They say that right before New Year’s Eve, anything can happen…
With just three weeks left until the big night, anticipation hung in the air. Soon, every home across the country would be decked with twinkling Christmas trees and tables laden with champagne and roast dinners. Glasses would be raised, toasts exchanged, and wishes made as Big Ben’s chimes rang out. Emily already knew what she’d wish for—an engagement ring from Anthony, of course.
On her day off, she hit the shops for last-minute gifts and festive treats, hoping to snag something nice for herself while she was at it. The crowds and chaos wore her out quickly, but she managed to buy Anthony a crisp new shirt and belt, small gifts for her colleagues, and a bottle of perfume for herself. As for that pretty dress she’d eyed? Maybe next time—she still had a few weeks.
The Tube was stuffy and packed, so she hailed a taxi instead. Through the window, shops glittered with holiday decorations as snow drifted lazily from the sky. She pictured getting home, settling in for a cosy evening with Anthony. Tomorrow was another day off—time to sleep in. They weren’t married yet, but they lived together. That counted as family, didn’t it? So they’d agreed—this New Year’s, it would be just the two of them, quiet and intimate.
* * *
Emily had moved to London from a small town on the outskirts after university. Graduating with top marks had landed her a job at a prestigious firm, and her salary was decent enough to start saving for a flat.
For the first two years, she’d split rent with a friend. But then her flatmate found a boyfriend, and living together became awkward. Renting alone was too expensive—she’d never save up at this rate.
Her parents stepped in, giving her their life savings. With her own nest egg added, she began flat-hunting. But nothing felt right—too expensive, too far out, too run-down. After months of fruitless searching, she trudged to yet another viewing with low expectations.
The flat was far from central London and her office. Two small bedrooms and a tiny kitchen on the twelfth floor. But when she stepped to the window, her breath caught—the view overlooked a bustling high street, cars streaming like rivers of light. She imagined evenings spent right there, sipping tea, mesmerised. Without a second thought, she bought it.
Furnishing the place meant taking out a loan. She piled the wide windowsill with cushions, turning it into her favourite spot—somewhere to curl up with a cuppa and lose herself in the city lights.
At last, she had her own place—and in London, no less. Not bad before thirty. She loved coming home, tidying up, dusting the furniture, and sinking onto the sill.
Then, four months ago, she’d met Anthony on the Tube. He’d offered her his seat. Turned out they lived nearby. They stepped off at the same station, and he carried her bags all the way to her door.
“Renting too?” he’d asked.
“No,” she’d said proudly. “It’s mine.”
Soon, they started bumping into each other at the station in the mornings—then he began waiting for her on purpose. They’d chatter all the way until her stop. Anthony travelled further for work. Both single, both drawn to each other—nothing stood in the way of something deeper.
Before long, he was staying over often. He loved the view from her window, a far cry from his own dull outlook. Most mornings, he’d dash home to change before work. She bought him a toothbrush.
“Why don’t you bring a spare shirt and razor here? No point wasting time going home just to change,” she suggested one day.
“Maybe I should just move in properly. I’m practically living here anyway, barely using my place. Why keep paying rent?” he joked.
“Fine. I’ll rent you the spare room. Payment in instalments of… affection. Deal?” she teased back.
The next day, he moved in. They celebrated with wine and a fancy dinner, then sat cuddled together on the windowsill, watching the city glow.
It felt like their own little paradise—nothing could ruin it. Emily was on cloud nine. Life had fallen into place perfectly. Her parents were already hinting at weddings and grandchildren. The future stretched ahead, bright and full of promise…
* * *
Emily opened the front door and tripped over a pair of muddy boots. A puffy coat she didn’t recognise hung on the rack. Definitely not her mum’s. Voices murmured from the living room. She toed off her shoes and walked in.
Anthony sat on the sofa beside a rosy-cheeked woman in a floral headscarf, her stout frame wrapped in a worn cardigan. Emily forced a smile.
“Mum, this is Emily,” Anthony said, leaping up.
The woman turned, her smile widening until her eyes disappeared into crinkles.
“What a beauty! Hello, love,” she said, heaving herself up to pull Emily into a hug. The scent of cheap perfume clung to her.
“Just popped by to see how my boy’s getting on,” she said, stepping back to size Emily up.
Emily’s smile stayed fixed as she glanced at Anthony.
“You didn’t tell me your mum was coming.”
If he claimed it was a surprise visit, she wouldn’t buy it. How would she even have the address?
“Sorry, slipped my mind,” he muttered, avoiding her eyes.
“I brought treats—left ’em in the kitchen. Come, love, I’ll show you.”
*Love? First time meeting, not even engaged, and she’s calling me ‘love’?* But Emily bit her tongue.
“Oh, you must be hungry after travelling. Let me fix something,” she said, pulling leftovers from the fridge.
Over dinner, Anthony’s mum shared news that only seemed to interest him. Emily felt like an outsider. With every passing minute, she realised how little she knew about Anthony. *What else hasn’t he told me?*
“Always told my boy—marry a London girl, put down roots here. Nothing back home for him. Lovely flat, though a bit snug. Hot water, no need to fiddle with the boiler,” she prattled on. “So, when’s the wedding?”
Emily choked on her food.
*Your boy? Snug? It’s MY flat! And he hasn’t even proposed!* But the woman had already moved on.
After lunch, Anthony shepherded his yawning mother to the bedroom. Soon, snores rattled through the flat.
“How long is she staying?” Emily asked when they were alone.
“Dunno. Few days, probably. She won’t leave Dad alone for long. Just bear with it—can’t exactly kick her out.”
“You should’ve warned me. You *knew* she was coming today. That’s why you didn’t go shopping with me, isn’t it?”
“Em, don’t be mad. I knew you wouldn’t love it. Didn’t wanna argue. Sorry.”
She hated every bit of this. But starting a fight with his mum next door? Not worth it. The rest of the evening, the woman parked herself in front of the telly, gasping at everything like it was the cinema.
By Monday, the flat reeked of burnt lard. Anthony’s mum was frying potatoes in it.
“You should’ve turned on the extractor fan. Here, like this,” Emily said, flicking it on.
The kitchen looked like a war zone—bags everywhere, crumbs all over.
“Your husband must miss you,” Emily ventured.
“Miss me? Don’t make me laugh. Thrilled I’m gone, more like. Forty years of nagging’ll do that. Good for him to miss me for once!”
Emily nearly groaned. Clearly, she wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Then Anthony’s dad showed up—*missed her too much*.
Coming home now felt like a punishment. Her cosy flat had turned into a dingy B&B. Shoes everywhere, towels in puddles on the bathroom floor, mirror smeared. His parents took daily soaks in the tub, splashing water like toddlers.
At work, her colleagues noticed her clouded expression and pried. She spilled everything.
“Classic in-laws. Worse than vampires, and you can’t just shove ’em out. Think they’re angling to push you out of your own place?”
With just over a week till New Year’s, his parents showed no signs of leaving. Emily begged Anthony to talk to them. He promised, but nothing changed.
After her colleagues’ comments, she marched home, ready to confront them herself. But the second she stepped inside, she found his mum in tears. His dad shook a fist at the air, vowing revenge on someone.
“What’s happened?” Emily asked.
“Oh, love—Anthony’s sister… She’s coming. Thought she’d found a good man, promised to marry her, but the bastard—” His mum broke off, dabbing her eyes.
“Kicked her out! Says the baby’s not his. Kid’s barely got a face yet, how can he tell?” his dad scoffed.Emily stood frozen, the weight of the moment pressing down on her, but as she glanced out the window at the snow-dusted streets below, she knew—sometimes the best endings are the ones we never saw coming.
