**”Overhearing My Husbands Sister Plotting to Take My Flat I Gave Her an Unexpected Surprise”**
Emily shoved the dirty plates into the dishwasher and flicked on the express cycle. The Friday dinner had gone smoothly: Thomas wolfed down her signature shepherds pie with relish. Even Beatrice, who usually wrinkled her nose at anything “that upstart” cookedas she called Emily behind her backhelped herself to seconds.
“Im off for a shower,” Thomas called from the hall. “Got football with the lads tomorrowneed an early night.”
“Go on then,” Emily waved him off, wiping down the counter.
Beatrice lounged in the sitting room, glued to her mobile. Shed turned up the night beforeas usual, unannounced, lugging designer shopping bags and wearing her perpetual scowl. “Just popping in for the weekend,” shed said. Again.
“Fancy a cuppa?” Emily asked, leaning into the doorway.
“No,” Beatrice snapped, not glancing up from her screen.
Emily shrugged and returned to the kitchen. Three years of marriage had taught her to let Beatrices barbs slide. Thomas always said, “Beas got a sharp tongue, but shes all right. Dont take it personally.”
The shower hissed to life. Emily filled the kettle and reached for her favourite mug. Then Beatrices voice drifted in from the sitting room:
“Mum, hi Yeah, at theirs No, she served up her usual slop Listen, I spoke to the solicitor.”
Emily froze, mug in hand. Beatrice dropped her voice, but in the quiet flat, every word carried.
“Yes, through the courts Since Nan left the flat to Thomas, not both of them No, that dimwit hasnt a clue she can be struck off the deed Thomasll sign anything if you spin it right”
The mug slipped, shattering on the tiles.
“Whats that racket?” Beatrices voice sharpened.
“Dropped a mug,” Emily managed, ice flooding her veins.
The flat The three-bedroom in Kensington theyd called home for three years. A gift from Thomass nan. “For the newlyweds,” the old woman had said. And now this viper meant to toss her out?
“Typical,” Beatrice appeared in the doorway. “Butterfingers, arent you?”
“Sorrydistracted,” Emily bent to gather the shards, glad Beatrice couldnt see her face.
“Use the dustpan, for Gods sake.”
Emily fetched it numbly, hands trembling.
“Whats got you shaking? Its just a mug,” Beatrice scoffed.
“Startled me, thats all.”
“Right. Our delicate little daisy,” Beatrice snorted, flouncing back to the sofa.
One thought looped in Emilys head: *They want me out. Out of my own home. Thats why Beatrice turned up*
Thomas emerged, whistling.
“Broke a mug? No worriesweve got loads,” he grinned.
“Yeah,” Emily forced a smile.
He kissed her hair and ambled off to bed.
Emily didnt sleep a wink. Thomas snored beside her while she stared at the ceiling, plotting. Tell her husband? He idolised his sister. Complain to her mother-in-law? She was clearly in on it! The woman had never warmed to Emily, though she faked it well.
*Ill handle this myself,* Emily decided by dawn. But how?
At sunrise, she crept to the kitchen. Her hands shook so badly she missed the cup twice with the sugar spoon.
“Get a grip,” she whispered. “Think.”
Her eyes landed on a solicitors card stuck to the fridgeJonathan Whitmore, whod helped their neighbour with a property dispute. She grabbed her phone.
“Jonathan Whitmore? Its Emily Hart, Sophies neighbour. I need urgent advice. Today? One oclock? Brilliant.”
Thomas shuffled in, pillow crease on his cheek.
“Morning,” he pecked her cheek. “Up early?”
“Couldnt sleep. Thomas, Im seeing a friend todayLizzie. Been ages.”
“Lizzie? Righto. Taking Bea to the cinema later. She asked last night.”
*Of course she did,* Emily thought.
The solicitors office reeked of coffee and leather. Jonathan, a balding man in wire-frames, listened intently.
“The flat came from your husbands nan Are you on the deed?”
“Registered right after the wedding.”
“And whose names on the title?”
“Pardon?”
“The ownership papers. Deed of gift? Will?”
Emily blinked. “Thomas handled all that.”
Jonathan sighed. “First, confirm who owns it. If its just Thomasyoure in trouble. If its jointhis sister cant touch you.”
“How?”
“Request a Land Registry update. Do it today.”
Emily returned with a plan. In the hall, she tripped over Beatrices heels.
“Back already?” Beatrice smirked from the kitchen. “We wondered where youd got to.”
“With Lizzie,” Emily kept her voice steady.
“We saw that new action flick,” Beatrice drawled, leaning on the doorframe. “Tommy still loves that childish nonsense.”
Emily nodded, slipping past. In the bedroom, she pulled out her phone, ordered the registry update. Now to wait.
That night, with Thomas snoring and Beatrice sulking in the guest room, Emily checked her email. The update had arrived. Her fingers trembled as she opened it.
**”Owner: Hart, Thomas William.”**
Emilys stomach dropped. Beatrice was rightlegally, the flat was his alone. Fear curdled into fury. *Not a chance.*
At dawn, she rang Jonathan again.
“Listen,” he cut in. “Have you been registered over three years?”
“Nearly.”
“Good. Youve got occupancy rights. Plus, marital assetsfurniture, appliancesare joint. And if youve proof you funded renovations”
“We did! I kept receipts.”
“Then youve got leverage. Gather everything. And *dont* sign anything they hand you.”
“Ta.”
“And Emily tell your husband.”
She sighed. “Doubt hell side with me.”
For two days, Emily tiptoed through minefields. She smiled, cooked, played the doting wife. Meanwhile, she compiled evidence: receipts, bank transfers, their prenup stating shared assets.
On Monday, Beatrice announced shed stay the week.
“Surprise holiday,” she simpered at Thomas. “You wont turf your own sister out, will you?”
“Stay as long as you like!” Thomas laughed.
Emily bit her tongue.
That evening, she caught Beatrice whispering again:
“Mum, its sorted Yes, Ill stay No, the idiots clueless The papers are nearly ready Thomasll sign, hes putty”
Emilys blood boiled. *Not so fast, love.*
Next day, she took leave, visited the notary, then the Land Registry. By dusk, she had a fat folder and a plan.
“Darling, lets invite your parents this weekend,” she suggested over dinner. “Been ages.”
Beatrices head jerked up, eyes narrow.
“Smashing idea!” Thomas beamed. “Bea, Mumll be chuffed youre here too.”
“Lovely,” Beatrice muttered.
Saturday morning, Emily cooked like a woman possessed. Roast, Yorkshire puddings, treacle tartshe poured her rage into the feast. *The last supper,* she thought, chopping herbs.
By six, the table groaned. Thomass parents arrivedWilliam and Margaret. Her mother-in-law eyed her with saccharine disdain.
“You look well, Emily dear.”
“Ta,” Emily smiled sweetly.
Once seated, Thomas raised his glass: “To family!”
“To family,” Emily echoed, sipping her wine.
Beatrice caught her eye and smirked. *Just wait,* Emily thought.
“Actually,” Emily announced, “theres something we need to discuss.”
All eyes turned.
“Thomas, I overheard Beatrice and your mum plotting.”
Silence. Beatrice paled.
“What?” Thomas frowned.
“Theyre planning to convince you to transfer the flat solely to your name. To kick me out.”
“Rubbish!” Margaret gasped. “Thomas, shes hysterical!”
“Em, whats this about?” Thomas looked between them, bewildered.
“I heard every word,” Emily said coolly. “Beatrice said, *That dimwit hasnt a clue,* and that youd *sign anything if spun right.*”
Beatrice shot up: “You eavesdropped?!”
“Overheard while cleaning. But the point isyou want me *homeless.*”
“*Your* home?” Margaret sneered. “The flats Thomass! His nan left it to *him!*”
“Love, this is mad,” Thomas took Emilys
