If Only You Could Find a Decent Bloke

When are you finally going to buy a flat? Helens voice was sharp and insistent. She sat on the sofa in the rented one-bedroom where Sophie and Oliver had lived for the past three years, staring at her daughter as if shed committed a crime.

How much longer will you waste your life renting?

Sophie sighed and turned toward the window. These conversations had long stopped being just unpleasanttheyd become torture. Ever since Sophie married Oliver, her mother had been relentless. Shed chosen the wrong man. Oliver had no property, no money, nothing. Why settle for such a husband? For three years, Helen had badgered themwhen would they buy their own place? Wasnt it embarrassing to still be renting?

Irritation simmered under Sophies ribs, threatening to spill over.

Were looking for the right place, Mum, Sophie finally said, keeping her tone even. The right area, price, condition. We need something move-in ready because we dont have extra money for renovations. Understand?

Helen scoffed, rolling her eyes so dramatically Sophie clenched her fists.

Of course, her mother drawled sarcastically. If youd married a proper man, youd be living in luxury, not scraping for a cheap flat. Youd be looking at new builds. But this? Youre settling for scraps.

Sophie stood abruptly, barely holding back the urge to shout.

Ive got errands, Mum, she said curtly, heading for the door.

Helen kept talking, but Sophie didnt listen. She escorted her mother out, shut the door, and leaned against it, exhaling. Only then did she realise how tense shed beenher shoulders ached, her jaw hurt from clenching. Lately, every conversation with Helen was a battle. Defensive, exhausting. And pointless.

She poured herself water in the kitchen, sitting to steady herself. Then the phone rang.

Soph! Olivers voice was giddy. Ive found it! The perfect flat! You need to come nowheres the address. We have to move fast. This is our chance!

Sophies heart raced. She scribbled down the address, grabbed her coat, and hailed a taxi. The whole ride, she fidgeted, willing the driver to hurry.

Oliver waited outside the building, beaming.

Come on, he said, taking her hand.

The flat was on the third floora cosy two-bed with fresh decor. Neutral walls, wooden laminate floors, spotless furnishings.

Look, Oliver led her through. Bedroom here, living room there. Bright kitchen. And the locationshops, transport, schools nearby. The price is fair. The owners are relocating. Were lucky.

Sophie wandered silently, touching walls, opening cupboards. Warmth spread through her chest. This was theirs. She could picture mornings here, tea in the kitchen, their life unfolding.

Take it? Oliver asked hopefully.
Take it, she smiled, and he hugged her.

They agreed on the spot, arranging paperwork. On the way home, Oliver chattered excitedly about moving in, while Sophie grinned quietly, joy bubbling inside her.

The next weeks blurredpaperwork, packing, endless errands. Finally, moving day arrived. Boxes unpacked, furniture arranged, their first night in their own home.

Sophie stood in the living room, taking it all in. Oliver wrapped his arms around her.

Our flat, he whispered.
Our home, Sophie said, tears slipping down her cheeks.

But the peace didnt last. The next day, the doorbell rang. Helen stood there, lips pursed.

Hello, she muttered, brushing past.

She inspected every corner, nose wrinkled in disapproval.

Is this it? she finally said.

Sophie blinked. What do you mean?

Helen scoffed. Its tiny. I thought youd at least get a three-bed. This? Its a glorified shoebox. How can you live like this?

Sophies face burned. Oliver stepped in.

Helen, its our first home, he said gently. Well save for something bigger. But were happy.

Helen huffed, grabbing her bag. At the door, she turned.

This flat is just like your husbanduseless and shabby.

The door slammed. Sophie stood frozen, the words echoing. Oliver gave her a sad smile.

Its fine, he murmured.

But she saw the hurt in his eyes.

Weeks passed. They settled in, made it theirs. But Helen returned, her disdain unchanged.

Every time I see this place, it ruins my day, she snapped over tea. Why did you buy this dump?

Sophie gripped her cup. Its what we could afford, Mum.

Because you married Oliver! Helen snapped. Proper men provide better!

Something snapped inside Sophie.

Yes, her daughter has a three-bed, she shot back, voice shaking. And three restraining orders against her husband. Is that what you want for me?

Helen gaped.

I love Oliver, Sophie said fiercely. Id live under a bridge if he was beside me. Because he loves me. And if you cant accept that, youre not welcome here.

Helen stormed out. Silence fell.

Oliver emerged, pulling Sophie into his arms. She cried into his shirt.

Im sorry, she whispered. For her.

He kissed her hair. Its alright. Id live under a bridge with you too.

Sophie smiled through tears. They werent rich. No three-bed, no fancy car. But they had lovereal, unwavering. And that was everything.

**Sometimes, the smallest homes hold the greatest loveand no amount of money can buy that.**