The Unexpected Houseguest
Emma and James sat at the head of the table, beaming with joy. Their wedding was in full swing—guests danced, toasts flowed like the Thames. After the celebration, the newlyweds jetted off on a short honeymoon, a gift from Emma’s parents. They already had a home: a cosy flat left to them by Emma’s grandmother. Small but theirs, in a nice neighbourhood, freshly renovated—just right for two. When they returned, suitcases in tow, they trudged up to their front door. James slid the key into the lock but froze—the door was bolted from the inside. Someone was in their flat! He shot Emma a baffled look, rang the bell, and when the door swung open, both stood stunned.
On the threshold stood Henry Wilson, James’s father. “Dad?” James blurted. “What are you doing here?” Emma, still recovering from the shock, noticed Henry looked weary, his eyes dull. “Had a row with Margaret,” he sighed. “Mind if I crash here for the night?” Emma hesitated but nodded. “Of course, Henry, come in.” The flat smelled of spaghetti bolognese—Henry had raided the freezer and whipped up dinner. “Knew you’d be back today,” he added sheepishly.
Emma and James had married after a year of dating. The wedding was lively, and Emma already knew James’s family: Henry, his father; Margaret, his stepmother, who’d entered the picture when James was seven; two aunts, Henry’s sisters, Mary and Diane; and James’s two half-sisters, Victoria and Valerie. The sisters, both heavily pregnant, had grumbled through the reception, envious of the merry guests while they sipped juice in the corner. Emma had played polite, but the tension was palpable—Margaret and her daughters always kept their distance, as if James were an outsider.
Over dinner, Henry spilled the beans. Victoria, Margaret’s eldest, had gone into early labour. The baby was healthy, but her husband had cheated, so she’d left him and moved back in with Mum. Margaret had demanded money from Henry for a pram and cot, insisting it was his duty to support his granddaughter. “I’m not her grandad,” Henry muttered bitterly. “And then she kicked me out. Nicked my credit card while I was asleep.” Emma listened, her indignation growing. Margaret had always been domineering, but this was beyond the pale.
James frowned. “Dad, did you cancel the card?” Henry shook his head. “Didn’t think of it… She’s done it before.” Emma exchanged a glance with her husband. They knew Margaret rented out her own flat but lived in Henry’s house, which partly belonged to James—an inheritance from his late mother. “She wants your bit too,” Henry went on. “Asked you to sign over your share.” Emma gasped. “What? That’s yours, James!”
The next day, Margaret called James. “You’re a grown man,” she began. “You’ve moved in with your wife—make your own way. Give your share to your father.” James replied coolly, “That’s Mum’s inheritance. I’m not handing it over.” Margaret turned vicious. “If you won’t help Vicky or give up the share, I’ll divorce Henry!” James only smirked. “Best news I’ve heard all day.”
He turned to his father. “Dad, are you happy with her?” Henry hesitated, then confessed, “She’s using me. I’m tired.” James proposed a plan: transfer the house entirely to him via a deed of gift. “If Margaret stays, she’s here for you. If she leaves—her choice.” Henry agreed, and the next day, the paperwork was done. Emma backed James, though she worried. “What if she kicks up a fuss?” James shrugged. “Let her try.”
When Margaret found out, she stormed into the flat where Henry was still staying. “How could you?!” she shrieked. “They’ve conned you!” Henry remained calm. “You wanted the house. Now it’s James’s. You’ve got your own. If you don’t want me, go.” Realising she’d lost her grip, Margaret packed her bags and left, snarling, “You’ll regret this!” But no one did. The divorce was swift—there was nothing to split.
The house stayed with James, and Henry settled in with his son and daughter-in-law. Emma insisted, “This is your home, Henry. We’re family.” Later, when they had children, they took out a mortgage and moved to a bigger place, leaving the old flat to Henry. Margaret tried to slink back, but Henry stood firm. “I’m finally free,” he said one evening over supper, and Emma smiled. Their family grew stronger, while Margaret was left with nothing but empty ambition.
