“Who are you?!”
Emily froze in the doorway of her own flat, unable to believe her eyes.
A strangera woman in her early thirties with a short ponytailstood before her, flanked by two curious children peering around her legs.
In the hallway, unfamiliar slippers lay discarded on the floor, coats she didnt recognise hung on the rack, and the warm 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 owner didnt mind.”
“This is *my* flat!” Emilys voice shook with anger. “And I certainly never gave you permission to be here!”
The woman blinked, bewildered, her eyes darting to 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 his relatives He told us you wouldnt mind. That you were kind and understanding”
Emily felt a wave of outrage, as if ice-cold water had been thrown over her. Slowly, she closed the door and leaned against it, gripping the handle as she tried to steady herself. Her home, her space, her lifeand suddenly, she was the outsider.
A year ago, everything had been different. Emily had been on holiday at the seaside, enjoying a well-earned break after completing a demanding projectthe restoration of a historic building in central Manchester.
At thirty-four, she was a successful architect, self-reliant and proud of it. Her career took up most of her life, and she didnt mindher work fulfilled her, and the steady income was more than comfortable.
She met Gregory on the pier one sweltering August evening. He was charming, slightly older than her, with a warm smile and attentive hazel eyes. Divorced for three years, he had two childrena ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girland worked as a foreman for a major construction firm.
Gregory courted her the old-fashioned way: daily bouquets, dinners at seaside restaurants, long walks under the stars.
“Youre special,” hed murmur, pressing a kiss to her hand. “Smart, independent, beautiful. Its rare to meet a woman so sure of herself.”
Emily melted under his attention. After a string of failed relationships with men who were either intimidated by her success or tried to compete with her, Gregory felt like a gift.
He respected her career, asked about her projects, supported her when clients made impossible demands.
“I love that youre strong,” hed say. “But still soft, still kind.”
The holiday ended, but their relationship didnt. Gregory visited her in Manchester; she travelled to his home in Birmingham. Video calls, messages, plans for the future.
Eight months later, he proposed on the very pier where theyd met.
The wedding was small but warm. Emily moved to Birmingham to be with him, found work at a local architecture firm, and left her Manchester flat empty.
“Were family now,” hed say, holding her close. “My children are yours, my problems are yours. Well face everything together.”
At first, she was happy. She loved the feeling of a real home, the sound of childrens laughter filling the house.
She happily helped Gregory with the kidsbuying them presents, paying for clubs and tutors, taking them to doctors appointments.
But gradually, things shifted.
It started with small thingsGregory took money from her account without asking. “Forgot to mention it, sorry,” hed say when she noticed the withdrawals.
Then came the requests: help with child support for his ex-wife.
“You understand,” hed say, spreading his hands apologetically. “The kids shouldnt suffer just because things are tight this month. Works been slow.”
Emily understood. She loved Gregory and cared for his children.
But the requests grewtrips to their grandparents in York, new winter coats, summer camp fees, maths tutors.
Worst of all, Gregory began transferring money directly from her account to his ex-wife without warning.
“Theyre *our* children now,” hed argue when Emily confronted him. “You love them. And you earn more than medont be stingy.”
“Its not about being stingy,” shed say, voice low but firm. “Its about respect. You should *ask* me first.”
“Of course, of course. Next time, I will.”
But next time was no different.
Emily began to feel less like a wife and more like a convenient bank. Her opinion didnt mattershe was just informed after the fact.
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 mean this much to you”
That May afternoon, when she visited her sick mother in Greater Manchester and decided to check on her old flat, Emily still hoped things could be fixed. Maybe some time apart would help them both reassess.
But what she found shattered every illusion.
The flat was a messdirty dishes piled in the sink, laundry drying in the bathroom, a childs cot crammed into her bedroom.
Unpaid utility bills totalling nearly £300 lay on the table.
“How long have you been here?” she asked, forcing calm into her voice.
“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 trembling with fury, and dialled Gregory.
“Did you *forget* to ask me something?” she snapped, skipping greetings. “You moved strangers into *my* flat! And wheres the rent? Thats £450!”
“Em, dont shout,” he said, voice defensive. “Theyre distant relativesSarah and her kids. They had nowhere else to go. You werent using the place. Dont you want to help people? I was saving the rent for a surprisea holiday to Spain.”
Something inside her broke. Not from anger, but cold, clear understanding.
Gregory didnt see her as a partner. She was a resourceher flat, her money, her life, all his to use without consulting her.
“Gregory,” she said, voice steel-calm. “They have one week to leave.”
“Emily, are you *serious*?” His voice turned sharp. “There are *children*! Where will they go? Have you no heart?”
“Not my problem. One week. And I want every penny of that rent.”
“How can you do this? Were *family*!”
“Families *discuss* things. They dont just take.”
She hung up and turned back to the woman, whod gone pale.
“Im sorry,” Emily saidand she meant it. “But you have to leave. Nobody asked *me*.”
The next days were a blur. She changed the locks, hired a solicitor, froze Gregorys access to her accounts.
He called dailybegging, accusing, guilt-tripping.
“I thought we were a real family,” hed say, voice breaking. “I thought you loved me.”
“You thought my belongings were yours to use,” she corrected. “They werent.”
“Youre heartless! Destroying a marriage over *money*!”
“You destroyed it the moment you decided my opinions didnt matter.”
The divorce was quickno shared assets, no children together.
Gregory returned some of the moneybut not all. She didnt fight for the rest. She just wanted out.
“Youll regret this,” he spat at their final meeting. “Youll end up alone. Whod want a woman so cold?”
“I want *me*,” she said simply. “Thats enough.”
On the train back to Manchester, watching the countryside blur past, she didnt think of lost love.
She thought of how vital it was never to lose *herself* in loveand how real love never demanded sacrifice.
