**Diary Entry December 31st**
Well, today was certainly eventful. I suppose I shouldve seen it coming, but part of me hoped theyd finally accept that the house is *mine*.
After work, Id planned to pop by the shopsNew Years Eve is just around the corner, and my old friend Emily invited me over. Shes hosting a gathering, and I wanted to pick up gifts early. Ive always loved choosing presents, imagining the joy of wandering through the twinkling aisles, watching shop assistants wrap each little treasure in glossy paper.
But the moment I stepped outside, my mood soured. Waiting by my car was Ritamy ex-husbands sister.
“Val, hello!” she chirped, rubbing her hands together. “You took ages. Im half-frozen!”
“Good afternoon, Rita,” I said evenly. “Didnt expect to see you here.”
“Why not? Were family.”
“Not for the past year, were not,” I replied, reaching for the car door.
She stopped me. “Listen, Val, Ive got a favour to ask. Well, more of a family request.”
“What family, Rita? Ive nothing to do with yours anymore. Spare me the theatrics.”
She barrelled on. “Mum still thinks the house youre living in belongs to us. Michael put so much into itwe all used to celebrate there. And now? You wont even let us in for Mums birthday in May!”
I sighed. “Why are you telling me this? I went to visit a friend. I dont need your permission.”
“And forget your little family reunions in *my* house. When Michael and I divorced, we agreed: the flat, the car, and the garage went to him. The house is mine. Legally. So feel free to gather at *his* place instead.”
Rita pressed on. “Mums askingjust for New Years Eve. Therell be so many of us, wed hardly fit anywhere else.”
“Margaret actually *asked*? Thats new. Twenty years of demands, and now shes polite? Tell her no. Book a hotel.”
I got in the car. The thought of gift shopping vanished. *Tomorrow,* I decided, driving home.
Michael and I were married nearly twenty years. The housethe one Ritas so fixated onwe bought a decade ago. Then, a year back, he announced that “life doesnt end at forty-five” and left me for his pretty young secretary.
I didnt fight to keep him, but I wasnt about to let him take everything. The house and savings stayed with me; he got the flat, his BMW, and the garage. Our daughter, Lucy, is at universityhis one concession was leaving our joint account untouched.
A few days ago, Lucy called. “Mum, you wont mind if I stay at the dorm for New Years, will you? Ill come home after.”
So I accepted Emilys invite. Better good company than empty rooms.
But Ritas visit confirmed my suspicionsthey werent done. Sure enough, that evening, Margaret called.
“Valentine, youve got some nerve,” she snapped. “Stealing Michaels house, thinking well just let it go? Mark my words: this New Year, were celebrating *there*.”
“Margaret, need I remind youI own that house. Legally. Try breaking in, and youll meet the police.”
She sneered. “Oh, well see who meets whom. Prepare three bedroomsmy sisters and niece are staying. You can sleep in the kitchen. And dont argue, unless you want this to be a New Year youll *never* forget.”
I hung up, stunned. Margaret was always difficult, but this? Did she honestly think Id cower and obey?
Back when I was the “perfect daughter-in-law,” I mightve relented. Not anymore.
Meanwhile, at Margarets flat, plans were underway. Rita and her husband Alex were tasked with shopping; Margaret and co. would handle cooking. “Well use Vals chinaMichael left it behind,” she declared.
“But what if she refuses to let us in?” Rita asked.
Margaret scoffed. “With twelve of us there? She wouldnt dare slam the door on family!”
**New Years Eve 9 PM**
Four cars pulled up outside my house on East Lane.
“Odd,” Alex muttered. “Lights are off. Maybe shes not home?”
Margaret smirked. “Shes hiding. Ring the bell.”
No answer.
“WaitIve got keys,” Margaret announced triumphantly. “Knew shed pull this.”
They filed in, flipping lights on, unloading food onto *my* kitchen counters. “Let her hide,” Margaret sniffed. “We wont invite her to the table anyway.”
Twenty minutes later, chaos eruptedbut not from me.
I was at Emilys, setting the table, when my phone rang.
“Ms. Valentine Cole? Your alarms been triggered. Officers are onsite.”
“Twelve people claim to be relatives with your permission,” the officer said.
“I invited no one. Thats my ex-husbands family. Theyve broken in.”
“Shall we charge them?”
“Absolutely. Im away until the 2nd.”
The “guests” spent hours at the station. By the time they slunk back to Margarets, the salads had wilted, the roast gone cold.
Michael called me later, furious. “You *knew* Mum had keys! You set them up!”
“I didnt change the locksjust added a new one. The old ones still there. And the *Protected by Police* signs are quite visible.”
He spluttered. “You couldve warned Rita!”
“Tell Margaret, Rita, Alex*all* of themtheyre never welcome again. This time, I dropped the charges. Next time, I wont.”
I hung up, finally at peace.
Some might call it harsh. I call it justice.
Happy New Year, indeed.
