“Half the house is yours, but you cant live there!”her ex-husband had moved a hardened criminal in with her and their son
Veronica Evans stepped out of the courtroom, shoulders hunched, as if her soul had been left behind on those cold benches, drowned in dry legal jargon and indifferent stares. She looked like a shadow of herself, erased from life like an unwanted word in a sentence. Her grey trench coat, crumpled and slung carelessly over her shoulders, nearly slipped off, as if even it had given up on her. Her once-neat hair was tangled, a heavy cloud falling over her forehead. Her hands hung limp, but onethin, paleclutched her sons small fingers like it was the only tether to reality.
“Mum” whispered Leo, hiding his face against her, as if he already knew she couldnt shield them both just then.
Veronica couldnt look up. It was over. Everything theyd hadgone, as if it had never existed. Mark had done this. Hed torn their family apart, taken nearly everything, smeared her name, even convinced their son it was all her fault. A bitter lump rose in her throat, her breath catching. Her mind treacherously replayed that moment three months ago: the kitchen, the unfamiliar woman with her overpowering, expensive perfume, and Marks laughthe same as ever, but not for her anymore. She remembered how hed said it so casually, like he was commenting on the weather:
“Dont even think about making a scene. It wont end well for you.”
Now, in the noisy corridor of the courthouse, people bustled pastsomeone chewing gum, someone rifling through a briefcase for a lost file. No one saw her pain. No one knew her life had just collapsed like a cardboard house. She squeezed Leos handher one anchor. Surviving was all that mattered now. The rest would come later.
Outside the house theyd once called home, Veronica hesitated for the first time in years. On the concrete steps sat their belongingspathetic little piles: a suitcase with a faded green stripe, a bag of toys, a box labelled “Documents.” Dust had settled over everything, light rain streaking dark stains on the fabric. Leo pressed into her shoulder.
“Mum, are we going home?”
Veronica wiped his nose with the edge of her scarf, forcing a smile even as her lips trembled.
“Home is wherever we are together.”
She lifted the box, wheeled the heavy suitcase behind her. Behind that door was their old lifeclosed off for good, like a theatre curtain after the final act.
She called her friend Charlotte, who answered in a robe, the flat smelling of coffee and vanilla. Charlotte hugged Veronica tightly, the way she used to, and gave Leo a careful squeeze.
“Stay with me for a bit. Rest.”
Charlottes kids were already asleep. Over dinner, her friend kept catching Veronicas eye, then looking away. The air grew thick with discomfort. A heavy silence hung over the pasta pot.
“Im sorry,” Charlotte finally muttered. “Mark he talked to me too. He hinted that you had well, issues. Said you might have trouble with the law, with substances. Told me to be careful.”
Veronicas breath hitched. Even here, in this house where theyd once laughed, where photos of them still hung on the walls, she felt like a stranger. Leo shoveled food into his mouth like he feared being thrown out any second.
Days later, Charlotte approached her with a worried face.
“Im sorry, I Im scared for my kids. Marks told everyone. Someone even slipped me your medical records.”
“What records?”
“Saying youve got some socially dangerous condition, habits. I know its lies, but how do I shut people up? Even the kids teacher asked about you.”
The warm house had become a cage. Veronica packed their things hastily, heart pounding. Leo sniffled, confused.
“I want my teddy. Why didnt Dad let me take him?”
“Dads busy right now, sweetheart,” Veronica murmured, ruffling his hair.
That night, they slept at a bus stop under an orange streetlightroad dust, trampled grass underfoot. Leo dozed with his head on her knee. Veronica stared at the starless sky.
She made a decision.
“Were going to the cottage, Leo. Remember our little house in the village? Where we ate berries in winter.”
The night felt endless, the road ahead holding only a faint hope and an old house at the edge of forgotten paths.
The cottage greeted them with dust, rain, and the weight of neglected years. The fence, choked with nettles, leaned like it had given up waiting. The apple tree out back shed yellow-red leaves, the path untouched by footsteps.
Veronica lifted her collar, breathed inwet grass, woodsmoke, a strange, prickly sort of comfort.
“Mum, are we staying long?” Leo asked, stomping on the damp doorstep.
“Well see, love. Got to tidy up first.”
They washed windowsLeo drew silly faces in the soap, and Veronica laughed, realising it was the first time in ages she hadnt cried.
“Help me clear the path?” she asked. Leo eagerly brought an old trowel, and together they scraped away dead branches and last years leaves.
When exhaustion won, Veronica tucked him into the creaky old bed. The dim lamp made the room almost cosy. Leo curled into her.
“Mum, are we going back to Dad?”
Veronica held him tight, fighting a tremor in her voice.
“Its just us now, Leo. Well be okay.”
Late that night, after Leo slept, Veronica opened her laptop. Her fingers hoveredpart of her wanted to vanish, to stop being Veronica Evans altogether.
She typed a short email:
“Mr. Thompson, Ive had to leave town due to personal circumstances. Any chance of remote work?”
The reply came by morning.
“Veronica,” her boss said, voice steady. “Ive heard the basics. Well try remote for two months. Just dont well, you know. Fall apart. Hang in thereweve got you.”
For the first time, she felt a foothold. Small, but real.
Day by day, she gathered documents, sifted through letters, racked her memory for what shed need for the next hearing. At night, when Leo slept, she let quiet tears fall, wondering how not to break. Sometimes Leo brought her tea or a lopsided clay figurine.
“Dont be sad, Mum.”
Then the summons camecourt in a week. Veronica clenched her jaw to keep from screaming.
The second hearing was worse. Mark stormed inhaggard but aggressive, raising his voice before hed even sat down, flinging folders everywhere.
“Your Honour, she lied systematically, hid income. I could say so much more!”
Veronica stared at the wall. The judgea man in his fifties with tired eyesarched a brow.
“Any actual proof, Mr. Evans?”
Mark waved papers, dropped some. His lawyer scoffed.
Veronica tried to speak, but the judge cut her off.
“Youll get your turn.”
The pause dragged, suffocating.
Finally, the judge rasped the verdict:
“Half the cottage goes to Ms. Evans. No further claims.”
Mark stuffed his hands in his pockets, strode out. On the stairs, he snapped:
“Maybe Ill move some bloke in with you, eh?”
Veronica straightened, meeting his gaze. Her voice was ice-calm.
“Glad its over.”
But inside, she felt hollow. Shed wonand yet lost everything.
*Why did everyone think it was all my fault? Like I ruined usnot his lies, his women, his rumours.*
She returned to the empty cottage, biting back tears in front of Leo. Living like shed hit rock bottom. Then lower.
Three days of uneasy peacethen, on a quiet evening as dusk cooled the air, a knock. Her heart jammed in her throat.
On the step stood a mantall, angular, like a shadow given form. His worn jacket clung like a second skin, stubble shading a face that had known little softness. Faded tattoos peeked from his sleevesnot flashy, just reminders.
No smile, no threat. Just calm. He set down a duffel bag.
“Evening. Rented half this place from your ex.”
Veronica instinctively pulled Leo closer.
“IIve got a child. Hope thats alright.”
The man nodded once.
“Thomas Wright. Wont be in your way.”
With that, he vanished into his half of the house. The door clicked shut. A phone rang faintly. Veronica stood frozenfear, confusion, numbness.
That night, she didnt sleep. Checked every lock, every window, held Leo close, strained for every sound. Fear of the unknown gnawed at her.
Days passed. Thomas was a ghostpresent, but never intruding. Then, one afternoon, laughter exploded in the yard. Leo, red
