They say, as the New Year draws near…
Three weeks remained before the bells would chime, the streets would glow with lights, and homes across the land would brim with laughter, twinkling trees, and feasts of roast turkey and mince pies. Glasses of sparkling wine would clink, toasts would be made, and wishes whispered as the clock struck twelve. Emily already knew what she would wish for—an engagement ring from Anthony, a promise of forever.
On her day off, she wandered through the shops, hunting for gifts and festive treats, hoping perhaps to treat herself to a new dress. The noise and bustle wearied her quickly, but she managed a few purchases: a crisp shirt and leather belt for Anthony, little trinkets for her colleagues, and a bottle of perfume for herself. The dress could wait—there was still time.
The Underground was stifling, crowded. Emily hailed a cab instead. Through the window, she watched London pass by—shopfronts adorned with garlands, slow-falling snow dusting the rooftops. She imagined returning home, curling up with Anthony for a quiet evening. Tomorrow was another day to sleep in. They weren’t married yet, but they lived together, and that felt like family. They’d agreed—this New Year’s Eve would be just the two of them.
***
Emily had come to London from a sleepy market town in Kent, armed with a first-class degree and a place at a prestigious firm. Her salary was decent, and she’d begun saving for a flat.
The first two years, she’d shared a cramped rental with a friend. But then the friend found a boyfriend, and living together grew awkward. Renting alone was too costly—she’d never save enough.
Her parents stepped in, offering their modest savings, and with her own careful hoarding, Emily began flat-hunting. Nothing suited—too expensive, too far, too shabby. Defeated, she dragged herself to view one last place.
It was far from the city centre, two small rooms and a nine-metre kitchen on the twelfth floor. But when she reached the window, her breath caught. The flat overlooked a wide avenue, cars streaming endlessly below. She imagined the evening glow, the glittering lights—and without hesitation, she bought it.
Furnishing meant taking out a loan. Emily turned the deep windowsill into a nest, piling it with cushions where she’d sit with tea, mesmerised by the view.
At last, she had her own place—and in London, no less. Not yet thirty—wasn’t that luck? She loved returning home, tidying her rooms, dusting every surface, losing herself in that window.
Then, four months ago, she’d met Anthony on the Tube. He’d given up his seat. Turned out they lived nearby. They stepped off at the same station, and he carried her bags home.
“Renting too?” he’d asked.
“No, it’s mine,” she’d said, proud.
Soon, he began waiting for her at the station. They’d chatter all the way until she hopped off for work. He’d ride on. Both young, both free—nothing stood in their way.
Anthony started staying over. He loved the view—his own flat faced a dull courtyard. Mornings, he’d dash home to change. Emily bought him a toothbrush.
“Bring a spare shirt and razor,” she suggested. “Why waste time going back?”
“Maybe I should just move in,” he joked. “I’m barely at my place anyway.”
“Fine. Rent’s paid in affection,” she teased back.
The next day, he did. They celebrated with wine and a cosy dinner, then sat entwined on the windowsill, watching the city pulse below.
Nothing could shatter their little paradise. Emily floated on air. Life had fallen into place—her parents whispered of weddings, grandchildren. The future stretched before them, bright and certain.
***
Emily stumbled over scuffed winter boots in the hallway. A puffy coat hung on the rack—not her mother’s. Voices murmured from the living room. She undressed and stepped in.
Anthony and a round-cheeked woman in a floral headscarf sat on the sofa. Emily greeted them.
“Mum, this is Emily,” Anthony said, springing up.
The woman turned, beaming, her eyes crinkling shut. “So pretty. Hello, love,” she said, embracing Emily. The scent of cheap perfume clung to her.
“Just wanted to see how my boy’s getting on,” she said, studying Emily.
Emily forced a smile, glancing at Anthony. “You didn’t tell me your mum was visiting.”
If he claimed it was a surprise, she wouldn’t believe him. The woman surely didn’t know the address.
“Sorry, forgot,” he mumbled.
“I brought treats—left ’em in the kitchen. Come see, love.”
Love. They’d never met, and she was already family? But Emily said nothing.
“You must be hungry—I’ll heat supper.” She reheated soup and leftover roast, listening as Anthony’s mother rambled about village gossip, none of it familiar. Emily felt invisible. How much didn’t she know about him?
“Always told my boy to marry a London girl, put down roots,” his mother said. “Your flat’s sweet—bit small, though. Hot water, no fuss. When’s the wedding?”
Emily choked. Your flat? Anthony hadn’t even proposed.
After lunch, Anthony ushered his mother to nap. Soon, snores rumbled.
“How long is she staying?” Emily whispered.
“Few days. She won’t leave Dad long.”
“You should’ve warned me.”
“Knew you’d mind,” he admitted.
The evening passed with his mother glued to the telly. “Like a cinema!” she marvelled.
By Monday, the flat reeked of burnt lard—Anthony’s mother fried potatoes in it.
“Use the extractor,” Emily said. The kitchen was a warzone.
“Your husband must miss you,” Emily ventured.
“Hah! Thrilled I’m gone. We’ve nagged each other for years.”
Emily nearly groaned. She wasn’t leaving.
Then Anthony’s father arrived—he’d “missed her.” Emily’s home became a sty. Clothes littered the floor, the bathroom was a swamp. They bathed daily.
At work, colleagues noticed her gloom. She confessed.
“Mother-in-laws—worse than vampires. Bet they’re chasing you out.”
A week till New Year’s, and no sign of them leaving. Anthony promised to talk, but nothing changed.
Returning home one evening, Emily found his mother in tears, his father ranting.
“Anthony’s sister’s coming. That man promised marriage, then threw her out—claims the baby’s not his.”
“She should stay with you,” Emily said hopefully.
“Here, of course! Our place has no hot water.”
Emily nearly snapped. Enough. She’d wait for Anthony, then demand they all leave.
Instead, she fled to her parents.
“You look awful,” her mother fretted. Her father called someone.
“Roman’s coming—he’ll help.”
Emily barely remembered the scrawny boy from school. But when a tall policeman filled the doorway, she barely recognised him.
“Your dad said you’re in trouble.”
She spilled everything.
“Stay here. Tomorrow, we’ll evict your squatters.”
Her mother sighed. “Such a good man—cares for his sick mum. Never married.”
The next morning, Roman’s police car pulled up. Inside, he loomed over Anthony’s family.
“Papers. By what right are you here?”
“She’s my son’s fiancée,” the mother protested.
“I’m not,” Emily squeaked.
“Pack up. Now. Or we arrest you for trespassing.”
Grumbling about “London rudeness,” they left, laden with bags.
Roman’s driver took them to the station.
“Thank you,” Emily said.
“Should’ve called sooner. How’d you all fit?”
Anthony returned for his things, begging forgiveness.
“It’s over. You didn’t defend me.”
Alone, she cleaned for days. Then she bought a tree, decorated it, and sat by the window. Better alone than with that circus.
A knock startled her. Roman stood outside.
“Your parents asked me to check. He’s not bothering you?”
She invited him in.
“Tree’s up already? Lovely view—no wonder they wanted to stay. I’m on duty New Year’s—your mum’s watching mine again.”
He visited after New Year’s, took her skating, held her steady. Over coffee, he admitted, “I fancied you at school.”
“Why never say?”
“You were out of my league.”
That night, she asked him to stay.
“Next time. Mum’s alone.”
He called daily, then visited. They sat on the windowsill, sipping tea. She leaned into him, wondering how she’d lived without him.
“Stay tonight?”
“Can’t. But I’ll tryAnd so, on a crisp autumn morning, with the golden leaves swirling outside her window, Emily slipped on the simple silver ring Roman had given her, finally home in every sense of the word.
