“When are you two finally going to buy a proper flat?” Lindas voice was sharp, impatient. She sat primly on the sofa in the rented one-bedroom where Sophie and James had lived for the past three years, eyeing her daughter as if shed committed some sort of crime.
“Honestly, how long can you carry on like this?”
Sophie sighed and turned to the window. These conversations had long stopped being merely irritatingtheyd become torture. Ever since Sophie married James, her mother had been relentless. Wrong choice, she said. No property, no money, nothing to his name. What kind of husband was that? Three years of the same interrogationwhen would they buy? Why were they still renting? Wasnt she ashamed?
Annoyance simmered beneath her ribs, threatening to boil over.
“Were looking for the right place, Mum,” Sophie finally said, keeping her voice steady. “Right area, right price, decent condition. We need a second-hand flat with good fixturesno spare cash for renovations. Understand?”
Linda scoffed, rolling her eyes so dramatically Sophies fists clenched.
“Of course,” her mother drawled. “If youd married a proper man, youd be living in clover, not scraping for bargain flats. Youd be eyeing new builds, not settling for leftovers.”
Sophie stood abruptly, barely swallowing the urge to shout.
“Ive got errands, Mum,” she muttered, heading for the door.
Linda kept talking, but Sophie wasnt listening. She ushered her mother out, shut the door, and leaned against it, exhaling. Only then did she notice how tense shed beenshoulders aching, jaw tight. Lately, every visit with Linda felt like gearing up for battle. Defending, explaining, arguing. All for nothing.
She poured herself a glass of water in the kitchen, sat at the table, and took slow sips, trying to steady herself. Then the phone rang.
“Sophie!” James voice was electric. “Ive found it! The perfect flat! Youve got to come nowaddress incoming. We need to move fast. This is it!”
Her heart leapt. She scribbled the address, grabbed her coat, and dashed out, hailing the first cab. The whole ride, she fidgeted, willing the driver to go faster.
James was waiting outside the building, grinning like hed won the lottery.
“Come on,” he said, pulling her inside.
Third floor. A two-bed. Small but cosy. Fresh paint, soft beige walls, wood-look laminate, double-glazed windows. The furniture stayedsofa, wardrobes, kitchen units. All clean, well-kept.
“Look,” James led her through. “Bedroom here, lounge there. Kitchens bright. And the areas perfectshops, buses, a school nearby. Sellers are relocating, need a quick sale. Weve struck gold.”
Sophie wandered silently, touching walls, peeking into cupboards. Warmth bloomed in her chest. This was theirs. She could picture mornings here, tea at the kitchen table, their things in their places.
“Take it?” James asked, hopeful.
“Take it,” she smiled, and he hugged her tight.
They sealed the deal that day, set a date for paperwork, then floated home. James chattered nonstop about paint colours, new furniture, the life theyd build. Sophie stayed quiet, smiling. Joy bubbled up so fiercely she wanted to dance.
The next weeks blurredpaperwork, packing, endless trips between the flat and their old place. James handled most of it, and she was grateful. Then, moving day. Boxes piled high, furniture rearranged. Their first night.
Sophie stood in the lounge, taking it all in. James slipped his arms around her.
“Our flat,” he whispered.
“Our home,” she saidand burst into tears.
It didnt last. The next day, the doorbell rang. Linda stood there, disapproval etched on her face.
“Hello,” she huffed, barging past.
She inspected every corner, lips pursed, brows furrowed. Finally, she stopped mid-room.
“And this is it?”
Sophie blinked. “What dyou mean?”
Linda wrinkled her nose like shed stepped into a landfill. “This is tiny. I thought youd at least get a three-bed. This isnt a proper homeits a shoebox.”
Sophies face burned. James appeared, forcing a smile.
“Linda, its our first place. Well upgrade later. For now, its enough.”
Linda snorted, snatched her bag, and marched out. At the door, she turned.
“This flats just like your husband. Useless, dull, and shabby.”
The door slammed. Sophie stood frozen. James gave her a sad smile.
“Dont mind her,” he murmured.
But she saw the hurt in his eyes.
Weeks passed. They settled in, made it theirs. Flowers on the windowsills, art on the walls. Then Linda visited again. James vanished into the bedroom.
“Tea?” Sophie offered, brittle.
“Every time I see this place,” Linda began, “it depresses me. Whyd you buy this dump?”
“We could only afford this, Mum.”
“Because you married James!” Linda snapped. “Proper people buy proper homes. Youre stuck in this hovel.”
Sophie gripped her teacup, the heat seeping into her palms.
“Were happy. We saved, no loans, no debt. Whats wrong with that?”
“My neighbours daughter lives in a new-build three-bed! Doesnt work, drives a Mercedes! Because she married a real man, not like your James!”
Something snapped. Sophie slammed her cup down.
“Oh, brilliant comparison! That real man shes hiding from? The one shes called the police on? The one she stays with for the money? Thats your ideal?”
Linda gaped.
“I love James,” Sophie shouted. “Id live under a bridge if hes there. Hed never raise a hand to me. He cares. And if you cant accept that, dont come back.”
Linda paled, then flushed. She grabbed her bag and left without a word.
Silence. Then James emerged, pulling her into a hug. Sophie sobbed into his chest.
“Im sorry,” she hiccupped. “For her. For what she says. Im”
“Shh,” he whispered, kissing her hair. “Id live under a bridge with you too. Honestly.”
She looked up, tear-streaked, and smiled. No, they werent rich. No three-bed new-build, no fancy car. But they had love. And that was everything.
