**Diary Entry 17th June**
When are you two finally going to buy a flat? Mums voice was sharp, demanding. She sat on the sofa in our rented one-bedroomwhere Sophie and James had lived for the past three yearsstaring at my daughter as if shed committed a crime.
How much longer will you waste time renting?
Sophie sighed and turned to the window. These conversations had long stopped being merely unpleasanttheyd become torture. Ever since Sophie married James, Mum had been relentless. She claimed Sophie had picked the wrong man. That James had no property, no money, nothing at all. Why settle for such a husband? And for three years, Mum had badgered themwhen would they buy a flat? Why were they still renting? Werent they ashamed?
Irritation simmered beneath my ribs, ready to burst.
Were looking for the right place, Mum, Sophie said at last, keeping her tone even. The right area, price, condition. We need something second-hand with decent renovations because we cant afford to do it ourselves. Understand?
Mum scoffed and rolled her eyes so dramatically Sophies fists clenched.
Of course, Mum drawled, voice dripping with scorn. If youd married a proper man, youd be living in luxury, not scraping for cheap flats. You couldve looked at new builds. But nohere you are, settling for leftovers.
Sophie stood abruptly, barely holding back a shout.
Ive got things to do, Mum, she said flatly, heading for the door.
Mum kept talking, but Sophie didnt listen. She walked her out, shut the door, and leaned against it, exhaling. Only now did she realise how tense shed beenher shoulders ached, her jaw sore from clenching. Lately, every visit from Mum was a battle. Defending, justifying, arguingall for nothing.
She went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water. Sat at the table, sipping, trying to steady herself. Then, the phone rang.
Sophie! James voice was electric. Ive found it! The perfect flat! You need to come nowheres the address. We have to move fast. This is our chance!
Sophies heart raced. She scribbled the address, threw on her coat, and dashed for a cab. The whole ride, she fidgeted, glancing out the window, urging the driver faster in her mind.
James was waiting outside the building, beaming.
Come on, youll see, he said, taking her hand.
The flat was on the third floor. A two-bed. Small but cosy. Freshly done uplight walls, hardwood-style laminate, double-glazed windows. The furniture stayedsofa, wardrobes, fitted kitchen. All clean, well-kept.
Look, James led her through. Bedroom here, living room there. Bright kitchen. And the best partshops, bus stops, a school nearby. All the essentials. Price is fair. The owners are relocatingwe got lucky.
Sophie wandered silently, touching walls, peeking into cupboards. Warmth spread through her chest. This was *their* flat. She imagined mornings drinking tea together, arranging their things.
So? James asked, hopeful.
Yes, Sophie smiled, and he hugged her.
They sealed the deal there. Discussed details, set a date to sign. Then, giddy, they headed home, James chattering about furniture, changes. Sophie stayed quiet, grinning. Joy bubbled inside her, so fierce she wanted to scream, dance.
The next weeks blurredpaperwork, packing, moving. James handled most of it. Finally, moving day arrived. Boxes unpacked, furniture arranged. Their first evening in their own home.
Sophie stood in the living room, just *looking*. James came up behind her, arms around her shoulders.
Our flat, he whispered.
Our home, Sophie saidthen tears came.
But the joy didnt last. The next day, the doorbell rang. Mum stood there, face pinched.
Hello, she muttered, barging past.
She inspected every corner, brows furrowed, lips tight. Finally, she stopped, disgusted.
*This* is it?
Sophie blinked. What dyou mean?
Mum wrinkled her nose as if standing in a landfill. Its tiny. Cheap. I thought youd buy at least a three-bed. This isnt a homeits a shoebox.
Sophies face burned. James stepped in.
This is our first place, he said calmly. Well save, maybe move bigger later. But for now, were happy.
Mum snorted, grabbed her bag, and left. At the door, she turned.
This flat sums up your husbanduseless, dull, and pathetic. Just like him.
The door slammed. Sophie stood frozen. James appeared, smiling sadly.
Its fine, he murmured. Ignore it.
But Sophie saw the hurt in his eyes.
Weeks passed. They settled in, made it theirsflowers on the sill, pictures hung. Then Mum visited again. James vanished into the bedroom. Over tea, Mum sneered.
Every time I see this place, it depresses me. Whyd you buy this dump?
Its what we could afford, Mum.
Because you married *James*! Proper people buy proper homesnot rabbit hutches!
Sophie gripped her cup, the heat seeping into her palms.
Were happy.
My neighbours daughter lives in a *three-bed new build*! Doesnt work, drives a Mercedes! Because she married a *real* mannot like James!
Something snapped. Sophie slammed her cup down.
Oh, brilliant comparison! Never mind that neighbours daughters filed for divorce *three times*! That she hides from her husband! Clings to him for money! *Thats* your ideal?
Mum gaped. Sophie didnt let her speak.
I *love* James! Id live *under a bridge* if he was with mebecause he loves me too. Hed never raise a hand to me. *That* matters more than cars or flats or money. If you cant accept that, dont bother coming back!
Mum paled, then reddened. She snatched her bag and left.
Silence.
James emerged, held her. Sophie sobbed into his chest.
Im sorry, she choked. Sorry for her. Sorry she says those things
Shh, he whispered, kissing her hair. Its alright. Id live under a bridge with you too.
Sophie looked up, smiling through tears.
No, they werent rich. No three-bed new build, no fancy car. But they had lovereal, deep, unshakable. And that was everything.
**Lesson:** Happiness isnt measured in square feet. Its in the hands that hold you when the world tries to tear you down.
