“Me and my new wife have nowhere to livelet us stay at the cottage,” my ex-husband asked. I agreed. Then I called the police and filed a report for trespassing.
“Found out?” The voice on the other end was painfully familiarsoft, ingratiating, the same one that had once sworn eternal love.
I stayed silent, tracing the frost patterns on the window. A call from my ex, James, after two years of near silence, could mean nothing good. It was always the prelude to a demand.
“Emily, dont just stand there. Ive got a situation.”
“Im listening,” I replied flatly, my voice brittle as a snapped twig.
He hesitated, weighing his wordshis usual tactic, testing the ground before striking.
“I know this sounds odd Me and Sophie, were in a tight spot. Had to leave our flat, cant find a new one.”
I let the silence stretch, each of his words a pebble dropped into the still lake of my composure.
“Would you let us stay at the cottage? Just a couple of months, till we sort things out. Well be quietyou wont even notice us.”
*Me and my new wife have nowhere to livelet us stay at the cottage.* So casual, as if he were asking to pass the salt.
As if there had never been betrayals, lies, or the way he walked out, leaving me to pick up the pieces.
A memory flashedtwenty years ago, building that cottage together. Young, tanned, hammer in hand, James had laughed:
“This is our fortress, Em! No matter what happens, well always have this place. Our retreat.”
How poisonous those words sounded now. *Our retreat.* Hed brought another woman into it. Now he wanted to make her its mistress.
“James, have you lost your mind?” I kept my voice steady.
“Em, please. Weve got nowhere else. You know Sophieshes pregnant. We cant sleep in the street.”
Hed struck the sorest spot. Children. The one thing we never had. And for themeffortless, just like that.
I pressed a hand to my eyes. Two beasts warred inside meone wanted to scream every vile thought I had of him, slam the phone down, forget him forever. The other whispered: *This is your chance.* Not to forgive. To set things right.
“You swore to support each other, no matter what,” he pressed, his tone pleading now, tugging at the obedient girl Id been for him all those years.
Another memoryour wedding day. Young, foolish, his eyes locked on mine: *”Ill never betray you.”* Fifteen years later, packing his bags: *”Sorry, it just happened. Feelings fade.”*
Betrayed. Faded. Now begging for help.
A cold, crystalline clarity settled over me. The plan formed in an instant. Brutal. Perfect.
“Fine,” I said, calm enough to surprise even myself. “You can stay.”
Relief rushed through the line. He babbled thanks, something about always knowing Id help. Id stopped listening.
“Keys are where theyve always been. Under the stone by the porch.”
“Thank you, Em! Youve saved me!”
I ended the call. The trap was set. Now, to wait for the beast to let its guard down.
Two days passed. I lived on edge, flinching at every call. Hed ring againto check I was still on the hook.
The call came Saturday morning.
“Hi! Were here, settled in nicely,” James chirped, his tone now proprietorial, not pleading.
“Place needs workcobwebs, gardens a mess. But Soph and I will sort it.”
My grip whitened on the counter. *Well sort it.* *My* home.
“I didnt ask you to *sort* anything,” I enunciated. “I let you stay.”
“Em, come on. Were making it better. Sophie says the airs good for the baby. Shes picked a spot for flowerbedsright under the bedroom window.”
*Our* bedroom. Where the wallpaper still bore scratches from the cat.
“Dont touch my roses,” was all I managed.
“Who wants thorns anyway?” He scoffed. “Sophie wants peonies. Listen, another thingthe attics full of your junk. Boxes, old dresses. Nowhere to store our stuff. Can I move it to the shed?”
A flashbackour first flat. James “renovated” the bathroom, ripping out the tiles Mum and I spent weeks choosing. *”Theyre outdated, Em. Ill make it modern.”* The result: crooked, cheap, and a financial blow. His initiatives always cost me too much.
“Dont touch my things, James.”
“Why cling to rubbish?” He bristled. “We need space! Cant you be reasonable? Sophies stressedits not good for the baby!”
A whisper, then her saccharine voice piped up:
“Jamie, dont argue. Ask nicely. Emily, love, we mean no harm. Just need somewhere for the crib, the pram”
A performance. He pushed, she softened. They expected me to melt, hand everything over.
“I said: dont touch my things. Dont plant in *my* garden. Be grateful youre staying at all.”
“Grateful?” He exploded. “Fifteen years I wasted on you! And you begrudge old dresses? FineIll change the shed lock. Lost the key. Fetch your boxes when we leave.”
The line went dead.
I stared at the citys grey sprawl. He wasnt just living in my househe was claiming it. Erasing me. The new lock wasnt rudenessit was war.
Very well. War hed get.
I waited a week. Lived normallymet friends, worked. Beneath the surface, the plan hardened.
Next Saturday, I drove to the cottage unannounced. Parked around the bend, approached like a thief.
First sight: my rose bushes, the ones Mum planted, uprooted, tossed by the fence like corpses. In their placefresh soil, pale shoots. Peonies.
Something inside me snapped. This wasnt just entitlement. It was desecration.
I circled the housenew wicker chairs on the porch, gaudy floral curtains in the windows. They werent staying. They were nesting.
The shed door hung openthe one hed re-locked. Inside, my boxes were torn open, contents strewn. Mums letters, once ribbon-tied, now lay in a puddle. My diaries, pages ripped out.
Atop the wreckagemy wedding dress. Once white, now soiled, grease-stained. Beside it, an empty beer bottle.
They hadnt just cleared space. Theyd relished destroying what mattered to me.
Enough.
The “good girl Emily” who feared conflict died in that shed, staring at her trampled past. In her place rose something calm. Ice-cold. Merciless.
No shouting. No confrontation. Just a turn, a walk back to the car. Hands steady on the wheel, mind eerily clear.
First stop: the hardware store. A heavy-duty padlock, a thick chain.
By seven the next morning, I stood at the garden gate. Wrapped it in chain, clicked the lock shut.
I waited in the car, watching.
At ten, James ambled out, stretched, strolled to the gate. Tugged once. Twice. Froze.
His slack jaw tightened. He yanked harderas if force might undo metal.
Sophie scurried out, shrill even through closed windows.
My phone rang.
“What the hell are you playing at?” James roared. “Youve locked us in!”
“Just protecting my property,” I replied, icy. “You proved locks mean nothing when you broke into my shed.”
“What shed? Youre insane! Sophies pregnantwhat if she needs an ambulance? Open this now!”
“An ambulance? Of course. Ill call the police tooreport trespassing, vandalism. Theyll have tools to open the gate.”
Silence. Just Sophies muffled sobs.
“Trespassing? You *let* us in!”
“I allowed temporary shelter. You acted like owners. Dug up my roses, turned the shed into a dump. You crossed a line, James.”
“Who cares about old junk?” he spat. “Youd send us to jail over rubbish?”
“Its not rubbish. Its my life. What you betrayed, then tried to destroy.”
I hung up, dialled the police. Calm, preciseintruders on my property, vandalism, refusal to leave.
They arrived swiftly. I met them with deeds in hand.
“They claim you invited them,” an officer said, as James and Sophie shouted over the fence.
“I allowed my ex shelter out of decency. He broke into my shed
