**Diary Entry**
*Monday, 12th June*
“Vacate the flat. I’m getting married, and we’ll be living here,” declared my husbands daughter from his first marriage.
*Earlier today*
“Margaret, you forgot to sign your leave request form. HR needs it by lunch,” my colleague Emily reminded me.
I lifted my head from my computer and smiled. “Thanks, love. Ill pop over now.”
Setting aside my work, I headed to HR, thinking about my upcoming holiday. I fancied a seaside trip, but my husband, Robert, insisted on staying at our cottage. “Why waste money when we can relax in the countryside for free?” hed said. I didnt argue. After eight years together, Id learned to pick my battles.
Back at my desk, I noticed several missed calls from Robert. Oddhe never rang during work hours. I called back.
“Margaret, can you come home early?” His voice was tense.
“Has something happened?”
“It’s Victoria. Shes here. Says she needs to talk.”
VictoriaRoberts daughter from his first marriage. Twenty-seven, lived up in Manchester, rarely visited. Usually, it meant she needed money.
“Alright, Ill try to be back by six.”
I left early, taking the Tube home. The three-bed flat in Croydon had been my parents. When I married Robert, I never thought about prenups or legalities. I loved him. I trusted him.
Unlocking the door, I heard voices in the living roomVictoria chattering, Robert murmuring agreement. I slipped off my shoes and walked in.
Victoria sat on the sofa in a sleek dress, a young man in a tailored suit beside her. A bottle of champagne sat open on the table.
“Ah, Margaretfinally,” Victoria said, eyeing me. “Meet Oliver, my fiancé.”
“Pleasure,” I said, shaking his hand.
“Sit,” Robert gestured to the armchair. “Victorias got something to discuss.”
I sat, my stomach tightening. The air felt wrong.
“Vacate the flat. Im getting married, and well be living here.” Victorias words hit like a slap.
I stared. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Oliver and I need a place. This flats perfect.”
“Victoria, this is *Margarets* flat,” Robert said weakly.
“Dad, youve been on the lease for eight years. By law, youve got rights. And Im your only childyour heir.”
My hands went cold.
“Robert, what is this?”
He wouldnt meet my eyes. “Margaret, love, shes got a point. Maybe we should talk”
“Talk about *what*? This is *my* flat. My parents bought it. I grew up here!”
“But Dads entitled to a share,” Victoria pulled papers from her bag. “Ive spoken to a solicitor. Eight years cohabiting, joint billshe could claim half in court.”
“Youre mad,” I turned to Robert. “Say something!”
He fidgeted. “Margaret, lets be reasonable. Victorias starting her life. We could downsize”
I couldnt believe it. Eight years together, and hed betray me like this?
“Oliver,” I snapped. “Who exactly are you to decide what *we* need?”
“Im Victorias future husband. That makes me family.”
“Youre *nothing* to me.”
“Margaret, dont be rude,” Victoria huffed. “Olivers family owns an estate agency. Were not *paupers*.”
“Then have *them* buy you a flat.”
“Why buy when we can have this?” She shrugged. “Dad, dont you want me happy?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“Then *make her see sense*.”
I pulled out my phone.
“What are you doing?” Robert asked.
“Calling my solicitor. And I suggest you all leave.”
“Margaret, dont”
I dialled. “James? Its Margaret Whitmore. I need an appointmenttomorrow morning? Brilliant.”
I hung up. “Now get out.”
“You cant kick me out!” Victoria snapped.
“Watch me.”
I grabbed my bag and left, hands shaking. Eight years. Eight years, and hed chosen *her*.
My friend Sarah lived nearby. One look at me, and she knew.
“Tea?” she offered.
Over chamomile, I told her everything. Sarah sighed.
“I *told* you to get a prenup.”
“Not helpful.”
“Right, sorry. Whats the plan?”
“See the solicitor tomorrow. ThenGod, I dont know. Divorce, probably.”
Robert rang. I ignored it.
*Next Morning*
Jamesmy silver-haired solicitorlistened calmly.
“Margaret, relax. The flats yours. Bought pre-marriage, solely in your name. Hes got no claim.”
“And the lease?”
“Leaseholders dont own. At worst, youd give him notice to leave.”
Relief hit like a wave.
Work passed in a blur. Robert called. I ignored him.
*That Evening*
He sat at the kitchen table, tea untouched.
“Margaret, finally. Ive been worried.”
“Wheres Victoria?”
“Gone to Olivers. Love, lets talk.”
“About *what*? How you sat there while she *stole my home*?”
“I was blindsided”
“*Liar.* She *had legal papers*.”
He looked down. “Shes my daughter.”
“And Im your *wife*.”
Silence.
“Im filing for divorce.”
“Margaret”
“*No.* You chose. Now *leave*.”
He packed a bag and left.
*Two Weeks Later*
A call from HelenOlivers mother.
“Margaret, I owe you an apology. Victoria liedshes *not* pregnant. Olivers called off the wedding.”
“No surprise,” I muttered.
“Keep your guard up. Shes already sniffing around another banker.”
*Fast-forward*
Divorce final. Robert didnt fight it.
Then*Nicholas*. New IT bloke at work. Quiet, kind. Helped me with my laptop. Asked me for coffee.
Today, we bumped into Robert and Victoria in Hyde Park. Awkward nods. Victoria scowled.
Nicholas squeezed my hand. “Glad you divorced him.”
“Why?”
“Else Id never have met you.”
I smiled. Funny how life works.
Tonight, I deleted old photos. Eight yearssome good, yes. But when tested, Robert failed. *I didnt.*
Nicholas texted: *”Dinner tomorrow?”*
I replied: *”Yes.”*
Life*thank God*goes on.
