dragged there by her workmate, Mary. — This is our lead programmer — Mary introduced the tall man in glasses. — Andrew, meet Karina from Marketing. He shook her hand — firm but gentle. Smiled — simply, no attempt to impress. — You hid from karaoke too? — he nodded at the stage where the finance director mangled “Don’t Stop Believin’.” — I’m saving my nerves, — Karina smiled. They talked all night — about books, travel, life’s strangeness. Andrew listened more than he spoke. Asked questions, waited for answers, never interrupted. Never told her how to live. When he learned she was divorced, he just nodded and changed the subject. …Six months later, they moved in together, choosing a bright, small flat in the city centre, high ceilings, view of a quiet courtyard. — Are you sure you like the flat? — Karina asked as they inspected it for the lease. — Should we see more? — Do you like it? — Andrew turned to her. — Yes. Very much. — Then let’s take it. Little things — being able to have an opinion that mattered — were worth more than any grand declarations of love. He proposed on the rooftop as the sun set, painting the sky gold and rose. Produced a small box, opened it — inside, a diamond ring sparkled. — I’m no good at speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you can put up with my snoring and my rubbish coffee. Karina laughed through her tears and nodded… …That May night started off ordinary. Andrew was stuck at work — urgent deadline, code bug. Karina was making pasta, humming to the radio, when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent, demanding. She looked through the peephole — and recoiled. Dmitry stood in the hallway. Pale, dark circles, crumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence — and now he was here. — Karina, open up! — he hammered at the door. — I know you’re in there! We need to talk! She grabbed her phone, dialled Andrew. Engaged. — We love each other! — Dmitry shouted through the door. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shuddered — he threw his weight against it. Karina braced her back to the wood, feet on the floor. — Go away! — she yelled. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice hit a shriek. — You were mine, you’ll always be mine! Two years I’ve waited for you to see sense! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — Nothing’s over! — another shove, she barely held the door. — I’ve changed! Mum says you just don’t realise your own happiness! Open the door, let’s talk! She watched his distorted, obsessed face through the peephole — not the man she’d once shared a bed with. Karina picked up her phone and dialled 999. — Dima! One press and the police will be here. Leave. Now. Dmitry froze. Silent for a few seconds. Then turned sharply and stomped down the stairs. The building door crashed below. Karina slid to the floor, ears ringing. Only half an hour later could she call Andrew. She filed a police report the next day. The officer — grey-haired, moustached — took her statement, listened, nodded. — We’ll sort it. Have a word. Whatever he said to Dmitry, Karina never knew. But after that, her ex-husband vanished. No calls, no texts, no accidental meetings. …They married in June, a small countryside restaurant — twenty guests, just close friends. No fuss, no groom’s family demanding traditions. Karina stood opposite Andrew in a simple white dress, her hands in his. Birch trees rustled outside, the country air thick with flowers and fresh-cut grass. — Do you… — the celebrant began. — I do, — Karina interrupted, and the guests laughed. Andrew slipped a slim gold ring onto her finger. Inside, three words engraved: “Forever with you.” Karina looked up at the man who would be her husband. Not a mummy’s boy, not an obsessed stalker. Just a man who knew how to listen, respect, and love. Ahead was a life where her voice finally mattered…

05

You Just Don’t Know How Lucky You Are — Half a million? — Karina read the notification on her phone three times before the numbers made sense. — You took out a loan for half a million pounds? Dimitri sat on the sofa, glued to his smartphone, not even glancing up. — Oh, that… Yes, just a small thing, for Mum’s house renovations. You know, her pipes are leaking, the flooring’s ruined, the wallpaper’s going mildewy… — Hold on. — Karina sank into the nearest armchair, her legs too weak to stand. — You took out a loan. For half a million. And gave it all to your mother? Without saying a word to me? Dimitri finally looked up, baffled, as if his wife was asking about something perfectly normal. — Karina, it’s my mum. She lives alone, her pension’s tiny. Who else would help her? — What about discussing it with me? — Karina was shouting now, unable to stop. — Asking my opinion? At least warning me? — You’d have started arguing, — Dimitri shrugged. — And Mum needed the money urgently. Four years. Four years she’d put up with that woman who called every evening to check what Dima had eaten for dinner. Who turned up without warning and commented on the state of the flat. Who always sat Karina at the far end of the table during family meals. — Don’t make a mountain out of a molehill, — Dimitri said in his usual calm tone. — We’ll manage. We can pay it off quickly, it’s no big deal. It’s family. Hot, angry tears burst forth. Karina wiped them away, smearing mascara across her cheeks. — Family? Am I “family”? Or just an accessory? Remember when your mum decided it was time we switched cars and you sold ours without asking? When she threw my things out of the spare room because she “couldn’t sleep surrounded by someone else’s junk”? When on my birthday, you and she went fridge shopping for her? — All details, — Dimitri waved off. — You’re just tired, you need a break. Karina looked at the man she married—tall, soft-featured, those dimples she once found charming. Now, all she saw was a thirty-something child, unable to cut the apron strings. — We’ll get through it, — he repeated like a mantra. — Love conquers all. Karina stood up and walked to the bedroom. Two large duffle bags sat on the top shelf—the ones she’d brought when she first moved in. She hauled them down, opened the wardrobe and started packing. Twenty minutes later, Dimitri appeared, just as the first bag was stuffed full. — What are you doing? Karina, don’t be ridiculous. You’re not serious, are you? She didn’t answer. Folded jumpers, jeans, underwear. Reached for her jewellery box—gifts from parents and friends, nothing from him. — Where will you go? Back to your mum? She’s in Manchester! She zipped the second bag. Checked her handbag—passport, card, keys to her mum’s flat, kept just in case. — Karina, say something! You can’t just leave. I love you! She gave him a long look. Then picked up her bags and walked out. …Next morning, Karina stood at the register office holding the divorce application, feeling a strange calm inside, despite the grey drizzle outside. The decision was made. The first call came at 2.30am. Karina, startled on Lena’s sofa, confused about where she was. — We need to talk, — Dimitri was ragged, incoherent. — I understand now, I’ll change. Give me another chance. She hung up. Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. — Karina, I can’t live without you. You are my reason to go on. By morning, forty-three messages had arrived—tearful confessions, promises, threats. “If you don’t come back, I don’t know what I’ll do.” “Mum says you’re just being difficult.” “I’ll wait for you forever.” A week later, he began showing up at her work. Karina went for lunch and found him by the sandwich shop. Headed for the Tube, spotted him across the street. — Just passing by, — he’d smile when she demanded an explanation. — Wanted to see you. One evening, the doorbell rang at Lena’s flat. Expecting the pizza delivery, Karina opened the door. Dimitri stood there—bouquet of red roses. — Just one chance, — he whispered. — That’s all I’m asking. Karina shut the door. He stood outside for two hours before neighbours threatened to call the police. Eventually, she learned to live with it—as one does with chronic pain. Ignoring messages, screening calls from unknown numbers, not looking over her shoulder. She switched jobs for remote work, moved to a sleepy suburb where Dimitri was unlikely to show up. The divorce was finalised three months later. Karina walked out of court, paper in hand, tears streaming—not of grief, but relief. At first, freedom was terrifyingly empty. She’d always checked her choices with someone, even if that someone always decided anyway. Now, she could buy any yoghurt in the shop, without worrying if Elena Victoria approved. Watch any film she liked, without being told “proper women don’t watch that”. She could breathe. She signed up for English lessons—a long-held dream, which Dimitri dismissed as “a waste of money”. Started attending sunrise yoga. Took a solo weekend trip to Cornwall, wandering the streets and eating clotted cream fudge. After six months, the calls and messages stopped. Karina waited another month, then realised she could finally relax. Landed a job at a marketing agency—bright office, young team, exciting projects. Life was looking up. …She met Andrew at a work do her colleague, Mary, convinced her to attend. — This is our lead programmer, — Mary introduced her to a tall man in wire-rimmed glasses. — Andrew, meet Karina from marketing. He shook her hand—firm but gentle. Smiled, simple and sincere. — You ducked out of karaoke too? — he nodded at the stage, where finance was butchering “Wonderwall”. — Got to preserve my nerves, — Karina grinned. They talked all evening—books, travel, life’s quirks. Andrew listened more than he spoke. He asked questions and waited for the answers—never lectured or explained how she should live. When he discovered she was divorced, he simply nodded and changed the subject. …Six months later, they moved in together, picking a cosy, light-filled flat in a quiet London square. — Are you sure you like this one? — Karina checked, viewing the place. — Do you? — Andrew replied. — I love it. — Then it’s settled. Those small things—the right to her own opinion, respected—mattered far more than grand declarations of love. He proposed on the building’s rooftop at sunset, the sky awash in gold and pink. Produced a tiny box—inside, a diamond ring. — I’m rubbish at speeches, — Andrew admitted. — But I want to wake up next to you every day. If you’re willing to put up with my snoring and my love of bad coffee. Karina laughed through tears and nodded… …One May evening, as usual, Andrew stayed late at work—deadline panic, a final bug in the code. Karina was making pasta, humming with the radio, when the doorbell rang. Sharp, insistent, demanding. She looked through the peephole—and recoiled. Dimitri stood on the landing. Pale, hollow-eyed, rumpled shirt. Two years. Two years of silence—and now, he was here. — Karina, open up! — his fist pounding the door. — I know you’re in there! We need to talk! Karina grabbed her phone and dialled Andrew. Engaged. — We still love each other! — Dimitri shouted from outside. — You can’t be with someone else! It’s wrong! The door shook—he threw his whole weight against it, trying to break in. Karina pressed her back to the door, bracing hard. — Go away! — she screamed. — I’ll call the police! — You’re my wife! — his voice cracked. — You were mine, you’ll stay mine! Two years I waited for you to come to your senses! Two years! — We’re divorced! It’s over! — It’s not over! — he shoved the door again. — I’ve changed! Mum says you don’t appreciate your own happiness! Open up, let’s talk! Through the peephole, his face twisted—obsessed, unrecognisable. Karina dialled three digits. — Dima! One call; the police will be here. Leave. Now. Dimitri froze. Silent. Then turned and stormed off down the stairs. The main door slammed below. Karina slid to the floor, her heart pounding. Thirty minutes passed before she could ring Andrew. She filed a police report the next day. The local officer—a kindly, mustached man—took down details, listened, nodded. — We’ll handle it. He’ll get a warning. What he said to Dimitri, Karina never knew. But her ex-husband never showed up again. No calls. No texts. No “chance” encounters. The wedding took place in early June, at a small country pub—twenty friends, just those closest to them. No fuss, no groom’s side relatives laying down “traditions”. Karina stood opposite Andrew in a simple white dress, holding his warm hands. Outside, the birch trees rustled, carrying scents of flowers and fresh-cut grass. — Do you…? — the registrar began. — I do, — Karina interrupted, and everyone laughed. Andrew slipped the ring on—a thin gold band, engraved inside. Three words: “Forever with you”. Karina lifted her gaze to this man who would be her husband. Not a mummy’s boy, not a possessive stalker. Just a man who listened, respected, and loved. Ahead lay a life where her voice finally mattered…

06

📌 Useful Social Services & Contacts in the U.S.

Stay informed and get help when you need it. Below are key national services with direct contacts that may support you or your loved ones:
🏥 Health & Mental Support

SAMHSA – Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration

What they do: Free and confidential help with substance use and mental health disorders.

Hotline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – 24/7, anonymous support

Website: samhsa.gov

🧒 Support for Children & Families

WIC – Women, Infants, and Children Program

What they do: Nutritional and healthcare support for pregnant women, new mothers, and young children.

Federal Info Line: 1-800-522-5006

Find local WIC office: fns.usda.gov/wic

Husband Refuses to Give Inherited Flat to Our Daughter – Is It Fair to Split It Equally, Give It to Our Eldest, or Is There a Better Solution?