**Julia’s Flat – No Family Allowed**
I was washing the dishes when the doorbell rang. There, like a bolt from the blue, stood my mother-in-law.
“Hello, Julia, dear,” said Nellie Yurievna with sickly sweetness. “I thought I’d pop in for a visit! Just dropping by!”
I invited her to the kitchen, put the kettle on, and called out to my husband, “Tom, your mum’s here!”
Within minutes, we were all at the table. Nellie stirred sugar into her tea, eyeing me with that familiar squint—the one I’d long learned meant manipulation was brewing.
“You know, Tommy,” she began, “Mark’s asked Emily to move in with him. Imagine! Before the wedding!”
“Well, he’s in for it,” Tom snorted. “Our Emily’ll give him hell. Peaceful living? Forget it.”
“You’re wrong!” Nellie shot back proudly. “Emily’s different. She’s modest, clever—not like some people…”
I caught her glance. The jab was aimed at me, as usual. I pretended not to notice.
“And you know what else Mark’s done?” Nellie raised a finger triumphantly. “He’s buying her a flat! For the wedding! Now that’s a real man!”
Tom grimaced.
“We’ll see about that. I won’t believe it till I see the papers.”
“Now that’s what I call choosing right!” Nellie pressed on. “You, on the other hand—your wife owns the place, and you’re not even on the deed!”
I left the room. My chest tightened. Same old song: “Sign half over,” “Where’s the fairness?” “We’re family.” A year married, and Nellie still schemed to squeeze a piece of my home from me.
Tom started nagging too—claiming he was a laughingstock, a man without property. He’d bought a car, done the repairs, furnished the place—yet it was all “hers.”
“No one tricked you, Tom,” I’d say. “You married me, not the flat. Or did you?”
He’d go quiet—until his mother’s next visit.
When Tom’s domineering aunt dropped by, he spun tales:
“Yeah, we bought the place. Mostly with my money,” he declared.
I nearly choked on my tea. The lies poured freely, but I stayed silent. Not for him—for myself.
Then his mate Andy came over. Tom puffed up again:
“Make yourself at home, mate. The flat’s ours, mine and Julia’s!”
“Good on you!” Andy grinned. “Married, got a place. And that car of yours—proper nice!”
I watched, stunned. Where was the kind, simple bloke I’d fallen for?
I packed my things and went to my parents’.
“Mum, I can’t do this anymore. I feel like an investor, not a wife. He only married me for the flat…”
“Think it over, love. But don’t give them an inch—not one!”
I went back. Soon, Nellie barged in unannounced, disheveled, tears in her eyes.
“Tom, it’s awful! Mark left Emily. No wedding now. And she’s taken out loans—car, clothes, phone…”
“What’s that got to do with us?” Tom faltered.
“We’ve got to help. Julia should transfer half the flat to you. Mortgaged, we’ll pay the debt. We’ll sort it after!”
I froze—then snapped out of it.
“Never. That flat was my parents’ gift. You won’t get a penny of it!”
“Heartless witch!” Nellie shrieked.
I walked off but overheard them whispering by the door.
“I tried, son. She won’t budge…”
“I’ll think of something else,” Tom muttered darkly.
I flung the door open.
“Think away! But know this—you’ll never have this flat. Not a scrap. If you want your own, work for it!”
The next day, Tom moved back to his mum’s.
I filed for divorce. Better late than robbed blind. Because their greed had no end—but my self-respect did.
