“Who on earth are you?”
Emily froze in the doorway of her own flat, blinking in disbelief.
Standing before her was a strangera woman in her early thirties with a messy ponytailand behind her loomed two wide-eyed children, a boy and a girl, gawking at their unexpected host.
The hallway was strewn with unfamiliar slippers, a coat she didnt recognise hung on the rack, and the unmistakable scent of a Sunday roast wafted from the kitchen.
“And who might you be?” The woman frowned, pulling the younger child closer. “We live here now. Gregory let us in. Said the owner wouldnt mind.”
“This is MY flat!” Emilys voice trembled with indignation. “And I certainly never gave you permission to move in!”
The woman blinked, bewildered, her gaze darting aroundthe scattered toys, the drying laundry in the kitchenas if the evidence would somehow justify her presence.
“But Gregory said… Were family. He told us you wouldnt mind. Said you were kind. Understanding.”
Emily felt a wave of cold fury, like someone had dumped a bucket of icy water over her head. She shut the door slowly, pressing her back against it, trying to steady herself. Her home, her space, her lifeand suddenly, she was the outsider.
…
A year ago, everything had been different. Emily had been lounging on a beach in Cornwall, enjoying a well-earned break after finishing a brutal historic renovation project in central Manchester.
At thirty-four, she was a successful architect, used to relying only on herself. Her career took up most of her life, and she didnt mindit paid well and kept her satisfied.
Shed met Gregory on the pier one sweltering August evening. He was charming, slightly older, with a warm smile and attentive brown eyes. Divorced for three years, two kidsa ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girlworked as a site manager for a major construction firm.
Gregory wooed her properly, the old-fashioned way: daily flowers, seaside restaurants, long walks under the stars.
“Youre different,” hed say, kissing her hand like a gentleman. “Clever, independent, stunning. I havent met a woman like you in years. You know what you want.”
Emily melted under the attention. After a string of failed relationships with men who either feared her success or tried to outshine it, Gregory felt like a gift.
He admired her work, asked about her projects, supported her when clients demanded the impossible.
“I love that youre strong,” he told her. “But still soft, still kind.”
The holiday ended, but their relationship didnt. He visited her in Manchester; she went to see him in Liverpool. Video calls, texts, plans for the future.
Eight months in, he proposed right where theyd first met.
The wedding was small but warm. Emily moved to Liverpool, got a job at a local firm, and left her Manchester flat empty.
“Were family now,” Gregory said, holding her tight. “My kids are your kids, my problems are your problems. Well get through everything together.”
At first, Emily was happy. She loved the feeling of a proper home, the sound of childrens laughter. She helped with school runs, bought presents, paid for clubs, took them to doctors appointments.
But slowly, things shifted.
First, it was smallGregory took money from her account without asking. “Forgot to mention, sorry,” hed say when she noticed the deductions.
Then came the requestshelp with his ex-wifes child support.
“You understand,” hed say with a guilty smile. “The kids shouldnt suffer just because works been tight this month.”
Emily wanted to help. She loved him. But the requests grewtrips to Grandmas in York, winter coats, summer camp, maths tutors.
Worst of all, Gregory started transferring money to his ex straight from Emilys account without warning.
“Theyre our kids now,” hed argue when she confronted him. “You love them. Besides, you earn more than me. Its not like you cant afford it.”
“Its not about affording it,” shed say firmly. “Its my money. You could at least ask.”
“Of course, next time I will.”
But next time was no different.
Emily began to feel less like a wife and more like a walking ATM. Her opinion didnt mattershe was just informed, never consulted.
And every time she protested, Gregory accused her of being cold, selfish, not a real family woman.
“I thought you were different,” hed say bitterly. “Thought you cared about more than just money.”
…
That spring, when Emily went to visit her ailing mother in Cheshire and decided to check on her Manchester flat, she still hoped things could be fixed. Maybe some space would help.
But what she found shattered every last illusion.
The flat was a messdirty dishes piled up, strangers laundry drying in the bathroom, a cot in her bedroom.
On the table lay unpaid utility bills totalling nearly £300.
“How long have you been here?” she asked, struggling to keep calm.
“Three months,” the woman replied, still oblivious. “Gregory said we could stay until we found our own place. Weve been paying, of course£150 a month. He said you agreed, that you had a big heart.”
Emily pulled out her phone, hands shaking.
“Gregory, did you forget to ask me something?” she snapped. “Like moving strangers into my flat? And wheres the £450 rent?”
“Em, dont shoutits distant family, Sarah and the kids. They had nowhere else to go. You werent using the place. And the moneys for our surprise holiday to Spain!”
Something inside her brokenot in anger, but in cold clarity.
She understood now. To Gregory, she wasnt a partner. She was a resource.
Her flat, her money, her lifeall his to use, no questions asked.
“Gregory,” she said quietly, steel in her voice. “Theyve got a week to leave.”
“Are you mad? Theyve got kids! Where will they go? Have you no heart?”
“Not my problem. One week. And I want every penny back.”
“How can you? Were family!”
“Not if you dont treat me like one.”
The next week was a whirlwind. Emily changed the locks, hired a solicitor, blocked Gregory from her accounts.
He called dailybegging, blaming, guilt-tripping.
“I thought we were a real family,” he choked out. “Thought you loved me.”
“You thought you could take what wasnt yours. Turns out you cant.”
“Youre heartless! Throwing everything away over money!”
“You threw it away when you stopped seeing me as a person.”
The divorce was quickno shared assets, no children together. Gregory returned some of the money, not all.
Emily didnt drag it out. She just wanted it over.
“Youll regret this,” he hissed at the solicitors office. “Youll end up alone. Whod want someone so cold?”
“I want me,” she replied calmly. “Thats enough.”
On the train home, watching the countryside blur past, she didnt think about lost love.
She thought about how important it was not to lose herself in love.
And how real love never asks you to disappear.
