Zovitsya Wanted to Celebrate Her Anniversary with Us and Demanded We Vacate the Flat

Sophie had decided to celebrate her milestone birthday at their place and demanded the flat be cleared out. “Emma, has Harry spoken to you yet?” chirped her mother-in-law. “Listentherell be twenty guests, so well start prepping the night before. Ill pop round early, say six-ish?”

“Six in the evening?” Emma raised an eyebrow. “No, that wasnt the plan.”

“Hold on, Im not done,” her mother-in-law tutted. “Harrys got the shopping list. Promised hed fetch everything.”

Harry had always been at the beck and call of his older sister, Stacy. By thirty, shed marriedand divorcedtwice, and each time, naturally, it was the blokes fault (“just picked the wrong ones”). Their mum, Margaret, had drilled it into Harry since childhood: “Your sister needs you.”

And so Harry obligedbailing Stacy out when she was “between jobs,” fixing up her rented flat, or hauling her belongings after yet another breakup. Then he married Emma.

At first, Emma tolerated it. But when Stacy askedfor the fifth time that yearto borrow their car “just for a few days” because hers had “conveniently died again,” Emma folded her arms. “Harry, enough. We need the car this weekend. Or did our plans vanish into thin air?”

“Cant you manage without it?”

“No. My parents cottage isnt a stroll away. Theyve got two buckets of cucumbers waiting for us. Or did you tune that out too?”

“Look, Stacys in a bind”

“Again? What bind?”

“Dunno exactly,” Harry waffled, “but shes proper stuck.”

“No, Harry. Not this time. Either you say no, or buy me my own car. Im done taking the bus while your sister treats ours like a rental.”

Harry actually hesitateduntil Margaret swooped in. “Youd abandon your own sister for your wife? Shes got no one else!” So Harry caved, despite Emmas seething silence. After three days of icy tension, he snapped: “Why the silent treatment? What now?”

“Wow. Took you *three days* to notice?” Emma laughed bitterly. “Your sister hijacked our entire weekend for her mates garden party. Thought you were just dropping her off. Next thing I know, youre gone for two days. Nothing odd about that?”

“We had a few pints! Her ex was thereblokes alright. Was I meant to leg it like a weirdo?”

“You couldve called.”

“So could you,” Harry countered.

“I *did*. Your phone was off. So pardon me for imagining youd vanishedor worse, were avoiding me.”

“Dont be dramatic,” Harry muttered as his phone buzzed. He ducked onto the balconyknowing full well Emma wouldnt appreciate another Stacy chat.

“Hiya, brother dearest!” Stacy trilled. “My big Three-Ohs in two weeks! You get it, yeah?” Harry glanced at Emma, now ladling soup.

“What dyou want?” he sighed.

“You *know* me!” Stacy giggled. “I want the party at yours! Your lounge is massive. My landlords a nightmare, and restaurants cost a fortune.”

“How about I chip in for a venue”

“Are you *mad*?” Stacy gasped. “Its my *milestone*! Why should I pay when youve got a flat? And youll *have* to help outIm not made of money!”

“Let me talk to Emma first. Its her home too.”

“Too late!” Stacy crowed. “Everyones already invited to yours. Clear the place, yeah? Mums handling the food.”

As Harry rubbed his temples, a text from Margaret arrived: *Stacys menus sorted. Get the shopping done. Tell Emma to help prep.*

Meanwhile, Emmablissfully unawarewas curled up with her show. When Harry slunk in, eyes down, she paused it. “Let me guess. Whats Stacys latest?”

“Em, love Stacys turning thirty. Big deal, yeah? She wants to celebrate here.”

Emma blinked. “Fine. Go ahead.”

Harry scratched his neck. “Thing is she wants it *here*. At ours.”

“*What?* You agreed?!”

“I said Id ask you! But shes already told everyone. Mums planned the menu”

Emma inhaled sharply. “Harry, are you *actually* an adult? Or just Stacys errand boy?”

“Dont start”

“*Im* starting?” She waved her phone. “No one *asked* me. This is *my* home, not your familys event space. Stacy gets a party, I get kitchen duty, and your mums *ordering* meall without a *single* bloody consult?!”

Then her phone rang. “Speak of the devil,” Emma hissed. “Your mum.”

“Emma, has Harry told you?” Margaret barrelled on. “Twenty guests. Prep starts Friday eveIll be round by six.”

“*Evening?* No. Thats not happening.”

“Hold your horses! Harrys got the shopping list.”

“Lovely. Whos paying?”

“Harrys covering it,” Margaret snapped.

“Ah. So my flats the venue, *and* we foot the bill? Brilliant.”

“Stacys *family*! Cant you lift a finger for *one day*? Youre the lady of the house!”

“Margaret,” Emma cut in, “*just* found out about this. I never consented.”

“Enough with *my* flat! Youre marriedits *shared*!”

“Funny. If it were Harrys, Id just be the little woman, wouldnt I?”

“Dont be daft. Shoppings done by Friday. *End of discussion.*” The line went dead.

Emma stared at Harry. “What. Was. That?”

“Stop playing the victim!” Harry exploded. “Youre *wrong*. Just admit it!”

Emma, numb, pulled out a duffel bag. She marched to their room and began packing Harrys clothes.

Meanwhile, Harryconvinced hed wongrabbed a beer and flopped before the telly, waiting for Emma to cool off and call him to dinner.

Half an hour later, Emma stood by the door, duffel bag at her feet. Harry frowned. “Whats this? A tantrum?”

“No, Harry. Its over. Im done being a doormat in my own home. If you want to play dutiful son and brother, go live with Mum. Im sure shell *love* hosting youand Stacys party.”

“Youre *serious*?”

“Deadly. Ive had enough. Three years of disrespect is three too many.”

“You cant just”

“Im not ruining anything. Its already ruined.”

Harry scoffed, still not grasping her resolve. “Fine! Good luck finding someone better. Blokes like me dont grow on trees!”

Emma smirked. “Thank *God* for that.”

“Youll *crawl* back!” Harry snarled, snatching the bag. “Without me, youre *nothing*!”

“If nothing means living *my* life, in *my* home, without babysitting your family? Ill take it.”

As Harry stormed out, Emma watched from the window as he kicked his bag into a taxi.

Months later, the divorce was messy. Harry painted Emma as greedyespecially over their jointly bought car. “Your Honour, *I* paid for it!” he insisted. “She just drove it!”

Emma slid bank statements across the table: transfers, receipts, even the deposit slip with her signature. “I dont want *his* share. But I wont surrender mine.”

The judge ruled fairly.

Harry fumed. Hed already mentally spent the cars resale value. Now hed have to split it. At home, Margaret screeched: “You *idiot*! Let her walk off with everything?!”

To top it off, Harry was now saddled with debtafter booking Stacys makeup party at a posh restaurant. His new bedroom? Margarets fold-out sofa.

As for Emma? She slept soundly for the first time in years. There were plenty of decent men out thereshed just learned to spot the difference.