**Diary Entry**
Who on earth are you?
Emily froze in the doorway of her own flat, unable to believe her eyes. Standing before her was a woman in her thirties, her hair tied in a neat ponytail, and behind her, two childrena boy and a girlpeered curiously at the unexpected guest.
The hallway was cluttered with unfamiliar slippers, coats she didnt recognise hung on the rack, and the rich smell of stew wafted from the kitchen.
“And you are?” The woman frowned, instinctively pulling the younger child closer. “We live here. Gregory let us in. He said the owner wouldnt mind.”
“This is MY flat!” Emilys voice shook with outrage. “And I certainly never gave you permission to stay!”
The woman blinked in confusion, glancing at the toys scattered across the floor, the laundry drying in the kitchenas if searching for proof that this was her home.
“But Gregory said Were family. He told us you wouldnt mind. That you were kind and understanding”
Emily felt a wave of fury and shock, as if someone had doused her in ice-cold water. Slowly, she closed the door and leaned against it, struggling to collect her thoughts. Her home, her space, her lifeand suddenly, she was the stranger in it.
A year ago, everything had been different. Emily had been on holiday, enjoying a well-earned break after completing a complex renovation project in central Manchester. At thirty-four, she was a successful architect, accustomed to relying on no one but herself. Her career filled most of her life, and she didnt complainit brought satisfaction and a steady, comfortable income.
Shed met Gregory on the seafront one sweltering August evening. He was a charming man, slightly older, with a warm smile and attentive brown eyes. Divorced for three years, with two childrena ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girlhe worked as a site foreman for a large construction firm.
Gregory courted her in an old-fashioned wayflowers every day, dinners at restaurants overlooking the sea, long walks under the stars.
“Youre special,” hed say, brushing his lips against her hand. “Brilliant, 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 felt like a gift from fate.
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 still so soft, so gentle.”
The holiday ended, but their relationship didnt. Gregory visited her in Manchester; she travelled to his home in Bristol. Video calls, messages, plans for the future. Eight months later, he proposed on the very spot where theyd met.
Their wedding was small but warm. Emily moved to Bristol, joined a local architectural firm, and left her Manchester flat empty.
“Were family now,” he said, holding her tight. “My children are yours, my struggles are yours. Well get through everything together.”
At first, Emily was happy. She loved the feeling of a real family, the warmth of a home, the sound of childrens laughter. She gladly helped Gregory with the kids, bought them gifts, paid for clubs and lessons, took them to doctors appointments.
But slowly, things changed.
It started with small thingsGregory would take money from her account without warning. “Forgot to ask, sorry,” hed say when she noticed the deductions. Then came the frequent requests to help with child support for his ex-wife.
“You understand,” hed say, shrugging with a guilty smile. “The kids shouldnt suffer just because my jobs behind on payments this month.”
Emily understood. She loved Gregory and had grown fond of his children. But soon, the requests became constant, the sums largertrips to visit their grandmother in Cornwall, new winter coats, summer camp fees, maths tutors.
The worst part? Gregory began transferring money directly from Emilys account to his ex-wifewithout even telling her.
“Theyre our children now,” hed argue when she confronted him. “You love them, dont you? Besides, you earn more than I do. Its not like you cant afford it.”
“Its not about affording it,” shed reply quietly but firmly. “Its my money. You could at least discuss it with me first.”
“Of course, of course. Next time, Ill ask.”
But next time was no different.
Emily began to feel less like a wife and more like a convenient source of funding. Her opinions werent sought; she was just presented with decisions. And every time she tried to object, 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 afternoon, when she visited her sick mother in Cheshire and decided to check on her Manchester flat, Emily still hoped things could be fixed. Maybe some time apart would help them both reconsider and find a compromise.
But what she found shattered every last hope.
The flat was a mess. Unwashed dishes crowded the kitchen, someone elses laundry hung in the bathroom, and a childs cot stood in her bedroom. On the table lay unpaid utility bills totalling over £900.
“How long have you been here?” Emily asked, fighting to stay calm.
“Three months,” the woman replied, still oblivious to the problem. “Gregory said we could stay until we found our own place. We paid, of course£500 a month. He said you agreed, that you had a big heart.”
Emily pulled out her phone with shaking hands and called Gregory.
“Gregory, did you forget to ask me something?!” she snapped before he could speak. “You moved strangers into my flat without telling me. And wheres the rent? £1,500 for three months!”
“Em, dont shout” His voice was defensive. “Its my cousin, Sarah, and her kids. They had nowhere else to go. You werent using the flat. I was saving the money for our holiday to Spain, wanted to surprise you.”
Something inside Emily broke. Not from anger, but from cold, clear understanding.
Gregory didnt see her as his wifejust a resource. Her flat, her money, her lifeall were his to use, and he didnt even think to ask.
“They have one week to leave,” she said, her voice steel.
“Are you mad?” Gregorys tone turned sharp. “Where will they go? Have you no heart?”
“Not my problem. And I want every penny of the rent.”
“Youre my wife! Were family!”
“Families discuss things. They dont make decisions behind each others backs.”
She hung up.
The next days were a blurchanging the locks, consulting a solicitor, blocking Gregorys access to her accounts. He called daily, begging, accusing, guilt-tripping.
“I thought we were a team,” he said, voice breaking. “I thought you loved me.”
“You thought my things were yours to take,” she replied. “Turns out, they werent.”
“Youre heartless! Throwing away our marriage over money!”
“You threw it away the moment you stopped treating me as an equal.”
The divorce was quickthey had no shared assets, no children together. Gregory returned some of the money, but not all. Emily didnt fight for the rest. She just wanted this chapter closed.
“Youll regret this,” he spat at their last meeting. “Youll end up alone. Whod want a woman so cold?”
“I want myself,” she said calmly. “And 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 loveand how true love never demands sacrifice.
