**Overhearing My Husbands Sister Plotting to Take My Flat I Gave Her an Unexpected Surprise**
Emily shoved the dirty plates into the dishwasher and smacked the express-wash button. Friday night dinner had gone swimminglyOliver wolfed down her famous beef-and-ale pie with gusto. Even Poppy, who usually turned her nose up at anything that poser cooked (as she called Emily behind her back), helped herself to seconds.
Off for a shower, Oliver called from the hall. Football with the lads tomorrowneed my beauty sleep.
Go on, Emily waved, scrubbing down the counter.
Poppy lounged in the living room, glued to her phone. Shed turned up the night beforeas usual, unannounced, hauling enough shopping bags to outfit a small boutique, her face permanently set to *unimpressed*. Just popping in for the weekend, naturally.
Fancy a cuppa? Emily asked, leaning through the doorway.
No, Poppy snipped, not glancing up.
Emily shrugged. Three years of marriage had numbed her to her sister-in-laws barbs. Olivers mantra? *Poppys prickly, but shes sound. Dont let it rattle you.*
The shower hissed to life. Emily flicked the kettle on and reached for her favourite mugthen froze. Poppys voice slithered from the living room:
Mum, hi Yeah, at theirs No, she *attempted* cooking again Listen, spoke to the solicitor.
Mug hovering mid-air, Emily held her breath. Poppy dropped to a whisper, but in the quiet flat, every word carried.
Yes, through court Since Nan left the flat to Oliver, not both No, that dimwit hasnt a clue she can be booted off the deeds Oliverll sign anything if you word it right
The mug slipped, smashing on the tiles.
Whats that racket? Poppys voice sharpened.
Dropped a mug, Emily managed, ice flooding her veins.
*The flat.* The three-bed in Chelsea theyd called home for three years. A gift from Olivers nan. *For the newlyweds*, shed said. And now this viper wanted her evicted?
Classic, Poppy materialised in the doorway. Butterfingers.
Got distracted, Emily bent to gather shards, grateful Poppy couldnt see her face.
Use a dustpan, for Gods sake.
Emily fetched it mechanically, hands trembling.
Why the shakes? Poppy narrowed her eyes. Its just a mug.
Startled me, thats all.
Right. Our delicate *daisy*, Poppy scoffed, flouncing off.
Emilys mind reeled: *They want me out. Thats why shes here.*
Oliver emerged, whistling *God Save the Queen* off-key.
Mug casualty? He grinned. Weve got stacks.
Mm, Emily forced a smile.
He kissed her head and ambled to bed.
Emily didnt sleep a wink. Oliver snored; she stared at the ceiling. Tell him? He idolised Poppy. Complain to her mother-in-law? She was clearly in on italways polite but never warm.
*Ill handle this myself,* she decided by dawn. But *how*?
At sunrise, Emily crept to the kitchen. Her hands shook so badly she missed the cup twice with the sugar.
Get a grip, she muttered. *Think.*
Her eyes landed on a solicitors card stuck to the fridgeMr. Davies, whod helped their neighbour with a property tiff. She grabbed her mobile.
Morning! Mr. Davies? Emily Whitmore, from flat 3B I need urgent advice. Today? One oclock? Brilliant.
Oliver shuffled in, pillow crease on his cheek.
Up early? He pecked her lips.
Couldnt sleep. Oliver, Im seeing a mate todayLucy. Ages since we caught up.
Lucy who?
From yoga, she bluffed.
Righto. Im taking Pops to the cinema. She fancied it.
*Of course she did,* Emily thought, biting her tongue.
Mr. Davies office reeked of legal pads and instant coffee. The balding, bespectacled man listened intently.
The flat was a gift from your husbands nan Are you on the deeds?
Registered, yes. Right after the wedding.
And the title deedwhose names on it?
Emily blinked. No idea. Oliver handled it.
Mr. Davies sighed. First, confirm ownership. If its just Oliver, theres an issue. If joint, Poppys barking up the wrong tree.
How?
Land Registry extract. Do it today.
Emily returned armed. In the hall, she tripped over Poppys designer trainers.
Back so soon? Poppy smirked from the kitchen. We *missed* you.
Caught up with Lucy, Emily kept her tone light.
Oliver took me to the flicks, Poppy drawled, leaning on the doorframe. Still picks those bang-crash-wallop films, the manchild.
Emily breezed past. In the bedroom, she whipped out her phone, pulled up the Land Registry site, paid the fee. *Now, wait.*
That night, with Oliver snoring and Poppy sulking in the guest room, the email arrived. Hands shaking, she opened it.
*Proprietor: Whitmore, Oliver James.*
Her stomach dropped. Poppy was rightlegally, the flat was his alone. Fear curdled into fury. *Oh, I dont think so.*
At dawn, she rang Mr. Davies.
Listen closely, he cut in. Registered over three years?
Nearly.
Good. Youve got occupancy rights. Plus, marital assetsfurniture, appliancesare joint. Got receipts for renovations?
Every one.
Then youre golden. Gather proof. And *dont sign anything* they hand you.
Ta.
Emily tell your husband.
She sighed. Doubt hell pick me over them.
For two days, Emily moved like a chess player. She smiled, roasted a chicken, played nice. Meanwhile, she ammoed up: receipts for the sofa, the boiler, the knocked-through wall. Bank transfers. Their prenup specifying shared assets.
On Monday, Poppy announced she was *extending* her stay.
Surprise holiday, she beamed at Oliver. You wont chuck your sis out, eh?
Stay forever! Oliver laughed.
Emilys nails bit her palms.
That evening, Poppys hissed phone call floated down the hall:
Mum, its sorted Yes, staying longer No, the numptys clueless Papers are nearly ready Oliverll sign, hes putty
Emilys blood boiled. *Not on my watch, love.*
Next day, she took leave, marched to the solicitor, then the council office. By dusk, she had a fat folder and a plan.
Darling, lets have your parents round this weekend, she chirped over bangers and mash. Ages since we hosted.
Poppys head snapped up, eyes narrowed.
Smashing idea! Oliver beamed. Pops, Mumll be chuffed youre here too.
*Thrilled*, Poppy muttered.
Saturday, Emily cooked like she was auditioning for *MasterChef*. Roast beef, Yorkshire puds, sticky toffee puddingthe works. *Last supper*, she thought bitterly, julienning carrots.
By six, the table groaned. Olivers parents arrivedGeoffrey and Margaret. Margarets smile didnt reach her eyes.
Youre looking *well*, Emily dear.
Ta, Emily beamed back.
Once seated, Oliver raised his wine:
To family!
To family, Emily echoed, sipping.
Poppy caught her eye and smirked. *Just you wait.*
Actually, Emily set her glass down, theres something I need to address.
All eyes swivelled to her. Poppy paled.
Oliver, I overheard Poppy and your mum plotting.
Silence.
What? Oliver frowned.
To convince you to transfer the flat into your name only. Evict me.
Rubbish! Margaret spluttered. Emily, thats *outrageous*!
Heard it clear as day, Emily said steadily. Poppys words: *That airhead doesnt know she can be removed,* and *Oliverll sign if you phrase it right.*
Poppy shot up: You *snooped* on me?!
Overheard while cleaning, Emily shot back. Point is, you want me *homeless*.
*
