They say that as the New Year approaches…
Three weeks remained until the big night. Soon, homes across the country would be filled with Christmas trees, festive tables laden with champagne and roast dinners. Glasses would clink, toasts would be made, and wishes whispered as the clock struck midnight. Emma knew exactly what she’d wish for—a ring on her finger, a proposal from Andrew, and a future sealed with love.
On her day off, she wandered through London’s bustling shops, hunting for presents, gourmet treats, and—if luck was on her side—something new to wear. The noise, the crush of bodies, the stifling warmth of department stores left her drained, but she managed to find a crisp shirt and a leather belt for Andrew, small gifts for coworkers, and a bottle of perfume for herself. The dress could wait—she still had time.
The Underground was just as suffocating. Emma called a cab. Outside, shop windows twinkled with holiday lights, and snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky. She imagined returning home to Andrew, a cosy evening for two. Tomorrow was another day off—sleep, warmth, quiet. They weren’t married yet, but they lived together. That made them family. They’d agreed—New Year’s Eve would be just the two of them, an intimate celebration…
***
Emma had moved to London from a tiny village in Sussex to study. Graduating with first-class honours landed her a prestigious job, the kind that let her start saving for a flat of her own.
For two years, she’d shared a cramped apartment with a friend. Then the friend found a boyfriend, and living together became awkward. Renting alone was expensive—she’d never afford her own place that way.
Her parents helped, giving her their life savings, and with her own careful hoarding, Emma started flat-hunting. Nothing fit—too expensive, too far out, too much work needed. Defeated, she dragged herself to view one last place.
It wasn’t central. A small two-bed with a modest kitchen on the twelfth floor. But when she reached the window—her breath caught. The view stretched over a wide avenue, cars streaming like ribbons of light. She imagined evenings spent watching the city pulse below, and without hesitation, she bought it.
Furniture meant taking out a loan. She turned the wide windowsill into a nest—piled it with cushions, sipped tea there in the evenings, mesmerised by the glittering skyline.
Finally, she had her own place. In London. And she wasn’t even thirty yet. Wasn’t that luck? She loved coming home, running her fingers over every surface, settling on her windowsill.
Then, four months ago, she’d met Andrew on the Tube. He’d given up his seat. Turned out they lived nearby. They got off at the same stop, and he carried her shopping bags to her door.
“Renting too?” he’d asked.
“No, it’s mine,” she answered proudly.
Soon, they kept bumping into each other at the station, then started meeting deliberately. They’d chatter the whole ride until Emma got off for work. Andrew rode farther. Both single, both drawn to each other—nothing stopped things from deepening.
He began staying over. Loved the view from her window—his own flat faced a dull courtyard. In the mornings, he’d rush home to change before work. She bought him a toothbrush.
“Bring spare clothes and a razor. Why waste time running back?” she suggested once.
“Maybe I should just move in. Honestly, I practically live here anyway—why pay rent for a place I never use?” he joked.
“Fine, I’ll rent you a room. Payment in kind. Deal?” she teased back.
The next day, Andrew moved in. They celebrated with wine and a lavish dinner, then curled together on the windowsill, watching the city lights.
Nothing could shatter their little paradise. Emma floated on air. Everything had fallen into place. Her parents waited for a wedding, for grandchildren. A whole life stretched ahead…
***
Emma opened her front door and tripped over scuffed winter boots. An unfamiliar puffy coat hung on the rack—too cheap to be her mother’s. Voices murmured from the living room. She hung her coat and stepped inside.
Andrew sat on the sofa beside a rosy-cheeked woman wrapped in a floral shawl. Emma greeted them.
“Mum, this is Emma,” Andrew said, leaping up.
The woman turned, beaming, her eyes vanishing into crinkles.
“So pretty. Hello, love,” she said, rising to embrace Emma. The scent of cheap perfume clung to her.
“Just popped in to see how my boy’s getting on,” she said, pulling back to study Emma.
Emma forced a smile, then shot Andrew a look.
“You didn’t tell me your mum was coming.”
If he claimed it was a surprise visit, she wouldn’t believe it. Did his mother even know the address?
“Sorry, forgot,” Andrew muttered, avoiding her gaze.
“I brought treats—left ’em in the kitchen. Come, love, I’ll show you.”
Love. She’d never met this woman, wasn’t even engaged, and already she was “love.” Emma bit her tongue.
“You must be hungry after travelling. Let me sort something.” She pulled soup from the fridge, reheated leftovers.
Over dinner, Andrew’s mother rambled about news only he cared about. Emma felt like an intruder. How much else didn’t she know about him?
“Always told my boy—marry a London girl. Put down roots. Nothing back home. Lovely flat, bit small though. Hot water, no chopping wood—proper luxury,” his mother prattled. “So, when’s the wedding?”
Emma choked.
Your boy? Lovely flat? Mine! He hasn’t even proposed! But the woman had already moved on.
After lunch, Andrew ushered his yawning mother to the bedroom. Soon, snores rumbled through the flat.
“How long is she staying?” Emma asked when they were alone.
“Few days? Dad’s alone back home—she won’t leave him long.”
“You should’ve warned me. You skipped shopping to meet her, didn’t you?”
“Don’t be mad. I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
She bit back a retort—no rows with his mother next door. That evening, the woman planted herself before the telly, gasping at everything.
“Like the pictures!”
By Monday, the flat reeked of burnt grease—Andrew’s mother fried potatoes in lard.
“You should’ve used the extractor fan,” Emma said. The kitchen looked ransacked—crumbs everywhere, bags strewn about.
“Your husband must miss you,” Emma ventured.
“Him? Hardly. Thrilled I’m gone. Thirty years together—we’re sick of each other. Good for him to miss me.”
Emma nearly groaned. She wasn’t leaving. Then Andrew’s father arrived. Missed his wife. Returning home felt like a prison sentence. Her cosy flat had become a pigsty—clothes everywhere, shoes blocking the hall, the bathroom slick with water. His parents hogged the shower daily.
At work, colleagues noticed her gloom. She confessed.
“Classic in-laws. Bloodsuckers. Can’t kick ’em out. Think they’re trying to push you out of your own place?”
A week till New Year’s. No signs of them leaving. Emma begged Andrew to talk to them. He promised—nothing changed.
After work, she resolved to confront them herself. But stepping inside, she found his mother weeping, his father shaking a fist, vowing revenge.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asked.
“My girl—Andy’s sister. Thought she’d met a good man. Promised marriage, then—!” His mother dabbed her eyes.
“Kicked her out. Says the baby’s not his,” his father spat.
“Someone should fetch her,” Emma said, hoping they’d leave.
“Andy’s gone to the station.”
“She’s coming here?!”
“Where else? Our place has no hot water, no proper bath. You don’t mind, love?”
Emma nearly exploded. No more silence. When Andrew returned, she’d throw them all out. Five adults and a baby in her tiny flat? Unthinkable.
Let Andrew rent them a place. She’d even pay—just get them out.
“Wait—I have parents too!” She didn’t wait for Andrew. Took the train home. He called en route.
“Where are you?”
“At my parents’. I’m not coming back till your family’s gone. Rent them a flat.”
“Thought you were kind. You’re just selfish.”
“Selfish? You moved in, then your parents, now your sister and a newborn? I’m done. We’re over.” She hung up.
Her mother gasped at her arrival. Her father made a call.
“Roman’s coming. He’ll help.”
“Who?”
“Roman Blackwood—your old classmate. Police now. Commutes daily—his mum’s ill. Our neighbour looks in when he’s onThe next morning, Roman arrived in his police car, marched into Emma’s flat, and within minutes had Andrew and his family packed and on their way to the station, while Emma watched from the window, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks, knowing that sometimes the best endings begin with a single, bold decision.