**Diary Entry 8th June**
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 messy ponytailstood before her, two children peering curiously from behind. A boy and a girl, wide-eyed, studying their unexpected host.
The hallway was cluttered with unfamiliar shoes, coats hung on the rack that werent hers, and the scent of stew drifted from the kitchen.
“Who are *you*?” The woman frowned, pulling the younger child closer. “We live here. Gregory let us in. He said the owner wouldnt mind.”
“This is *my* flat!” Emilys voice shook with outrage. “I never gave you permission to stay here!”
The woman blinked, glancing around at the scattered toys, the laundry drying in the kitchen, as if searching for proof of her right to be there.
“But Gregory said Were family. He told us you wouldnt mind. That you were kindunderstanding.”
A wave of cold fury washed over Emily. She shut the door slowly, leaning against it, trying 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 by the seaside, celebrating the completion of a gruelling restoration project on a historic building in central Manchester.
At thirty-four, she was a successful architect, self-reliant, proud of her independence. Her career consumed most of her time, but she didnt mindit paid well, and she loved what she did.
Gregory had approached her one sweltering August evening along the promenade. Charming, slightly older, with warm brown eyes and a disarming smile.
Divorced for three years, two childrena ten-year-old boy and a seven-year-old girl. He worked as a site manager for a large construction firm.
He courted her the old-fashioned wayflowers every day, dinners with sea views, 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 years. You know what you want.”
Emily melted under his attention. After a string of failed relationshipsmen who either resented her success or tried to compete with itGregory felt like a gift.
He respected her work, asked about her projects, supported her when clients made impossible demands.
“I love that youre strong,” hed murmur. “But youre still soft. Still warm.”
The holiday ended, but their relationship didnt. He visited her in Manchester; she travelled to his place in Leeds. Video calls, texts, plans for the future.
Eight months later, he proposed on the same stretch of beach where theyd met.
The wedding was small but sweet. Emily moved to Leeds, joined a local architecture firm, and left her Manchester flat empty.
“Were family now,” hed said, holding her tight. “My kids are yours. My problems are yours. Well face everything together.”
At first, shed been happy. The warmth of a real home, childrens laughter in the halls. She helped with school runs, bought them gifts, paid for clubs and doctors visits.
But slowly, things changed.
It started smallGregory took money from her account without asking. “Forgot to mention it,” hed say when she noticed the deductions.
Then came the requestshelp with his ex-wifes alimony.
“You understand,” hed sigh, hands raised in apology. “The kids shouldnt suffer just because works been slow this month.”
She did understand. She loved him. Loved his children.
But the demands grewtrips to see their grandparents, new winter coats, summer camp fees, maths tutors.
Worst of all, he began transferring money to his ex directly from Emilys account without warning.
“Theyre *our* kids now,” hed argue when she confronted him. “You love them, dont you? Besides, you earn more than me. You can spare it.”
“Its not about *sparing*,” shed say, voice low but firm. “Its my money. You should at least *ask*.”
“Of course. Next time, I will.”
But next time was no different.
Emily began to feel like a wallet rather than a wife. Her opinion didnt mattershe was just informed, never consulted.
And whenever she pushed back, Gregory accused her of being cold, selfish, unwilling to be a *real* family.
“I thought you were different,” hed say bitterly. “Thought money didnt matter to you”
That May afternoon, when shed gone to visit her ill mother in Cheshire and decided to check on her Manchester flat, shed still hoped things could be fixed. Maybe distance would help them both reassess.
But what she found shattered every illusion.
The flat was a mess. Unwashed dishes piled in the sink, someone elses laundry drying in the bathroom, a childs cot in her bedroom.
On the table lay unpaid utility billsover £900 in arrears.
“How long have you lived here?” she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.
“Three months,” the woman replied, still oblivious. “Gregory said we could stay until we found somewhere. Weve been paying, of course. £500 a month. He said you agreedthat you had a big heart.”
Emilys hands shook as she dialled Gregorys number.
“Did you *forget* to ask me something?!” she snapped. “You moved a family into my flat without telling me. And wheres the rent money? £1,500 for three months!”
“Em, dont shout” His tone was all guilty excuses. “Its distant family, Sarah and the kids. They had nowhere else. You werent using it anyway. And the moneys for our holiday in Spainwanted to surprise you.”
Something inside her broke. Not anger. Just cold, clear realisation.
To Gregory, she wasnt a partner. She was a resource.
Her flat, her money, her lifeall his to use, without even asking.
“They have a week to leave,” she said, iron in her voice.
“Emily, are you mad? There are *children*! Where will they go? Have you no heart?”
“Not my problem. A week. And I want every penny of that rent.”
“Youre my *wife*! Were *family*!”
“Families *ask* each other. They dont just take.”
She hung up, turning back to the woman, who now looked terrified.
“Im sorry,” Emily said, and meant it. “But you have to go. No one asked me.”
The next days were a blurnew locks, a solicitor, blocked accounts.
Gregory called dailypleading, blaming, guilting.
“I thought we were real family,” hed choke out. “I thought you loved me.”
“You thought my things were yours to take,” she corrected. “Turns out, they werent.”
“Youre heartless! Destroying a family over money!”
“You destroyed it when you stopped caring what I thought.”
The divorce was quickno shared assets, no children together.
Gregory returned some of the money, but not all. Emily didnt fight for the rest. She just wanted out.
“Youll regret this,” he hissed at the solicitors office. “Youll end up alone. Whod want someone so cold?”
“I want *me*,” she said simply. “Thats enough.”
On the train back to Manchester, watching the countryside blur past, she didnt mourn the lost love.
She thought about how easy it was to lose yourself in loveand how important it was to remember that real love doesnt demand sacrifices.
It doesnt ask you to vanish.
