Emily sang with joy—now she had her own flat. Not a shared room in a cramped house, not a corner in a grumpy landlady’s place, but a proper two-bedroom apartment in an ordinary suburb of Manchester. No more Margarets switching off the lights at eleven or shouting through the door to *keep the shower quiet*. No more watchful eyes judging her every move. Just her and the free breath of adulthood.
Her parents had helped her buy it, selling off her late aunt’s old place. Emily decorated it just how she liked and invited her friend Charlotte over for a housewarming. They laughed, drank tea with cake, and when it was time to leave, Emily walked Charlotte to the door. As they stepped into the hallway, they spotted a woman sitting on the stairs between floors, neatly eating a sandwich, a worn-out bag beside her.
*”Excuse me, but… who are you?”* Emily asked, startled.
The woman swallowed, flustered. *”I’m… Janet. Janet Williams. I used to live here. Your flat—it used to be mine, didn’t it?”*
Emily recognised her—yes, this was the woman who’d sold the flat a few months ago.
*”What are you doing here?”*
*”Well, you see…”* Janet’s eyes welled up. *”I’ve got nowhere else to go.”*
The friends exchanged glances. Janet wiped her tears and told her story.
After her divorce, she’d raised her son, James, alone. Gave him everything, sacrificed it all. He grew up kind, responsible, hardworking—got a degree, a steady job, married a cheerful, no-nonsense woman named Sophie. At first, it was fine. They moved into his three-bedroom house, leaving Janet alone in her flat. Then came their son, Oliver, followed by little Lily. A few years later, Sophie and James suggested she sell her place—*Move in with us. It’ll be easier. You’re always with the kids anyway.*
She agreed. Half the money was meant to go into her account, half to them. The money never came.
Living with them was unbearable. Children from dawn till dusk. Sophie at work, James at the office. Cooking, laundry, cleaning, child-minding—all on her. But she wasn’t allowed to discipline them—just feed them, watch them, stay silent.
When she complained of exhaustion, James just said, *”Mum, you’re managing. The kids are fine, Sophie’s happy, I can work in peace. Isn’t this what family’s for?”*
Janet wept from exhaustion. That summer, when they went to the seaside, she claimed she was visiting a friend—instead, she wandered the city, sleeping by the canal, on benches. And today, she’d found herself back here. She didn’t know why. Just… drawn to it.
*”I even thought… maybe I could sleep on the roof tonight,”* she admitted quietly.
Emily and Charlotte couldn’t hold back.
*”That’s not right!”* Charlotte snapped. *”You’re not alone in this. Come inside—you’re staying with Emily tonight.”*
*”Oh, I couldn’t—”*
*”No arguments,”* Emily said firmly.
Over tea, Charlotte—a solicitor by trade—gently pressed Janet: *Where did the money from the sale go?*
*”James said he’d put half in a savings account…”* Janet whispered.
*”That’s enough for a studio flat,”* Charlotte said firmly. *”We’ll help you sort it out.”*
A month later, Janet moved into a small, but entirely hers, flat—same building, different floor. What exactly Charlotte said to James, no one knew. But he paid up.
Sophie cut ties with her. The grandchildren visited on their own, taking turns.
And Janet smiled again. She and Emily became friends, going to the theatre and exhibitions together.
*”Here’s what I’ve learned,”* Charlotte said one evening. *”You should grow old in your own home. Otherwise, you might end up with none at all.”*
Emily nodded.
*”And never stay silent when they push you into a corner.”*
