**Diary Entry**
*Monday, 12th October*
“You’ll have to forgive me, Zoe, but she’ll be staying with you now…”
Zoe and Stan had been busy in the garden all morning. Leaves drifted endlessly from the trees, blanketing the ground in gold, the silence so peaceful it lulled all thought. Then, the quiet shattered with the shrill ring of a mobile. Stan glanced at the screen and grimaced.
“Mum… Let’s hear what’s happened now.”
He put her on speaker, and Margaret’s voice crackled through, sharp with urgency.
“Stanley, drop everything! Come to my place at once.”
“What’s wrong?” Stan tensed.
“We’re fetching Emily and the children. It’s over—her husband’s kicked them out.”
Zoe, broom in hand, paled. Emily—Stan’s sister. With children. Homeless?
The house she and Stan shared had been her dream. Spacious, with a cosy conservatory, a lush garden, brand-new furniture—they’d built it together, pouring not just money but their hearts into it. Stan had thought her mad at first—selling their London flat, moving to the countryside, starting from scratch. But Zoe had a way of persuading him. And the house turned out exactly as she’d imagined.
At first, everything was perfect. Even her mother-in-law, who’d grumbled at first, marvelled at the housewarming. “Zoe, dear, you’re brilliant—this place is a dream!”
Then it began.
Every Friday, like clockwork, Margaret would arrive, trailed by Emily, her husband Tom, and their three children. They didn’t just visit—they took over. Meals? Zoe’s job. Cleaning? Hers too. No help, no thanks. When she finally mentioned it to Stan, he brushed her off. “Come on—they’re family. We help where we can.”
Once, she dared ask Emily to wash the dishes. The reply? “You can’t be serious—I’ve just had my nails done!” Zoe clenched her jaw and scrubbed the plates in silence.
When Emily showed up alone—without Tom—Zoe breathed a sigh of relief. One less to manage. But the relief was short-lived. Emily drifted through the house like a ghost, sobbing at night, snapping at the kids. Then Margaret explained: Tom had filed for divorce. Worse—he’d thrown Emily out, claiming the flat was his alone.
“But I can’t take her in!” Margaret had insisted. “I’ve got my own life to live. I’m getting remarried. She’ll have to stay with you.”
Zoe froze. With them? The children too? For how long?
Stan looked away. “We can’t turn her away. She’s family. We have to help.”
Emily moved in. And if weekends had once been a respite, now every day was a whirlwind of nursery chaos and endless meals. Neither Emily nor the children lifted a finger—it all fell on Zoe. And Stan? He only grew impatient. “Stop complaining. Just bear with it a little longer.”
Two months in, Zoe’s patience snapped. After yet another row, she packed a bag and left for her best friend’s.
Then came Margaret’s call, ice-cold.
“Good. Walk away. You were never good enough for our name. And by the way, the house stays with Emily. Stan built it on our land. You’ve no claim here.”
Stan realised his mistake too late. He turned up at Zoe’s door himself, begging. Said he’d sent Emily and the kids packing, that he finally knew where his family lay. He wanted his wife back.
Zoe returned. But different now. Stronger. With one condition: never again would strangers invade her home.
Margaret cut them out of her life. But Zoe didn’t regret it.
Sometimes, to build your happiness, you must learn to say “no”—even to those you once called family.
