**”The Flat Where We’re No Longer Welcome”: When Mum Turned the House Into a Battlefield**
Oliver was deep in his work when his phone buzzed. It was his wife, Emily. Odd—she rarely called during the day.
“Hi, love. Everything alright? Bit busy here,” he said, dragging his eyes from the screen.
“It’s not alright,” she sniffed, her voice wobbling. “We’ve been kicked out. We’ve got nowhere to live!”
“What?!” Oliver shot up. “Did something happen to the flat? Fire? Break-in?”
“The flat’s fine… We’re just not allowed to live there anymore,” Emily whispered.
“Not allowed? Who on earth can stop us living in our own flat?”
“Who else? Your mother!” she burst out—anger, hurt, despair all tangled in her words.
Years ago, they’d moved to London with their girls—Sophie was seven, Amelia just five. They’d scraped by renting, working non-stop. Then luck smiled: Emily’s dad inherited a flat from a distant cousin.
“Move in,” he’d said. “I’m retired, taxes aren’t biting, it’s under my name, but we won’t be in your way.”
They’d decorated, bought furniture, made it home. Never doubted it was theirs—even if, legally, it wasn’t. But Emily always had that nagging fear.
“We’ve poured everything into this place, but it’s not ours on paper,” she’d tell Oliver.
“Relax. Mum and Dad would never kick us out. Family sticks together.”
Except they had. And not strangers—family.
The trouble started at his dad’s retirement party. They celebrated, left in good spirits. Next day, his mother dropped the bomb.
“We’ve decided: your cousin William is moving in. He’s at uni now, halls are cramped. You’ve got space. And,” she added, “the flat’s in our name, so we decide who stays.”
Emily nearly choked. But Oliver just nodded.
“No problem. Plenty of room.”
She bit her tongue. Not the time. But something inside her cracked.
William swanned in like he owned the place—ate on the sofa, left messes, broke things. Then Oliver’s parents visited to dote on their “grandson.” That’s when the war began.
“William’s shoes are muddy!” his mum scolded. “Why isn’t his jacket washed? Where’s the homemade pie?”
She bossed Emily around like a drill sergeant. Cooked, cleaned, then—blunt as a hammer—told her:
“I don’t see why my son stays with someone like you. You should leave. Give up the flat.”
“And go where? The girls have their own lives now, rents are sky-high—”
“Not my problem. Pack your things.”
When Emily refused, his mother hissed:
“I’ll talk to Oliver. He’ll sign the divorce papers.”
Emily packed in silence, tears streaming.
Oliver found out and stormed over.
“Mum, what the hell?! You threw my wife out?”
“She’s dead weight. And a drunk!”
“What?!”
“I heard bottles clinking in her bag. Hiding something? I won’t have that under my roof. My flat, my rules.”
“Mum, that was William taking out the recycling!”
“Don’t pin it on the boy! If she steps foot here again, don’t come crying.”
“Then I’m going with her.”
“Even better. William’s got a girlfriend now—they’ll need the space.”
Oliver clenched his fists.
“Fine. Two days.”
“Em, don’t cry. We’ll move everything—George will help, we’ve got the garage. We’ll buy our own place. Not the dream home, but it’ll be ours.”
Three days later, his mum barged in with Margaret—lugging bags like they were storming Normandy. Fish, meat, tins, sacks of veg…
“Have they actually left?!” Margaret gaped.
“Empty… No cooker… Fridge gone… Furniture—”
“We’ll stick it on the balcony!”
“It’s pouring out! Mum, there’s not even a bed!”
Patricia dialled her son—no answer. The granddaughters ignored her calls.
“Patricia, it’s Grandma…” she pleaded to one voicemail. The reply?
“Stop calling!”
The flat held only a grubby old sofa. And a bucket in the bath—the perfect metaphor for how it all ended.
Six months on, Emily cooked dinner in their new flat. The phone rang. Unknown number.
“Ollie, it’s me… Mum… You never call… I’m sorry. Come back. Live here.”
“We *are* living. In our own flat.”
“Your own? Why? You’ve got ours!”
“Yours is yours. Ours is ours.”
“And the girls? They’ve cut me off!”
“They’re fine. We’ve got everything we need. Forget that flat. We’re never coming back.”
Oliver hung up. That chapter was closed. And it wasn’t getting reopened.
