Julia’s Flat – And Not a Relative in Sight
Julia was washing the dishes when the doorbell rang. There, appearing out of nowhere, stood her mother-in-law.
“Hello, dear Julia,” cooed Nelly Yurievna with a sickly-sweet smile. “Thought I’d pop in for a visit. Just dropping by!”
Julia invited her into the kitchen, put the kettle on, and called out to her husband,
“Vic, your mum’s here!”
Minutes later, the family sat around the table. Nelly stirred sugar into her tea, eyeing Julia with that familiar squint—one that Julia had long learned meant trouble brewing.
“You know, Victor,” Nelly began, “Danny’s asked little Emily to move in with him. Can you believe it? Before the wedding!”
“Well, he’s in for it,” Vic snorted. “Our Emily won’t make life easy for him. Peace and quiet? Forget it!”
“You’re wrong!” Nelly shot back proudly. “Emily’s different—modest, clever, not like some.”
Julia caught the glance. The dig, as always, was aimed at her. She pretended not to notice.
“And guess what else Danny’s done?” Nelly raised a finger triumphantly. “He’s buying her a flat! As a wedding gift! Now that’s a real man!”
Victor grimaced.
“We’ll see about that. I won’t believe it till I see the paperwork.”
“That’s what a proper choice looks like!” Nelly pressed on. “Meanwhile, your wife owns this place, and your name’s not even on it.”
Julia left the room. Her chest tightened. Same old song—”sign over half,” “where’s the fairness,” “we’re family.” A year married, and Nelly Yurievna still clawed for a piece of her flat.
Victor started nagging too—how the lads took the mickey, him being a bloke without property. He’d bought the car, paid for the renovation, the furniture—yet it was all “hers.”
“No one tricked you, Vic,” Julia reminded him. “You married me, not the flat. Or did you?”
He’d go quiet. Until his mum’s next visit.
When Vic’s pushy aunt dropped by, he spun a tale.
“Yeah, we bought the place. Mostly my money,” he declared.
Julia nearly choked on her tea. The lies flowed freely. She stayed silent—not for him, but for herself.
Then his mate Andy came round. Victor 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 motor of yours—proper nice!”
Julia watched, stunned. Where was the kind, easygoing lad she’d fallen for?
She packed her things and left for her parents’.
“Mum, I can’t do this anymore. I’m not his wife, just an investor. He only married me for the flat…”
“Think it over, love. But don’t you dare sign anything away. Not an inch!”
Julia returned. Soon after, Nelly barged in—no warning, dishevelled, tears streaming.
“Victor, it’s awful! Danny left Emily. No wedding now. And she’s taken out loans—car, clothes, phone…”
“What’s that got to do with us?” Vic blinked.
“We have to help. Julia must transfer half the flat to you. Mortgage it—we’ll repay the debt. We’ll fix it later!”
Julia froze. Then snapped back.
“Never. This flat was my parents’ gift. Don’t even think you’ll get a penny!”
“Cold-hearted wretch!” Nelly shrieked.
Julia stepped away but heard them whispering by the door.
“I tried, son. But she won’t budge…”
“I’ll think of something,” Victor muttered darkly.
Julia flung the door open.
“Go on, then! Scheme all you like! But know this—you’ll never get this flat. Not a scrap. Want a place of your own? Work for it, like everyone else!”
The next day, Victor moved back to his mum’s.
Julia filed for divorce. Late, but better that than losing what was hers. Because some appetites? Bottomless. But dignity? Only one.
