“Sorry, Zoe, but she’ll be staying with you now…”
Zoe and Stan had been tidying up the garden all morning. Leaves were falling nonstop, covering the lawn in a golden blanket, and the peace was so perfect it almost felt wrong to think about anything else. Then suddenly, the quiet was broken by Stan’s phone ringing. He glanced at the screen, frowned, and muttered,
“Mum… Let’s see what’s happened now.”
He put it on speaker, and Valerie’s voice crackled through, sharp and urgent:
“Stanley, get ready! Come to mine right now.”
“What’s wrong?” Stan tensed up.
“We’re picking up Emily and the kids. It’s over—her husband kicked them out.”
Zoe, standing nearby with a rake, went pale. Emily—Stan’s sister. With kids. And nowhere to go?
The house she and Stan lived in was her dream. Spacious, with a cosy conservatory, a garden, brand-new furniture—they’d built it together, pouring in not just money but heart and soul. At first, Stan thought she was mad—selling their flat, moving to the countryside, starting from scratch. But Zoe had a way of convincing him. And in the end, the house turned out exactly how she’d pictured it.
At first, everything was perfect. Even her mother-in-law, who’d grumbled at first, fawned over it at the housewarming: “Zoe, love, you’ve outdone yourself—it’s like something out of a fairy tale!”
Then it started.
Every Friday, like clockwork, Valerie would turn up—and with her came Emily, her husband Tom, and their three kids. They didn’t just visit; they moved in. Cooking? Zoe’s job. Cleaning? Hers too. No help, no thanks. When she brought it up with Stan, he just brushed her off: “Oh, come on. They’re family. We’re helping out.”
Once, she even dared to ask Emily to wash up. The reply? “Are you joking? I just got my nails done—I’ll ruin them!” Zoe clenched her teeth and washed the dishes herself, silently.
When Emily showed up alone, without Tom, Zoe breathed a sigh of relief. One less problem. But soon, relief turned to dread—Emily floated through the house like a ghost, crying at night, snapping at the kids. Then Valerie explained: Tom had filed for divorce. Not just that—he’d thrown Emily and the kids out, claiming the house was his and there was nothing to split.
“But I can’t take her in!” Valerie defended herself. “I’ve got my own life now. I’m getting married. She’ll have to stay with you.”
Zoe froze. With them? With three kids? For how long?
Stan looked down.
“She’s family. We can’t leave her out in the cold. We’ve got to help.”
Emily moved in. And if before, Zoe at least had weekends to catch her breath, now every day was like running a daycare and a canteen rolled into one. Neither Emily nor the kids lifted a finger—everything fell on Zoe. And Stan? He just got impatient: “Stop whinging. It won’t be forever.”
Two months later, Zoe’s patience ran out. After another row, she packed a bag and left to stay with a friend.
Then Valerie called, icy and smug:
“Good. Walk away. You never deserved our name. The house stays with Emily, by the way. Stan built it on our land. You’ve got no claim here.”
Stan realised too late what he’d done. He turned up at Zoe’s friend’s place, begged her to come home, swore he’d kicked Emily and the kids out, that he finally understood where his real family was.
Zoe went back. But she wasn’t the same woman anymore. Stronger. And with one rule: no more freeloaders in her home.
Valerie cut them out of her life. But Zoe didn’t regret a thing.
Sometimes, to build your own happiness, you’ve got to learn to say “no”—even to the people you once called family.
