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Granny Kicked Out Her Grandson and His Wife and Decided to Live Alone at 80 Years Old

Gran Gran has just turned eighty. Just a week ago, she kicked my older brother and his wife out of her flat.

We’re Moving Into Your Flat — “Oli’s got a lovely flat in the heart of town. The place is newly renovated—you just move in and enjoy!” — “It’s great for a single girl,” Rustam smiled condescendingly at Inna, as if she were a child. “But we’ve got big plans—two, maybe three children. One after the other, ideally. It’s noisy in town, the air’s awful, there’s nowhere to park. And most of all, it’s just two rooms. But here—you’ve got three. The area is quiet, there’s a nursery right outside.” — “It is a nice neighbourhood,” agreed Sergei, still not seeing where his future brother-in-law was going with this. “That’s why we settled here ourselves.” — “Exactly!” Rustam snapped his fingers. “I keep telling Olga—why should we squeeze into a shoebox when there’s a perfect solution?” It’s just you and your daughter—surely you don’t need all this space? Realistically, one of your rooms is just a dumping ground. For us, this place would be just right. Inna was wrestling a vacuum cleaner into the hallway cupboard. The vacuum was putting up a fight—its hose caught on hangers, completely refusing to slot into place. — “Serge, give me a hand!” she called out. “Either this cupboard’s shrunk, or I’ve forgotten how to organise things.” Sergei poked his head out of the bathroom—he’d just finished fiddling with the tap. Calm and always a bit slow-moving, he was the polar opposite of his wife. — “Let’s sort it,” he said, deftly manhandling the heavy cleaner into the corner of the cupboard. Inna sighed and collapsed against the doorframe. — “Explain to me how we always run out of space. It’s a big flat—three rooms—yet every time we tidy up, you’d think we were evacuating to the street.” — “That’s because you’re a bit of a hoarder,” Sergei chuckled, “Why do we need three dinner sets? We only use one, twice a year.” — “Sentimental value, that’s why—they’re from Grandma’s place.” After their wedding, Sergei’s family had split the inheritance fairly: he got this spacious three-bedroom in a quiet neighbourhood from his grandmother; his sister Olya got a two-bedroom right in the ‘golden square’ of the city centre. The money worked out much the same. For five years everyone got on, no one was envious. Inna naively thought it would always stay like that, but… *** They finished tidying, the chaos cleared, and just sat down when the doorbell rang. Sergei went to answer. — “It’s my sister and her fiancé,” he said to his wife after checking the peephole. Olya swooped in first, followed by Rustam, who trudged in heavily. Inna had only met him a couple of times—Olya had found him at a gym about six months ago. Rustam had rubbed her the wrong way instantly—arrogant, looking down on both her and Sergei. — “Hiya!” Olya kissed her brother’s cheek and hugged Inna. “We were just passing and thought we’d pop in. We’ve got news!” — “Come in, then. News is always good,” Sergei waved them into the kitchen. “Tea?” — “Just water, thanks,” Rustam lumbered behind their host, “We’ve got serious business to discuss, Sergei.” Not really ‘just passing.’ They wanted something. No need for tea. Take a seat. An uneasy feeling crept over Inna—she didn’t like Rustam’s tone one bit. What was he after? — “Go on then,” Sergei shrugged. Olya hovered in the background, glued to her phone, letting her fiancé do the talking. Rustam cleared his throat. — “So. We’ve filed for notice. Wedding’s in three months. I’m sure you can appreciate—I’ve got big plans. Family, joint life, happy ever after. We had a think about our housing situation… We’re moving in with you, and you can move to our place!” Inna was gobsmacked. She looked at her husband, then at her sister-in-law, who was still scrolling on her phone as if none of this concerned her. — “Rustam, I’m not following,” Sergei frowned. “Are you hinting at something?” — “Not hinting—making a constructive proposal. Let’s swap!” We move here, and you take Olya’s flat. Olya’s on board with me—she agrees it’s only fair. Inna was floored a second time. — “Fair?” she echoed. “Rustam, are you being serious? You come into our home and suggest we move out because you want kids?” — “No need to be dramatic, Inna,” Rustam grimaced. “Just being practical. You’ve got one child, and as far as I know, you’re not planning more. What’s the point of having all this space? That’s not efficient. We’ve got plans for a big family.” — “Wow, plans!” Inna stood up. “Sergei, are you hearing this?” Sergei raised a hand to silence his wife. — “Rustam, you do know this flat was left to me by my family? Just like Olya’s was left to her. We’ve spent five years working on this place—every skirting board, every detail. Our daughter’s growing up here, she’s got her own room and friends. Are you really asking us to up sticks and go to the centre just because it suits you better?” — “Sergei, calm down,” Rustam leaned back casually. “You’re family—Olya is your flesh and blood. Don’t you care about her future? I’m offering fair conditions. You’d be gaining prime property in a prestigious postcode. You’d be winning, I’ve checked the prices.” — “Interesting logic,” Sergei smirked. “You’re not even married to my sister yet, but you’re already eyeing up my flat!” Finally, Olya looked up from her phone. — “Oh, come on, don’t be like this!” she whined. “Rustam’s just trying to do what’s best. We’ll be so cramped in my place once there’s kids. You’ve got a hallway big enough for a five-a-side match. Mum always said, family comes first. Didn’t she, Sergei?” — “Mum said family helps each other, Olya—not that one should kick the other out!” snapped Inna. “Do you even hear what your Rustam’s saying?” — “What’s wrong with it?” Olya blinked in innocence. “He’s got a point. We need it more. You’re not even using that spare room!” — “It’s not spare!” Inna almost shouted. “It’s my study! I work there, in case you forgot.” — “Work?” Rustam scoffed. “Posting pictures online? Olya says it’s just a hobby. You can sit in the kitchen with a laptop, you’re not royalty.” Sergei slowly stood up. — “Right,” he said quietly. “That’s enough. Time for you both to go.” — “Hold on a second!” Rustam didn’t budge. “We just came to talk—like family.” — “Like family?” Sergei strode to the table. “You come in here wanting my flat, insulting my wife, deciding where my daughter should live? Are you actually serious?” — “Sergei, honestly!” Inna stood by her husband. “It’s pure greed. He’s not even put a ring on your finger, Olya, and already he’s dividing up the property. Do you realise who you’ve brought here? He’d kick you out of your own flat first chance he gets!” — “Don’t you dare speak about him that way!” Olya shot up. “Rustam cares about me—about our future! And you’re just greedy. Clinging onto your home like hermits. Some brother you are!” — “The greedy one’s your would-be husband,” Sergei pointed to the door. “For the hard of hearing—out. Both of you. And forget this flat swap—forever. If you bring it up again, we won’t be talking at all.” Rustam stood up, straightened his collar. Not a flicker of shame—just irritation. — “That’s a shame, Sergei. I thought we could come to an arrangement. But if you’re so stubborn…” “Olya, let’s go.” When the door slammed behind them, Inna collapsed on the sofa. She was shaking. — “Did you hear that? Did you see that? The cheek! Who does he think he is?” Sergei didn’t answer, staring out the window as Rustam bossily opened his car, berating Olya. — “You know the worst bit?” he said finally. “Olya really believes he’s right. She’s always been a bit… away with the fairies, but this?” — “He’s turned her head!” Inna jumped up. “Sergei, ring your mum. Your parents need to know what schemes their future son-in-law is cooking up.” — “Hang on,” Sergei took out his phone. “I’ll call my sister first. Just her, without that peacock around.” He dialed; it rang for a long time before Olya, audibly crying, picked up. — “Hello!” she sniffed. — “Olya, listen to me,” Sergei’s voice was firm. “Are you in the car with him?” — “What difference does it make?” — “If he’s there, put it on loudspeaker. I want him to hear this too.” — “I’m not with him,” Olya sobbed. “He dropped me off and drove away. Said he needs to cool off because my family are all selfish. Sergei, why are you lot like this? He just wanted things to be perfect…” — “Olya, wake up!” Sergei almost shouted. “Perfect? He came here to scam a flat out of us! Do you even get that your home is your inheritance? And he’s already passing it around like it’s his? Did he even talk to you about this ‘swap’ before we sat down together?” Silence. — “No,” Olya finally whispered. “He just said he had a surprise for everyone. That he’d thought out what was best for us all.” — “Some surprise. He’s decided both our futures for us, without asking. Olya, look who you’re marrying—he’s a user. He’ll take your flat today, demand your car tomorrow, and then get your parents to give him their cottage because he needs ‘fresh air’.” — “Don’t say that…” Olya’s voice wobbled. “He loves me.” — “If he loved you, would he start a row like that? He tried to turn us against each other! Inna’s still in shock. Don’t you see—he wanted to split us up?” — “I’ll talk to him,” Olya mumbled uncertainly. — “Do that. And think very carefully before you head down the aisle.” Sergei hung up and tossed the phone on the sofa. — “What did she say?” Inna asked softly. — “She said she didn’t know. Rustam was planning his ‘surprise.’” Inna gave a bitter laugh. — “I can picture it. He just waltzes in, decides where everyone and everything goes—shuffling rooms and people. Makes you sick.” — “Never mind,” Sergei hugged his wife. “We’re not giving up the flat, that’s for sure. But I do feel sorry for my sister. She’ll land herself in trouble with him.” *** The worst never happened—there was no wedding. Rustam dumped Olya that same night. Tearfully, Olya turned up at her brother’s flat, telling them everything. Rustam went straight to packing his stuff. Olya panicked and asked him what was going on. Rustam said he wasn’t interested in becoming family with such greedy people. — “He said he doesn’t need relatives like that,” Olya sobbed. “He reckons we can’t be relied on. He said you’d never look after the kids on weekends so we could have a break. And that you’d never lend us money if we ever needed it.” — “Honestly, Olya, don’t be upset!” Inna comforted her. “You don’t need someone like him. He can’t be relied on, he’ll never care about family—only what’s in it for himself. Forget him!” Olya was down for a while, but she got over it. She realised the truth in the end: if she’d married him, it would have been misery. She’d dodged a bullet—no doubt about it.

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For Five Years, She Thought She Was Living With Her Husband—But Realised She Wanted to Be With Him Like a Mother Helena grew up in a quiet English town, where she and Alex fell for each other and decided to leave their rural roots behind. Telling their parents they were off to London to save for a wedding, they followed the trendy route—trainers and jeans at the ceremony, gifts strictly in cash, and a simple buffet in place of a lavish reception. Instead of splashing out, they put the cash gifts toward their mortgage, while their mums held a modest family party back home. Five years passed. The couple chose to delay having children, focusing on repaying their home loan. Helena’s mum, a fiercely independent single mother, constantly reminded her daughter she was ready for grandchildren, but Helena felt no rush. Suddenly, Helena started arguing with her husband over things she once ignored: his long phone calls, his interest in horror films, his lack of effusive compliments about her cooking—little things that left her feeling misunderstood. She called me for advice. Our hour-long chat revealed Helena’s yearning for admiration and involvement, the sort of attention her emotionally demonstrative mother gave her—attention her quieter husband struggled to provide. Delving into their relationship, it became clear Helena expected the same emotional nurturing from Alex that she’d received from her mum, despite not having a father figure to model alternative dynamics. When I gently suggested she was seeking a marriage more like her relationship with her mum, she was shocked, but ultimately agreed. “How do I get a divorce from my mother?” she asked. “Simple,” I replied. “Whenever you find yourself criticising Alex, imagine your caring mum is with you, not him—he can’t compete with her.” “That’s it!” she exclaimed. And just like that, the complaints began to fade.

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“It Doesn’t Look Right That Your Kids Will Have Homes While My Son Won’t—Let’s Get Him a Flat with a Mortgage!” Recently, my husband Anthony pointed out that my children have homes, but his son does not, so we need to figure out how to get his son a place to live too. Let me explain: my children are both mine and Anthony’s, while Anthony’s son is from his first marriage. Why am I the one expected to worry about finding his son a home? Of course, I always knew Anthony had been married before and had a child. That’s why I wasn’t in a hurry to marry Anthony. We lived together for three years before getting married. I paid close attention to how he felt about his ex-wife and son. A year later, I gave birth to our son. Two more years passed, and I had our second son. I’m happy with Anthony—he’s a good husband and father. He spends plenty of time with me and the kids and earns a good salary. Of course, we have the occasional disagreement, but that’s normal in any family. We lived in the flat I inherited from my father. My mother divorced him when I was still in nursery school. She’s since remarried but didn’t have any children with her second husband. Anthony and his first wife always rented. They saved for a mortgage for years but never managed to get one. After their divorce, Anthony’s ex-wife moved back in with her parents. Anthony rented on his own until we got married, and then he moved in with me. We never really discussed who owned the flat—we just lived there together, did renovations, and bought new furniture for the place. About a year and a half ago, both my grandmothers—my mum’s mum and my dad’s mum—passed away. They both left me their flats in their wills. While my sons are still young, I decided to rent out those flats. Later on, I’ll give each son one of the flats. At the moment, I give the rent from one to my mum as a supplement to her pension, and the other supports my own income—extra money is always useful. Anthony never involved himself in my property matters; after all, it’s none of his business. I made it clear that, when our children grow up, each of them will receive one of the flats, and he agreed. That was that—the topic was closed. Then, out of the blue, Anthony said to me: “My son will be finishing secondary school in a few years. He’s an adult now—he needs to think about his future!” I didn’t know where he was going with this, but listened anyway. “Your kids have homes! My son doesn’t! Let’s buy my son a flat with a mortgage!” he suddenly declared. I was simply stunned and had a million questions. First, I asked: why are our kids suddenly just mine? Anthony asked me not to nit-pick his words. “But my son will never inherit anything. I want him to have a home of his own!” “That’s great that you care! But your son has a mum and a dad—shouldn’t they be the ones to handle that? Why doesn’t your ex sort it?” Anthony explained his ex-wife doesn’t make much, her parents help her, and he himself can’t afford a mortgage alone. But, he said, if I help, everything will work out. Apparently, I’m expected to co-sign for a mortgage so Anthony can buy a flat for his son. The flat would be in the son’s name, but we would pay off the mortgage. “Between our two good salaries and the rental income, we could do it!” Anthony insisted. We could, but we’d have to save pretty hard. Plus, Anthony pays child maintenance for his son. When the boy goes to university, Anthony will help again, as his mum has no money. So, in the end, my children and I would have to give up holidays, trips to the seaside, and generally scrimp and save. For what? Just so Anthony looks like a good dad? I’d understand if Anthony had provided homes for our children and wanted to do the same for his eldest. But I’m the one who secured the homes for my children—Anthony had nothing to do with the properties. Why should I pay for his mortgage? I told Anthony straight away: if he’s so worried about his son, his ex should take out a mortgage, and they can pay it off with the child maintenance. “But I won’t have anything to do with it!” Anthony is furious and hasn’t spoken to me in a week. It’s a shame he doesn’t understand my point of view.

It doesnt look right that your children will have homes and my son wont. Lets sort him out with a place