In this house, I make the decisions, declared the sister-in-law, rearranging the furniture in my room.
In this house, I make the decisions! The sharp, commanding voice cracked like a whip behind her.
Emma turned, clutching a porcelain ballet figurinea fragile memory of her mother. In the doorway stood Zoe, tall and straight, her cold eyes unyielding. Her face betrayed an unshakable conviction that she had every right to take charge.
I just wanted to put it on the shelf, Emma said softly, the familiar tightness of timidity closing around her throat.
The shelves are being reconsidered too, Zoe snapped, gesturing dismissively around the room. This furniture is old, bulky. A new set arrives tomorrowlight, modern. This one? She nudged the dark oak dresser with her foot. To the attic, unless my brother objects.
*Brother.* Always *brother.* Daniel. Emmas husband. Whose word, it seemed, no longer held weight in his own home.
Zoe, his older sister, had moved in three weeks agoostensibly to visit after a messy divorce. From day one, she had been edging Emma out of her own life, slow and methodical, like water wearing down stone.
This table definitely doesnt fit the new aesthetic. Zoe grabbed the small desk by the window, cluttered with Emmas books and poetry notebooks.
Wait The word burst from Emma, surprising even herself. Those are my things.
Well box them neatly, Zoe said without turning, already sliding books onto the floor. Theres plenty of space. Ive planned everything.
Emma watched silently as this stranger sifted through her life, exposing it like unwanted clutter. The air in the room thickened, hard to breathe. She couldnt argue, couldnt find the words. Three years of marriage hadnt erased the timidness, the fear of conflict ingrained in her since the childrens home.
At dinner, the silence was suffocating. Daniel kept his eyes on his plate, avoiding his wifes gaze. He always withdrew at the first hint of disagreement.
Dan, the new furniture must be expensive, Emma ventured carefully. And why? I liked the old pieces.
Ellie, Zoe knows best, he mumbled, pushing peas around. She has excellent tastestudied interior design. Itll freshen up the place.
But its *our* room, Emma whispered, her words drowned out by Zoes bright interjection.
Exactly*freshen it up*, Zoe chimed in, sliding her empty plate away. Youve got potential, Emma, but no boldness. A home reflects the soul. Maybe its time you *updated* yours.
She smiled, sweet and venomous. Emma flushed, her soul suddenly too small for such force.
I dont *want* to update, she murmured.
Want or not, youll live beautifully, Zoe declared, stacking plates with pointed clatter. We start early tomorrow. Daniel, be free by ninethe delivery arrives.
He nodded, still staring at his food.
Emma lay awake that night beside her snoring husband, staring at the ceiling. Zoes voice echoed: *In this house, I make the decisions.* Not a whiman ultimatum. A siege.
By morning, the invasion had begun. Flat-pack boxes were hauled in, and under Zoes direction, two burly men dismantled Emmas room.
Careful! she cried as one bumped her beloved bookcase against the doorframe. The glass!
Relax, its under control! Zoe waved a printed layout like a battle plan.
Emma leaned against the hallway wall, a stranger in her own home. Her belongingsbooks, trinkets, memorieswere bagged and shoved aside. Daniel had vanished, citing a work call.
By noon, the room was barren. Bare walls, dust outlines on the floor. Emma stepped inside. The air smelled of abandonment.
Look at this space! Zoe beamed as if shed gifted it new life. Once we assemble the new set, you wont recognize your little nest.
I dont recognize it now, Emma said quietly.
Oh, stopits just beginning! Zoe clapped her shoulder, the touch so false Emma nearly flinched.
She watched as the workers pieced together sleek, soulless furniturechrome handles, pale veneers. Stylish. Empty. Not hers. Zoe directed with gusto: Sofa here, armchair opposite. And *that* She pointed to Emmas potted plants on an old stand. doesnt belong.
Where does it belong? Emmas voice was suddenly clear, loud.
Zoe turned, startled.
The storage. Or the balcony. Those pots are outdated.
Theyre alive, Emma said. They stay.
Silence fell. The workers paused, exchanging glances. Zoe straightened, assessing her sister-in-law.
Emma, we agreed on a cohesive style.
I agreed to nothing. Emma stepped forward, hands trembling but resolve steady. This is *my* room. My plants stay.
Darling, I only
And the furniture you call outdated? I bought it. With *my* money. Or do I have no say in my own home?
Zoes mouth hung open. The workers shifted awkwardly.
I I only want whats best, Zoe faltered.
For *whom*? Emma pressed. The dam had broken. Youre a guest here, Zoe. A *temporary* one. And while you are, youll respect my house. My rules.
She turned to the workers. Im sorry, but thats all for today. Leave it as it is.
Zoe scoffed. Youre serious? After all this?
I said *leave*. Emma cradled a pot of ivy, fingers brushing damp soil. You can go.
Muttering, Zoe waved them off.
That evening, the storm hit. Daniel returned to Zoes tirade: Im slaving to give them a beautiful home, and his *mousy* wife throws fits, sends workers awaywasted money!
He sank onto a kitchen chair. Emma set dinner before him silently.
Em, what happened? he asked, resigned.
Nothing, she said calmly. I just stopped letting her walk over me.
Walk over me? Zoe shrilled. Im trying to live decently here! She clings to her junk like like a museum curator!
That *junk* is my life, Emma said, steel in her tone. And no one tosses it out. *No one.*
Daniels gaze flicked between them, exhaustion and something like surprise battling on his face.
Zoe, maybe it *was* too rushed, he muttered.
*What?* She gaped as if hed suggested arson. Im doing this for *you*! For a proper, stylish home!
We *had* a proper home, Emma said quietly. Before you came.
A heavy pause. Zoe huffed, spun, and slammed the door.
Daniel prodded his food.
Why provoke her? he sighed. After her divorce shes fragile.
And Im fragile after *her*, Emma countered. Daniel, this is *our* home. *We* decide. Together.
He looked upreally *looked*at her for the first time in months.
Alright, he said at last. Ill talk to her.
But the talk failed. Next morning, Zoe avoided breakfast. Entering the living room, Emma found her belongings returned to the old furniture, now dragged back from the hall. The room was a hybridhalf sleek modern, half familiar warmth, her plants proudly in place.
Not victory. A ceasefire. And temporary.
Tension hung like storm clouds. Zoe waged guerrilla warmoving Emmas trinkets, forgetting dishes, praising friends who keep husbands in line. Emma endured, biding time.
Then, Friday evening, Zoe announced:
Guests tomorrow. My friends. A housewarming.
Housewarming? Daniel frowned.
Well, I *live* here now, Zoe simpered. Theyre lovely ladies. Emma She turned, expectant. Prepare something light but elegant. And clean up. This place is a mess.
Emma set down her fork. Daniel studied the tablecloth.
*Youll* clean, Emma said, each word a stone. *Youll* cook. Theyre *your* guests.
Zoes eyes widened.
But Im hosting! Ill be busy entertaining!
Im busy too, Emma stood. Ill be at a friends. All day.
Silence. Even Daniel looked up.
Youre *joking*, Zoe hissed. Leave me alone with guests? In a strange city?
*Youre* the stranger here
