**Diary Entry 12th October**
I couldnt take it anymore. Im tired of living with your family, I said, dragging my suitcase from under the bed.
Oliver froze in the doorway, his half-finished tea still in hand. Behind him, the usual noise from the kitchen carried onhis mother lecturing his sister, his father turning up the telly to drown them out.
Emily, come on he started, but I spun around.
Come on? Seven years, Oliver! Seven years Ive put up with this! I shoved my jeans into the case, then carefully folded my blouse on top. Your mum comments every morning on how long I take to eat breakfast. Your sister borrows my things without asking. And your dad I bit my lip.
Oliver set his mug down and stepped closer. What about Dad?
Last night, I overheard him telling Laura on the phone that my roast dinner was rubbish. Thought I wouldnt hear, but I was right outside the door. Emily cant cook like our Sarah, he said. Sarahhis first wife. The one his family still adored, even though she left him for someone else three years ago.
Oliver rubbed his forehead. Dad just
Just what? I tucked my underwear into the case. Just doesnt see me as family? Just thinks Im temporary? Maybe hes right.
From the kitchen, raised voices spilled outhis sister Charlotte arguing with their mum again, hands flailing. These nightly rows had become routine since Charlotte moved back in after her divorce, cramming seven of us into this three-bed terrace.
Where will you go? Oliver asked quietly.
To my mums. She lives aloneshell be glad for the company. I packed my books, the ones his mother called silly novels. Ill figure things out from there.
What about us? Our wedding?
I paused, holding the framed photo from our holiday in Brighton two years agoback when things were different. Back when his parents still had their own place, Charlotte was married, and we were just starting out.
What wedding, Oliver? Were already living like husband and wife. Except Im not a wifeIm a lodger who pays rent.
Thats not fair
Not fair? I sank onto the bed, still clutching the photo. Is it fair when your mum throws my clothes in with hers and acts like I should be grateful? Is it fair when Charlottes mates stay till 2 AM drinking wine in the kitchen while I have work the next day?
Oliver sat beside me. The kitchen had gone quiethis parents mustve gone to bed. But Charlottes kids were still thundering about upstairs, laughter and tiny footsteps shaking the ceiling.
We could rent our own place, he offered. I just thought
That saving money mattered more than us? I shook my head. You know what hurts most? Its not living with your family. Its that you always defend them. Even when theyre wrong.
He opened his mouth but stopped. He knew I was right. When his mum critiqued my outfits, he stayed silent. When his dad scoffed at my cooking, he brushed it off with, Ignore him. When Charlotte commandeered our room for her endless phone calls, he asked me to just bear with it.
I dont want to fight with them, he admitted.
But youll fight with me? I stood, smoothing my hair in the mirror. Oliver, I love you. But I cant live where Im not wanted. Where every choice I make gets picked apart.
I remembered last month, when Id dyed my hair lighter. His mum sighed for days, muttering about nice girls who ruin themselves. His dad grumbled about modern women with no sense, and Charlotte smirked, Mustve cost a fortune.
Remember when your mum found out I work in accounting? I continued. Not teaching? Not nursing? Just pushing numbers around?
Shes from a different time
And Charlotte? Shes younger than me but acts like I owe her. Hogs the bathroom for hours, leaves dishes piled up, then acts offended when I ask her to clean.
Oliver wincedyesterdays argument flashed between us. Charlottes kids had scribbled all over my mortgage paperwork. When I complained, shed laughed. Kids will be kids! At least your boring papers are colourful now.
She was joking
Those were legal documents, Oliver! I spent all day redoing them! I zipped the suitcase. And you backed her up. Theyre just kids, you said.
He stared at the floor. He hadnt understood why I was so upset. Just paperwork, right? Easy to replace.
I didnt realize how hard this was for you, he murmured.
Really? When your mum asks daily when well have kids, then adds, Sarah wouldve been a mum by nowthat doesnt feel hard? When your dad brings up how brilliant Sarah was at hostingthats fine?
They miss her
Then miss her quietly! I lowered my voice as a childs wail echoed from upstairs. What kills me is that you let them. You let them treat me like hired help. I cook, clean, pay bills, and they still act like Im in the way.
Oliver looked shattered.
Im forty, Oliver. Forty. My first marriage left me with no kids, no home. Then I met youI thought, finally, a family of my own. But instead? Im a stranger in this house, where everyone thinks they can tell me how to live.
He reached for me. Em
No. I stepped back. Remember my birthday? I asked to celebrate hereI cooked, invited my friends. Your mum spent the whole night complainingmusic too loud, laughter too much, my friends not our sort. By the end, she said, In my house, I decide when we celebrate.
Oliver remembered. Hed thought she was just tired.
Thats when I knew, I said. In this house, Ill always be an outsider. Because youll always choose them. Theyre blood. Im just passing through.
Thats not true!
Love isnt just words, Oliver. Its standing up for someone. Its telling your mum, Dont speak to her like that. Its asking your dad to stop comparing me to Sarah. Its demanding respect from Charlotte.
We can fix this
Can we? I laughed bitterly. Youve said that for months. Well fix it, theyll adjust, give it time. But nothing changes. WorseIm changing. Im angry all the time. I dont even recognize myself.
I opened the front door. The house was silent except for the kitchen clock.
You know what I dream about? I whispered. Waking up without someone judging how I eat breakfast. Coming home without walking on eggshells. Laughing without being told Im too loud.
Oliver caught my arm. Talk to them with me. Explain
You explain. Tell your mum I dont need to be perfect, just respected. Tell your dad Ill never be Sarahand thats okay. Tell Charlotte her problems dont give her the right to make my life miserable.
He paled. I knew what he was picturinghis mum in tears, his dad fuming, Charlotte screaming. A row that would linger for weeks.
Im scared of hurting them, he admitted.
And me? Youre not scared of hurting me? I picked up my case. Im not asking you to choose, Oliver. Im asking you to defend me. To show them I matter.
I stepped onto the porch. Call me if anything changes. But I cant stay where Im not wanted.
How long?
I dont know. A week. A month. Maybe forever. Thats not just up to me.
The door clicked shut behind me. Inside, I heard his mums voice: Oliver? Wheres Emily gone?
To her mums.
For long?
He sighed. I dont know.
Well, shell be back. Well manage without her. Ill make your favourite roast tomorrow.
I didnt wait to hear his reply. The photo we took in Brighton stayed on the nightstandboth of us smiling, certain we had our whole lives ahead.
Now, I wasnt so sure.