**Who Are You?!**
Emily froze in the doorway of her own flat, unable to believe her eyes.
Standing before her was an unfamiliar woman in her thirties, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail, with two children peering curiously from behind hera boy and a girl, eyeing the unexpected visitor.
Strange slippers lay scattered in the hallway, unfamiliar coats hung on the rack, and the smell of lamb stew wafted from the kitchen.
“Who are you?” The woman frowned, instinctively pulling the younger child closer. “We live here. Gregory let us in. He said you wouldnt mind.”
“This is MY flat!” Emilys voice shook with outrage. “And I certainly never gave you permission to stay here!”
The woman blinked in confusion, glancing at the toys strewn across the floor, the childrens laundry drying in the kitchen, as if searching for proof of her right to be there.
“But Gregory said Were his relatives He told us you wouldnt mind That you were kind and understanding”
Emily felt an indescribable fury and shock, as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over her.
She slowly closed the door and leaned against it, trying to gather her thoughts. Her home, her space, her lifeand suddenly, she was a stranger in it.
A year ago, everything had been different. Emily had been on holiday by the sea, enjoying a well-earned break after completing a challenging restoration project on a historic building in central Manchester.
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 complainher work brought satisfaction and a steady, comfortable income.
Shed met Gregory one sweltering August evening on the pier. He was charming, slightly older than her, 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 manager for a large construction firm.
Gregory courted her beautifully, in an old-fashioned wayflowers every day, dinners at seaside restaurants, long walks under the stars.
“Youre special,” hed say, pressing a kiss to her hand. “Smart, independent, beautiful. I havent met a woman like you in so long. You know exactly what you want.”
Emily melted under his words and attention. After a string of failed relationships with men who were either intimidated by her success or constantly competing with her, Gregory seemed 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 feminine, gentle, compassionate.”
The holiday ended, but the relationship continued. Gregory visited her in Manchester; she travelled to his home in Bristol. Video calls, messages, plans for the future.
Eight months later, he proposed right where theyd first met.
The wedding was small but warm. Emily moved to Bristol to be with him, found work at a local architecture firm, and left her Manchester flat empty.
“Were family now,” hed say, holding her tightly. “My children are yours, my problems 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 voices.
She gladly helped Gregory with the kids, bought them gifts, paid for their clubs and lessons, took them to doctors appointments.
But gradually, things changed.
At first, it was smallGregory took money from her account without warning. “Forgot to ask, sorry,” hed say when she noticed the withdrawals.
Then came frequent requests to help with his ex-wifes maintenance payments.
“You understand, dont you?” hed say with an apologetic smile. “The kids shouldnt suffer just because their parents didnt work out. Works been slow this month.”
Emily understood and wanted to help. She loved Gregory and had grown attached to his children.
But the requests became constant, growing largerpaying for trips to see their grandmother in York, new winter coats, summer camp fees, tutoring.
The worst part? Gregory started transferring money to his ex directly from Emilys account without even telling her.
“Theyre our children now,” hed argue when she confronted him. “You love them. Besides, you earn more than I do. You cant begrudge them, can you?”
“Its not about begrudging them,” shed say firmly. “Its my money, and you should at least discuss it with me first.”
“Of course, of course. Next time, I will.”
But next time was no different.
Emily began feeling like a convenient bank, not a wife or partner. Her opinion didnt mattershe was just presented with demands.
And every time she tried to object or discuss their finances, Gregory accused her of being cold, selfish, and unwilling to be a real family.
“I thought you were different,” hed say bitterly. “I thought money wasnt everything to you”
That May, when she visited her sick mother in Cheshire and decided to check on her Manchester flat, Emily still hoped things could be fixed. Maybe time apart would help them both reconsider.
But what she found shattered every last hope.
The flat was in disarraydirty dishes piled up, strangers laundry drying in the bathroom, a childs cot in her bedroom.
Unpaid utility bills totalling over £400 lay on the table.
“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 until we found our own place. We paid, of course£200 a month. He said you wouldnt mind, that you had a big heart.”
Emilys hands trembled as she dialled Gregorys number.
“Gregory, did you forget to ask me something?!” she snapped without greeting. “You moved strangers into my flat without telling me! And wheres the rent? Six hundred pounds!”
“Em, dont shout” His voice was defensive. “Theyre distant relatives, Sarah and the kids. They had nowhere else to go. You dont even live there. Cant you help them out? I was saving the rent for a surprise holiday to Spain.”
Something inside Emily shatterednot with anger, but cold clarity.
She realised Gregory didnt see her as a wife or equal. She was a resourceher flat, her money, her life, all his to use without question.
“Gregory,” she said quietly, steel in her voice. “They have one week to leave.”
“Emily, are you insane? Theyve got kids! Where will they go? Have you no heart?”
“Not my problem. One week. And I want every penny of that rent.”
“How can youwere family!”
“Families ask. They dont just take.”
She hung up and turned to the woman, who was now pale with shock.
“Im sorry,” Emily said, and she meant it. “But you have to leave. No one asked me.”
The next days were a blur. Emily changed the locks, hired a solicitor, blocked 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 belongings were yours to take,” she corrected coldly.
“Youre heartless! Ruining a family over money!”
“You ruined it when you stopped seeing me as a person.”
The divorce was swiftno 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 said at their final meeting. “Youll end up alone. Whod want a woman like you?”
“I want me,” she replied calmly. “And thats enough.”
On the train home, watching the countryside blur past, she didnt mourn the lost love.
Instead, she realised the most important lessontrue love never demands you lose yourself. And no matter how much you care for someone, you must never let them erase you.
