**Diary Entry**
Its funny how quickly things can unravel. Mum isnt going anywhere! If anyones leaving, itll be you! he shouted, as if hed forgotten whose name was on the deed.
I stood by the window, the sticky July heat pressing against the glass. Outside, children darted between the trees, their laughter muffled by the thick air.
Emily, wheres my shirt? His voice carried from the bedroom. The blue checked one.
Its in the wardrobe, I replied without turning. Top shelf.
Daniel appeared in the doorway, buttoning the shirt hed found. Tall, broad-shouldered, with the calloused hands of a carpenter. Once, those hands had felt like safety.
Listen, he said, straightening his collar. Mums coming round today. Make sure its spotlesslast time she wouldnt stop going on about the dust.
I turned to face him slowly, that familiar knot of irritation tightening in my chest.
Your mum always finds something to complain about, I said quietly. Last time, it was the roast being too dry. Before that, the mash wasnt creamy enough.
Then do better, he shrugged, as if discussing the weather. Shes only trying to help. No need to take it personally.
My hands curled into fists. This flat was *mine*. Id bought it before we even met, furnished it myself, poured my savings into renovating it. And now Margaret waltzed in every time, rearranged my things, and lectured me on how a home should be run.
Dan, we live in *my* flat, I reminded him. Maybe you should remember that?
He stilled, his fingers hovering over the door handle.
Whats that supposed to mean? His voice darkened. That I dont belong here?
I mean your mum acts like she owns the place, I took a step closer. And you let her.
Mum cares about us! He turned fully toward me. About *family*! Christ, she even gave up her own place for my brother!
I gave a bitter smile. That old story about helping the young couple had worn thin.
Your mum handed Simon a one-bed two years ago, I said slowly. So what? Does that mean she gets to dictate how *I* live in *my* home?
*Our* home! he snapped. Were married!
On your twenty-grand salary, wed be renting a shoebox in Croydon, the words slipped out before I could stop them.
His face darkened. He stepped closer, looming over me.
So now youre throwing that in my face? His voice trembled with anger. Because I dont earn enough?
Im not throwing anything, I lifted my chin. Just stating facts. Your mum rents now because she gave her flat to Simon. Yet she lectures *us* on how to live.
Simon *needed* it! Daniel turned to the window. Starting a family, planning for kids!
Kids, I repeated. Always about kids.
He whirled back around, fire in his eyes.
And what, isnt it time? Weve been married five years, and you keep putting it off. A proper wife wants children!
On *what*, Dan? I spread my hands. Your wages? Do you have any idea how much nappies cost? School uniforms? Doctors visits?
Well manage, he waved me off. Everyone else does!
Everyone else, I shook my head. And Ill be stuck on maternity pay while youre breaking your back at the factory for minimum wage?
Outside, birds chirped lazily in the trees. Daniel fell silent, jaw clenched.
You know what? he finally said, turning back. Enough. Mums got problems.
What now? I stepped away from the window.
She cant afford rent anymore, he rubbed his neck. Her pension doesnt cover it, and the landlord doubled it.
I nodded. Margaret had been moaning for months about prices. Of course, she should move in with Simoninto the very flat shed given him.
Right, I said. So Simons lot will have to make space.
Daniel stiffened. His eyes hardened.
Mums staying *here*, he declared. Temporarily, till she sorts something.
I froze. His words echoed oddly in my ears.
*Here?* I repeated. In *our* flat?
Yeah, here! His voice rose. Whats the issue? Theres plenty of room.
Dan, wheres she going to sleep? The sofa?
Whats wrong with that? He crossed his arms. Mums given up everything for us, and youre being selfish!
I pressed my back against the wall, indignation churning inside me.
Why not with Simon? I asked quietly. Hes got the flat *she* gave him.
Theyve got a *kid*! he roared. They need the space! Arent we family too?
We *are* family. But this flat is *mine*.
His face twisted. He stepped closer.
Selfish! Always thinking of yourself! A decent wife would stand by her husband!
I pressed against the wall, his presence suffocating.
You wont give me kids, at least help *this* way! he went on. Mums sacrificed everything for us!
Dan, listen I began, but he cut me off.
Maybe you dont *want* a family? Just say it!
I lowered my head. He knew how to push, knew every weak spot. Guilt washed over me.
Fine, I said quietly. She can stay for a bit.
A week later, Margaret moved into our living room. Three suitcases in tow, she immediately rearranged everything. The telly went by the window, the sofa against the wall, my houseplants exiled to the balcony.
It needs more light in here, she explained, shoving furniture around. And those plants just collect dust.
I watched silently as my living room became a strangers bedroom. Daniel carried her heavy things, fussing over her.
Mum, you sure youll be comfortable? he asked gently.
Ill manage, she sighed. Though its a bit cramped.
Three months passed. I became a ghost in my own home. Tiptoeing, apologising for every noise, every movement.
Margaret took over completely. She binned my washing powder, replaced it with her own. Banned my favourite biscuits.
These are too dear, shed say in the shop. No need to waste money.
In the mornings, I cleaned under her watchful eye. One day, taking out the rubbish, I spotted something familiar. I bent down and froze.
My childhood photo album. The one with school pictures, birthday parties. My only keepsake from growing up.
Hands shaking, I pulled it out, stained with tea leaves.
Margaret, I called, stepping back inside. Why was this in the bin?
She didnt look up from the telly.
Oh, that? I binned it. Just clutter.
These are my *photos*, my voice trembled.
Old rubbish, she waved a hand. No use keeping it.
Something inside me snapped. Three months of silence, of shrinking, of humiliation boiled over.
*Get out!* I screamed. Get out of *my* flat, *now*!
She leapt from the sofa, eyes blazing.
How *dare* you speak to me like that! she shrieked. Know your place!
Daniel rushed in, hair dishevelled. Hearing the shouting, he immediately took her side.
Mums not going anywhere! he roared. *Youre* the one wholl be out on the street!
But something in me had hardened. My scream died. I looked at them with icy calm.
The flat is in *my* name, I said quietly. Only *I* decide who lives here.
Youre *mad*! Daniel stepped toward me, face red. Im your *husband*!
*Ex*-husband, I corrected, turning to the wardrobe.
I yanked out a duffel bag and began stuffing Margarets things insideblouses, skirts, nightgownscarelessly.
Youve lost it! Daniel shouted. Stop this *now*!
I didnt answer. I grabbed slippers from under the sofa, tossed them in. Margaret scrambled, trying to snatch her things back.
Love, *calm down*! Her voice shook with outrage. Were *family*!
*Family?* I spun around. Family doesnt bin childhood photos!
She shrank back. Daniel lunged for the bag, but I dodged.
Mums given *everything* for us! he bellowed. And youre kicking her out like rubbish!
Five *years* I put up with you, I zipped the bulging bag. Three *months* Ive lived like a stranger in my own home!
I marched to the bedroom, hauled out Daniels thingsjumpers, shirts, jeansall into another bag. He followed, grabbing my wrist.
*Think*! Where will we *go*?
Not my problem, I wrenched free. Go to Simons.
Theres no *room* at Simons! Margaret wailed. Theyve got a *baby*!
And *I* have *me*! I shouted back, dragging both bags to the door.
I returned for shoes, toiletries, knick-knacks.
Youll rot here alone! Daniel yelled, shoving on his jacket. Youll come *begging* us to come back!
I held the door open in silence. Margaret sniffled, stuffing the last of her things into a carrier bag.
Love, *think*, she pleaded. Where will we *live*?
Where you lived before *me*, I replied.
Daniel snatched his bag, stormed out. On the threshold, he turned, face twisted.
Margaret shuffled out last, bags dragging. She looked back from the landing.
*Ungrateful*! she spat. We only ever wanted the best for you!
I shut the door. Turned the key. Slid the chain. Their shouts, footsteps, the lift doors clanging echoed from the stairwell.
Then silence.
I leaned against the door, listening to my own breath. For the first time in months, no blaring telly, no creaking sofa under her weight.
I walked to the living room. Put the sofa back. Turned the telly around. Brought my plants inside.
Then I sat, lifted the rescued album, flipped through the pagesschool plays, birthday cakes, gap-toothed grins.
And suddenly, I laughed. Quietly at first, then louder. It turned to sobs, then back to laughter. Tears streamed down my face as I clutched the album to my chest.
The flat was *mine* again. *Mine alone*.
