Let Them In and Regret It: When Dad Crossed the Line in My Flat and Brought Trouble Home — Dad, what’s with all these new vintage bits? Did you raid an antique shop or something? — Kristina frowned in confusion, eyeing the white knitted doily on her dresser. — Never knew you were into old lady collectibles. Your taste is straight up Grandma Zoe… — Kristina, darling! What are you doing here without calling first? — Oleg Peterson popped out of the kitchen looking guilty. — You clearly weren’t expecting me, — Kristina huffed, heading for the living room—where even more surprises waited. — Dad… Where did all this come from? What’s going on here? Kristina hardly recognised her own flat… Once upon a time, after inheriting the place from her grandmother, it was a time capsule—dodgy 70s furniture, a TV that belonged in the tip, rusty radiators, peeling wallpaper. Still, it was hers. Kristina invested her savings into a proper renovation, going full-on Scandinavian: bright colours, minimalism, tasteful accents and fluffy rugs… Now, blackout curtains had been swapped for cheap netting. Her Italian sofa was buried beneath an awful synthetic tiger-printed throw. The coffee table held a lurid pink plastic vase with matching fake roses. But the worst was the smell—greasy fish drifting from the kitchen, cigarette smoke, and her dad didn’t even smoke… — Kristina, see… — Oleg finally ventured, — I’m not alone. I meant to tell you, but I just… didn’t get round to it. — Not alone? — Kristina was stunned.—Dad, that was not our agreement! — Kristina, you know my life didn’t end when your mum and I split. I’m still a young man—I’m not even close to pension age. Am I not allowed a private life? Kristina froze. Technically, fair enough. But not in her flat. Her parents’ divorce a year ago had been uneventful—her mum shrugged off the cheating, dove into self-improvement and a social whirl. Her dad, though, was blindsided. His old bachelor pad had been trashed after years of tenants—one nearly burned it down with a lit cigarette, money for repairs was nowhere in sight. The place was ruined. — Kristina, I don’t know how I’ll live… — he’d sighed, looking broken. — It’s dangerous in there, and I can’t fix it before winter. I can’t afford the lot. If I freeze, then so be it… Of course Kristina couldn’t let the man who raised her rot in those conditions. She’d recently moved in with her husband; her flat was empty. With Dad’s history as a hapless landlord, it was best not to rent it out. — Dad, stay in mine for a while, — she offered. — Everything’s set up. Fix your place slowly; then move back. Just one rule: no visitors. — Really? — Dad lit up. — You’re a lifesaver! I promise, it’ll be quiet and peaceful. Peaceful? Right… As Kristina recalled this, her bathroom door flew open in a cloud of scented steam. Out glided a woman in her fifties—wearing Kristina’s favourite robe, draped over her voluptuous frame. — Oleg, love, is that a guest? — she croaked, shooting Kristina a condescending smile. — You could’ve warned me—I’m just in loungewear. — And you are…? — Kristina glared.—Why are you wearing my robe? — I’m Janet, your father’s partner. What’s the fuss? I grabbed the robe—it wasn’t being used. Kristina’s blood boiled. — Take it off. Now. — Kristina! — Dad begged, — Don’t start! Janet just— — Janet just wore someone else’s clothes in someone else’s home! — Kristina snapped.—Dad, are you serious? You dragged your girlfriend here, let her rummage through my stuff?! Janet rolled her eyes and plonked herself down on the tiger throw. — Such a brat, — she declared. — If I were Oleg, I’d have spanked you, regardless of age! How do you even talk to your father? His choice of companion isn’t your business, young lady. Kristina reeled. Some stranger was scolding her in her own home. — Not my business, — she agreed.—As long as it isn’t happening in my house. — Your house? — Janet glanced at Oleg, eyebrow raised. Oleg shrank, eyes darting between his furious daughter and his audacious girlfriend, praying the storm would blow over. — Oh, did Dad forget to tell you that? — Kristina said, coldly. — Well, let me clarify: He’s just a guest. This is my flat—everything in it is mine. I let him stay, but didn’t expect him to parade his “partners” through! Janet flushed red. — Oleg? —she snapped. —You told me it was yours. So you lied? Dad wilted in shame. — Well…Janet, I meant…you misinterpreted—I do have a place, just not this one. I didn’t want to overwhelm you… — Didn’t want to overwhelm?! Brilliant! Now I’m getting grief because of you! Kristina’s patience snapped. — Out, — she said quietly. — What? — Janet blurted. — Out. Both of you. You’ve got an hour. After that, I’ll deal with it legally. Shouldn’t have opened my door to you… Kristina moved for the door, and Dad finally peeled off the wall. — Sweetheart! You’re throwing your own father out onto the street? You know what my place is like! I’ll freeze! He clung to her sleeve, dredging up childhood guilt, duty, pity… But then Kristina saw Janet—lounging insolently in her robe, glaring pure hate. If she gave in now, tomorrow Janet would be changing locks and wallpaper. — Dad, you’re an adult. Rent somewhere, — said Kristina, jerking free.—You broke our agreement, brought a random woman, let her use my things, and ruined my home… — Well, choke on your precious flat! — Janet spat. — Come on, Oleg—don’t grovel. She’s ungrateful… Half an hour’s packing and it was done. Dad shuffled off, dejected. Kristina would never forget his wounded, rain-soaked glance. But she held firm. Once they’d gone, she aired the flat to banish the smell of fish, smoke, cheap perfume. Robe, throw, Janet’s debris—all in the bin. She hired cleaners and a locksmith. She never wanted that woman’s stain—physical or emotional—ever again. Four days passed. Now Kristina’s flat was her sanctuary again—no tacky fake flowers or lingering stench. She lived with her husband, but the peace was back. She hadn’t spoken to Dad. Four days in, he rang. — Kristina…? — Dad sounded drunk.—Happy now? Janet’s gone. She dumped me… — What a shock, — Kristina retorted.—Let me guess, she saw your real flat, realised the work needed, and bolted? Dad sniffed. —Yeah…I put a heater in, slept on an air mattress. She lasted three days, then called me a pauper and a liar, and ran off…We loved each other, Kristina! — Love? More like both of you trying to land somewhere comfy—and you both miscalculated. Silence. — It’s awful being alone here, sweetheart, —Dad pleaded.—Can I come back? Alone this time—I swear! Kristina’s heart ached—her father, alone in the mess he’d made. But he’d brought this on himself: cheating, lying, deceiving. She did feel sorry for him. But pity could poison them both. — No, Dad. I won’t let you back in. Hire workers, fix your place. Learn to live in the mess you created. All I can do is refer you to some good tradesmen. Sorry. If you need to, just ask. She hung up. Harsh? Maybe. But Kristina was done with people leaving stains—on her robe and her soul. Some dirt can’t be cleaned away; sometimes you just have to keep it out.

Let myself in for trouble

Dad, whats with all the additions? Did you raid an antique shop or something? Christine raised her eyebrow, staring incredulously at the white knitted doily on her dresser. I had no clue you were into all this old stuff. Your tastes just like Granny Zoes

Oh, Christine, darling! What are you doing here without calling ahead? Owen Parker emerged from the kitchen, looking flustered. We Sorry, I mean I wasnt expecting you

He tried to sound cheerful, but there was a guilty look in his eyes.

Yeah, I can see you werent, Christine muttered, lips pursed, heading into the lounge, bracing herself. Dad Wheres all this come from? Whats going on here?

Christine barely recognised her old flat.

When she inherited the place from her grandmother, it was in a sorry state. Ancient furniture, a chunky telly perched on a battered sideboard, rusty radiators, peeling wallpaper in corners But it was hers, and that was enough.

By then, Christine had saved up a bit. She had spent those pounds on a proper renovation, not just a patch job. Shed gone for a Scandi look: light colours, a sense of space, minimalism. Everything matched, the curtains were just the right shade, and plush rugs warmed the floor.

Now, her blackout curtains had been swapped for cheap nylon netting. The Italian sofa was buried under a synthetic throw with a grinning tiger. On the coffee table sat a hot pink plastic vase with equally fake neon roses.

And it wasnt just the sightssmells assaulted her. From the kitchen came the sizzle of oil and an unmistakable whiff of fried fish. It reeked of tobacco, and her father didnt even smoke

Christine, listen Owen finally said, awkwardly. Thing is Im not alone. Wanted to tell you earlier but didnt manage.

Not alone? Christines voice faltered. Dad, thats not what we discussed!

Christine, you must realise my life didnt end with your mum. Im still a young manwell, younger than mostand I dont get my pension yet. Dont I deserve a personal life too?

Christine was stunned. Fair enough, her dad had the right to date someone else. But not in her flat!

Her parents split last year. Her mum shrugged off Owens affair, relieved, and threw herself into hobbies and her endless circle of friends. She was thriving. Her dad, though, was lost. He moved back into his bachelor bedsit and was horrified. Hed let it for years, until one of the tenants nodded off with a lit cigarette. There was never enough money for repairs, so the place had fallen into ruin: sooty walls, smashed windows, mould everywhere. It looked like a set from a horror film, not a home.

Oh, Christine, dear, I dont know how Ill manage her dad had once sighed. Its actually unsafe to stay here, and Ill never get the repairs done before winter. I dont even have enough cash to get started. Well, if I freeze, I freeze. Maybe its meant to be.

Christine couldnt stand that. The thought of the man whod raised her living in such squalor was too much. What if something happened to him? Her own flat was now emptyshed just married and moved in with her husband. Given her dads track record with tenants, she wouldnt ever rent it out.

Dad, come stay in my flat for now, shed offered. Its all set up, comfortable. Fix up your place bit by bit, then move back in. Just one rule: absolutely no guests.

Really? hed asked, eyes wide. Christine, youre a lifesaver! I swear, itll be quiet and peaceful.

Peaceful. Right.

As Christine recalled their chat, the bathroom door swung open, sending out a cloud of perfumed steam. A woman in her fifties sauntered outwearing Christines favourite fluffy dressing gown. The one she treasured. It barely contained the womans generous figure.

Oh, Owen, do we have company? croaked the woman with a smokers voice, giving a condescending smile. Wish youd warned me, Im in my loungewear.

And you are? Christine narrowed her eyes. And why on earth are you wearing my dressing gown?

Im Janet, your fathers beloved. And whats with the nerves? I just grabbed the gownit was just hanging there doing nothing.

Christines temples thumped with fury.

Take it off. Right now, she spat.

Christine! Owen pleaded, stepping between them. Lets not start drama! Janet just

Janet just took my things in my own home! Christine cut across him. Dad, seriously? Youve brought your girlfriend here, let her rifle through my stuff, and you didnt even ask?

Janet rolled her eyes and waddled to the lounge, dropping onto the tiger throw.

Rude girl, Jan declared. If I were Owen, Id slap your wrist with a belt regardless of age. How do you speak to your father? Who hes with isnt your concern, missy.

Christine was floored. Some random woman sitting on her sofa, acting like she owned the place.

Its not my concern, Christine agreed. Until it happens in my house.

Your house? Janet raised an eyebrow, staring at Owen.

He stood by the wall, head sunk between shoulders, flitting between his livid daughter and the insolent lover. He looked like he hoped the storm would pass by itself, but the odds were clearly against him.

Oh Did Dad not mention? Christine smiled coolly. Let me spell it out: hes a guest. This flat is mine, every last thing in it was bought by me. I agreed to let him stayI didnt agree to him bringing women home.

Janet went crimson.

Owen? she asked icily. Whats she on about? You told me this was yours. Lying, were you?

Her dad shrank further, his ears red as beetroot.

Well Janet, I didnt mean it like that. You misunderstood. Ive got my own place, but not this one. Didnt want to bore you with details.

Didnt want to bore me?! Oh, wonderful! Now Im being told off because of you!

Christine had had enough.

Out, she said quietly.

What? Janet faltered.

Out. Both of you. Im giving you an hour. If youre still here, well deal with it legally. I never shouldve let you in

Christine strode to the door, but suddenly Owen stopped sulking and rushed after her.

Love, youre turfing your own father out? You know what my place is likeIll freeze, honestly!

He gripped her sleeve, and for a moment, Christines heart wavered. Memories, duty, pity for her almost-retired dad A lump rose in her throat.

But then she saw Janet sprawled on the sofa, hateful eyes, wearing Christines robe. If she let this slide, the next day Janet would change the locks.

Dad, youre an adult. Rent a place, Christine pulled her hand free. You broke the agreementliving aloneand let a stranger take my things, mess up my home

Oh, keep your precious flat! Janet snapped. Come on, Owen. Dont beg. Shes hopeless

Half an hour later they were gone. Her dad shuffled out in silence, hunched like an old man. His looklike a thrown-out dogwas etched in Christines mind, but she didnt flinch.

Once the door closed, she opened all the windows, determined to banish the stink of fish, fags, and cheap perfume. The robe, the throw, everything Janet had touched went straight in the bin. The next day, she booked cleaners and a locksmith. Touching anything after Janet made her skin crawl.

Four days passed.

Now her flat was hers again. No fake flowers, no nasty scents. She lived with her husband, but knowing shed reclaimed her space soothed something deep inside.

She hadnt spoken to her dad. On the fourth day, he called.

Hello? Christine answered, hesitantly.

Well, Christine Owen slurred, clearly drunk. Are you happy now? Janets gone. Left me and walked out

What a surprise, Christine couldnt help herself. Let me guess: she saw your real place, realised its a dump with no end of work, and packed her bags?

Owen sniffed.

Yeah Got a heater going, slept on an air bed. She lasted three days. Said I was a liar and a pauper, went to her sisters. Said Id wasted her time But, Christine, we loved each other!

Love? Dad, you were both chasing the cushiest option. You gambled and lost, simple as.

He was silent, but he hadnt finished.

I hate being alone, love, he finally said. Its scary here Can I come back? Just me, I promise! I swear!

Christine looked down. Her father sat somewhere in that cold, ruined flat. But hed built that mess himself: cheating on Mum, lying to Christine, spinning Janet a tale.

She did feel sorry for him, but letting pity rule would poison them both.

No, Dad. You cant come. Get some builders, do it up. Learn to live in the mess you created. Ill recommend good tradesmen if you want. Sorry. Ask if you need their numbers.

And she hung up.

Was it harsh? Maybe. But Christine didnt want anyone else dirtying her dressing gown or her soul. Sometimes, you cant scrub away the stains; you just have to shut the door and keep the dirt out.

Lesson learned: even for family, boundaries are vital, and kindness shouldnt mean sacrificing yourself.