“Buy your own flat, then you can let whoever you want stay in it! Until then, get outboth of you!”
Evelyn had always seen her two-bedroom flat on the seventh floor as a fortress. Not the largest, not the most luxurious, but hers. Every square metre had been earned through sleepless nights at the design agency, every piece of furniture chosen with care. The white towels in the bathroom stood folded by size, her skincare products lined the shelf in perfect rows, and her dresses hung in the wardrobe in a gradient from light to dark.
Liam came into her life in November, when the first snowflakes swirled outside the window. Tall, with tousled dark hair and a smile that made her knees weak. Theyd met in a café near Piccadillyhed bumped into her table, sending coffee spilling across her white blouse.
“Christ, Im such a klutz,” he muttered, handing her napkins. “Let me at least pay for the dry cleaning.”
The blouse never fully recovered, but it didnt matter. Liam was a photographer, shooting weddings and corporate events, living in a rented studio in Croydon. He spoke about his projects with such enthusiasm that Evelyn could listen for hours.
The first months passed in a haze. Liam turned up nearly every evening with flowers or chocolates. They cooked dinners, watched films, made plans. Evelyn felt happy, as if shed finally found the missing piece of her puzzle.
In February, with sleet lashing the windows, she asked him to move in.
“Why waste money on that shoebox?” she said, hugging him in the kitchen. “Theres plenty of space here.”
Liam hesitated, muttering about pride and not wanting to freeload, but by March, hed arrived with two suitcases and his camera gear.
The first month was bliss. He tried to keep things tidy, though not to Evelyns exacting standards. She forgave the occasional dish left unwashed, the towels hung crookedlyjust boyish carelessness, she told herself.
The only thing that niggled was that he never offered to split bills or buy groceries. When she broached it, hed joke or say clients were scarce. She didnt press. The flat was hers; she could manage.
Then, mid-April, everything changed.
Evelyn returned after a brutal daya client had rejected her third website design, her boss hinted at unpaid overtimedreaming only of a bath and wine.
On the seventh floor, she froze. Voices echoed from inside the flatLiams and an unfamiliar womans. He hadnt mentioned guests.
She stepped inside.
A stranger lounged on her cream sofa, wearing pyjamas, painting her nails bubblegum pink while some telenovela played.
“Hi,” the woman said without looking up. “You must be Evelyn. Im Gemma, Liams sister.”
Evelyn stiffened. Liam had only vaguely mentioned a sister, never said she lived nearby.
“Evie, youre back!” Liam appeared, holding tea, grinning as if nothing were amiss. “Meet Gemma. Remember I mentioned her?”
“Vaguely,” Evelyn said tightly. “Why is she here?”
Liam set the tea down. “Her landlord kicked her outhis sons back from uni. She just needs a few days to find a place.”
Evelyns stomach turned. “Our” flat? Hers. Her rules.
“You couldve asked,” she said, voice steady.
“Come on, Evie,” Liam shrugged. “Its an emergency. Was I supposed to leave her on the street?”
Gemma finally glanced up. “Dont worry, Ill be quiet as a mouse. Barely take up space.”
Evelyn forced a nod.
In the kitchen, dirty dishes piled in the sink. The last of her homemade bolognesemeant to last dayswas nearly gone.
“Liam,” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“That was my dinner.”
“Ohsorry. Gem was starving, and there wasnt much else.”
Evelyn clenched her jaw.
That night, she snapped. “You shouldve consulted me first.”
Liam sighed. “What was I supposed to do? She called crying!”
“Its my flat, Liam.”
“Ours,” he corrected.
“I pay for it alone.”
His face darkened. “So now its a tally?”
Days passed. Gemma stayed. Evelyns expensive face cream dwindled. Her towel was damp when she hadnt used it. Her dresses were rearranged.
“Someones using my things,” Evelyn seethed.
Liam laughed. “Counting grams of cream now?”
“Thats not the point!”
“For Gods sake, shes my sister!”
The fight exploded.
“Buy your own flat, then you can host whoever you want!” Evelyn shouted. “Until then, get outboth of you!”
Silence.
Liams face fell. “Right. I see.”
He packed. Gemma sauntered past, smirking. “Cheers for the hospitality.”
The door shut.
Alone, Evelyn rearranged her towels, her dresses. Threw away a cheap bottle of “Pink Fantasy” nail polish left behind.
Her phone buzzedLiam: *”Sorry. Thought love meant sharing. Guess I was wrong.”*
She deleted his number.
The flat was hers again. Quiet. Perfect.
And somehow, it felt emptier than ever.
