William returned from working abroad in Germany to his hometown of York late one evening. As always, his first stop was to visit his mother. Margaret squeezed her son tightly:
“Blimey, it’s been ages, Will! Missed you terribly. Did you make good money out there?”
“Same as always,” he chuckled. “On the way back, I thought—why rent a flat when I’m hardly home? Better to pay the mortgage on my own place.”
“Quite right,” his mother nodded. “You’re twenty-seven now—time to settle down. Can’t start a family without a proper roof over your head.”
Two months later, William bought a cosy one-bed flat in a new build, furnished it just how he liked, and left a spare key with his mum before heading off to work abroad again.
But as soon as he’d crossed the border, Margaret handed the keys to her daughter—Charlotte. A few years older than William, she’d never held steady work, drowning in debt while waiting for some wealthy bloke to sweep her off her feet.
“Just stay a while, save up, get back on your feet,” Margaret thought. “What’s the harm?”
She was wrong. Four months later, Charlie hadn’t saved a penny—instead, she’d piled on more debt. When it was time to leave, she simply changed the locks, ensuring no one, not even William, could kick her out.
When William returned and his key didn’t fit, he stood frozen.
“What the hell—?” He drove straight to his mum’s.
She stammered out the truth—she’d let Charlie stay but never expected her to swap the locks. William’s temper flared.
“Letting her stay without telling me is one thing, but changing the bloody locks? And now she won’t leave?”
“I offered my place,” Margaret defended. “She refused…”
The next day, William called the police. They forced the door open. He didn’t press charges, but the row with Charlie was brutal.
“You could’ve stayed with Mum,” she scoffed. “You’ll be off working again soon anyway. I’ve got my own life to sort.”
“That’s not what I bought the flat for,” he snapped. “Take your boyfriends to a rental. Get a job and pay off your own debts.”
“I’ll manage without you! Worry about your own life first!”
Charlie packed up and left. The rift between them was final. William didn’t mourn it—he’d long known she only cared about money.
Months passed. Margaret had a cottage with a garden, and during his leave, William went to help with the harvest. To his surprise, Charlie was there.
“Well, look who’s back,” she sneered. “Guilt got you digging spuds now?”
“Better question—why are *you* here? Need more cash?”
“Mum bought me a flat,” she said coolly. “For all my hard work.”
“What? What bloody flat?”
“A two-bed new build. Fully furnished. On mortgage. Mum’s name.”
William went pale. He remembered slogging on construction sites abroad, saving every penny for his deposit… And Charlie just got handed hers?
He said nothing. Finished helping and left. But it stung.
A week later, Charlie texted him—the patio door was broken, could he fix it? He agreed, curious to see her “palace.” The flat was ordinary, no better than his.
“Hardware’s busted,” he said. “Need a replacement part.”
“Order it yourself. Get the money from Mum,” she shrugged.
“You’re taking the piss! Mum bought you this place, furnished it, and you won’t even cover a minor repair?”
“You’re just jealous. She loves me more. Now piss off.”
William walked out without another word. That same day, he blocked her number. No more calls, no more meetings.
“Let them get on with it,” he decided. “I know my place. And no one’s getting keys again.”
