Emma signed the last document with a sigh of relief, leaning back in the solicitors chair. September sunlight streamed through the windows, glinting off the fresh ink on the deed. The house for her mother was finally hersnow came the move.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Whitmore,” the solicitor smiled, sliding the paperwork across the desk. “The house is officially your mothers.”
“Thank you,” Emma replied, carefully tucking the documents into a folder. “Mums going to be over the moon. Shes always dreamed of a little house with a garden.”
And what a house it wastwo storeys, a sprawling garden, tucked away in a quiet corner just outside London. Margaret Whitmore had spent years in a cramped flat, complaining about noisy neighbours. Now, at last, shed have space to grow old in peace.
The next day, Emma and her husband, Gregory, began the move. Margaret fluttered around the boxes, clapping her hands like a child.
“Oh, love, youre an angel!” she kept saying, running her fingers along the walls. “Just look at it! Ill plant roses by the gate, maybe an apple tree…”
Gregory lugged furniture in silence, occasionally shooting Emma a loaded glance. Hed never approvedthought a modest cottage would do. But it wasnt his money.
“Here, Mumkeys for everything,” Emma handed her a ring. “Front, back, the garden gate. Dont mix them up.”
“Of course, love,” Margaret nodded, clutching them like treasure. “Youre so good to me…”
By evening, the essentials were in place. Margaret wandered the rooms, breathing in the space. Emma watched her and smiled.
“Now you can live happily ever after,” she hugged her mother. “Ill pop round tomorrow, help with the little things.”
“Oh, darling, how can I ever thank you?” Margaret sniffled.
On the drive home, Emma stopped by her mother-in-laws to pick up Gregoryhed left the car there that morning. Edith Holloway met her at the door with a sour twist of her mouth.
“So. Youve bought your mother a palace, have you?” she said, bypassing any greeting.
“A house, yes,” Emma replied evenly. “She deserves a peaceful retirement.”
“Deserves? And what do we deserve?” Edith scoffed. “Stuck in that crumbling terrace, roof leaking, walls damp. But youll buy palaces for outsiders.”
Emma blinked. Outsiders? Margaret was her *mother*. But arguing with Edith was pointlessshed grown nastier by the day.
“Couldve at least given family a gift,” Edith muttered as they left.
Emma ignored her. Envy was Ediths default setting. What mattered was Margarets happiness.
A week slipped by. Emma called dailyhow was the house? Did she need anything? Margaret chattered about neighbours, garden plans, arranging her new home.
“Mum, Ill stop by tomorrow,” Emma said on Thursday. “Bring groceries, see if you need anything else.”
“Oh, lovely! Ill show you what Ive done with the place.”
Friday came. Emma left work early, stocked up on foodMargarets knees had been bothering her, making shopping difficult. But now she had a home where she could rest.
Pulling up to the house, Emma frowned. Laundry flapped on the linemens shirts, childrens trousers, garish scarves Margaret would never wear.
She parked and scanned the garden. Unfamiliar bags littered the path. On the porch sat neatly folded clothesMargarets dresses, cardigans, slippers.
Her pulse spiked. She hurried to the front door, jiggling the keys shed given her mother. The lock didnt budge. She peered closerbrand-new mechanism.
“What the hell?” She checked the back. New locks everywhere.
A voice piped up from next door.
“You after the lady of the house?” An elderly neighbour leaned over the fence. “They turfed her out days ago.”
“*Turfed her out?* This is my mothers house!”
“Oh, I know, love. Sweet woman, your mum. But your mother-in-laws in charge now. Changed the locks, moved her things in. Says the house belongs to *her* now.”
Emmas face burned. So her kindness had been hijacked.
“Wheres my mother?”
“Gone off with her bags, poor dear. Crying, she was. Your mother-in-law said the house was for *family*.”
Emma marched to the door just as it swung open. Edith stood there, smug as a cat with creamkeys jangling at her waist, hair perfectly set.
“Oh, youre here,” she said, scanning Emma. “Weve almost got things sorted.”
“Where. Is. My. Mother.”
“On the veranda, for now,” Edith adjusted her keys. “House is big, but well decide who gets what. Ive taken chargeexperience, you see.”
“*Charge?* This is *Mums* house!”
Just then, Margaret shuffled into viewwrapped in a dressing gown, face drawn.
“Love,” she whispered. “I didnt know what to do…”
Emma pulled her close. “What happened?”
“Edith said… shes running things now,” Margaret murmured. “Changed the locks, put my things out. Said the house was for *all* of us.”
Emma turned to Edith, voice icy.
“This is *my mothers* house. Hand over the keys. Now.”
“Dont you shout at me!” Edith flapped her hands. “You said it was for family!”
“I said *Mum*. Not *you*.”
Edith rolled her eyes. “Same difference. And really, an old woman in a place this size? Waste.”
Margaret stifled a sob. Emma saw red.
“Mum, get in the car.” She dialled 999.
“Dont make a scene!” Edith shrilled.
“Police? I need help. Someones unlawfully taken over my mothers home…”
Edith paled. “You cantwere *family*!”
“Family doesnt steal houses.”
The officers arrived in twenty minutes. Papers were checked, facts laid bare. Edith was ordered outimmediately.
“But Im no thief!” she wailed, scooping up her things. “Family helps family!”
“Help isnt theft,” the inspector said. “Ten minutes. Then we escort you.”
Emma watched like a hawk as every key was returned, every belonging removed. A locksmith replaced all the locks. Margaret stood silent, wiping tears.
When it was done, Emma hugged her tight.
“Im so sorry, Mum. I shouldve seen this coming.”
“Oh, love, its not your fault,” Margaret sniffed. “Whod think anyone could do this?”
“Now we know,” Emma said firmly. “And no ones taking your home again. Ever.”
They spent the evening putting the house to rightsundoing Ediths rearrangements, hanging Margarets photos back up.
“Tea, love?” Margaret asked later, hands steady at last.
Emma nodded, then frowned. “What about Gregory? Hell side with Edith.”
“Let him,” Emma said. “After this? Shes never setting foot here again.”
Margaret hesitated. “Butfamily…”
“Family respects each other,” Emma cut in. “They dont throw out old women and steal their homes.”
She sipped her tea, calm settling over her. Justice was done. Her mother was safe. And Edith? Shed remember this lesson for a long, long time.
