Who are you?!
Emily froze in the doorway of her own flat, unable to believe her eyes.
Before her stood a strangera woman in her thirties with a thin ponytailand behind her, two children, a boy and a girl, peered curiously at the unexpected visitor.
In the hallway, unfamiliar slippers lay strewn about, an unknown coat hung on the rack, and the scent of beef stew drifted from the kitchen.
And who are *you*? The woman frowned, instinctively pulling the younger child closer. We live here. Gregory let us in. He said the landlady wouldnt mind.
This is *my* flat! Emilys voice trembled with outrage. And I *never* gave you permission to stay here!
The woman blinked in confusion, glancing at the toys scattered across the floor, the kitchen where childrens laundry hung to dryas if searching for proof of her right to this space.
But Gregory said Were his relatives He told us you wouldnt mind That you were kind and understanding
Emily felt a wave of indignation, as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over her.
She slowly closed the door and leaned against it, struggling to collect herself. Her home, her space, her lifeand suddenly, she was the outsider.
A year ago, everything had been different. Emily had been on holiday by the sea, enjoying a well-earned break after finishing a complicated historical building renovation in central London.
At thirty-four, she was a successful architect, accustomed to relying only on herself.
Her career took up most of her life, and she didnt complainthe work brought satisfaction and a steady, generous income.
Shed met Gregory on the pier one sweltering August evening. He was charming, slightly older than her, with a warm smile and attentive brown eyes.
Divorced for three years, he had two childrena ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girland worked as a site foreman for a major construction firm.
Gregory courted her beautifully, in an old-fashioned wayflowers every day, restaurants overlooking the water, long walks under the stars.
Youre extraordinary, hed say, pressing a kiss to her hand. Clever, independent, beautiful. I havent met a woman so sure of herself in years. You know exactly what you want.
Emily melted under his words and attention. After a string of failed relationships with men who either feared her success or tried to compete with her, Gregory seemed like fates gift.
He respected her work, asked about her projects with genuine interest, and supported her when clients demanded the impossible.
I love that youre strong, hed say. But youre still soft, feminine, kind.
The holiday ended, but their relationship didnt. Gregory visited her in London; she traveled to Brighton to see him. Video calls, messages, plans for the future.
Eight months later, he proposed on the same pier where theyd met.
The wedding was small but warm. Emily moved to Brighton to be with him, found work at a local architecture firm, and left her London flat empty.
Were family now, hed said, holding her tight. My children are yours, my problems are yours. Well face everything together.
At first, Emily was happy. She loved the feeling of a real family, the warmth of a shared home, the sound of childrens voices.
She happily helped Gregory with the kidsbought them gifts, paid for clubs and lessons, took them to doctors appointments.
But gradually, something shifted.
First, it was small thingsGregory took money from her card without warning. Forgot to ask, sorry, hed say when she noticed the deductions.
Then came requests to help with his ex-wifes child support.
You understand, hed say, spreading his hands with a guilty smile. The kids shouldnt suffer just because their parents didnt work out.
And works been tight this monthjust a delay with payroll.
Emily understood. She wanted to help. She loved Gregory and had grown fond of his children.
But the requests became constant, growing largerpay for a trip to the grandparents in Manchester, buy new winter coats, cover summer camp fees, hire a maths tutor.
The worst part? Gregory started transferring money directly from Emilys account to his ex-wifewithout even telling her.
Theyre *our* kids now, hed say when Emily confronted him. You love them.
Besides, you earn more than me. Its not like youll miss it.
Its not about missing it, she said quietly but firmly. Its *my* money. You could at least ask.
Of course, of course. Next time, Ill check first.
But the next time was no different.
Emily began to feel less like a wife and partnermore like a convenient source of funding. Her opinion wasnt sought; she was simply informed.
And every time she tried to object or discuss their finances, Gregory accused her of being cold, selfish, unwilling to be a *real* family.
I thought you were different, hed say bitterly. I thought money didnt matter to you
That May, when shed gone to visit her ailing mother in Surrey and decided to check on her London flat, Emily still hoped things could be fixed.
Maybe some time apart would help them both reconsider and find compromise.
But what she found in her flat surpassed her worst fears.
The place was a messdirty dishes piled in the kitchen, unfamiliar laundry drying in the bathroom, a childs cot in her bedroom.
On the table lay unpaid utility bills totalling over £300.
How long have you been here? Emily asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.
Three months, the woman replied, still oblivious. Gregory said we could stay while we found our own place.
We pay rent, of course. £200 a month. He said you agreedthat you had a big heart.
With shaking hands, Emily pulled out her phone and called her husband.
Gregory, did you *forget* to ask me something?! she snapped without greeting. You moved a family into *my* flat without telling me!
And wheres the rent? £600 for three months!
Em, dont shout, came his sheepish voice. Theyre distant relativesSarah and her kids. They had nowhere else to go.
You dont even live there. You dont mind helping people, do you? The moneys for our holiday to SpainI was going to surprise you.
Something inside Emily snapped. Not in angerin cold, clear understanding.
She realised that to Gregory, she wasnt a wife or partner. She was a resource.
Her flat, her money, her lifeall were his to use, and he hadnt even thought to ask.
Gregory, she said, steel in her voice. Your relatives have a week to leave.
Emily, are you insane? His voice sharpened. There are *kids*! Where will they go? Have you no heart?
Not my problem. One week. And I want *all* the rent.
How can you?! Youre my *wife*! Were *family*!
Dont start. In a real family, people *ask*they dont just take.
She hung up and turned back to the woman, whod listened in horror.
Im sorry, Emily said, and she meant it. But you have to go. No one asked *me*.
The next days were a blur of action. Emily changed the locks.
Hired a solicitor to handle the divorce and finances.
Revoked Gregorys access to her accounts.
He called dailypleading, accusing, guilting.
I thought we were a real family, hed say, voice breaking. I thought you loved me.
You thought my things were yours to take, she corrected coolly. Turns out, theyre not.
Youre *heartless*! Throwing away a marriage over money!
*You* threw it away when you decided my voice didnt matter.
The divorce was quickno shared assets, no children together.
Gregory returned some of the money hed spent, but far from all.
Emily didnt drag it out. She just wanted this chapter closed.
Youll regret this, Gregory hissed at their final meeting. Youll end up alone. Whod want a woman so *cold*?
*I* want me, Emily replied calmly. And thats enough.
On the train back to London, watching the countryside blur past, she didnt think of lost love.
She thought of how vital it was not to lose *herself* in love.
And how true love never demanded sacrificeonly respect.
