When I got back after being away for two months, a stranger opened my front door—and what she said next absolutely floored me.
Back when I was a kid, my mum taught me something I’ve never forgotten. She said, *“If you’re ever in a bind and can’t say what’s wrong, just use the safe word.”* Ours was *”jam roly-poly”*—silly, really. But to us, it meant everything. A hidden signal, a way to ask for help without saying a word. Never thought I’d need it again. Not until all this happened.
Two whole months—that’s how long I’d been gone, looking after my mum after her knee surgery. I practically lived at the hospital, surviving on terrible tea, crisps from the vending machine, and naps on chairs that were definitely not meant for sleeping. I missed my bed, my own duvet, the smell of home. But mostly, I missed James—my husband.
James and I had been married for four years, and though we weren’t perfect, we had our little routines. Both of us worked loads, but we always made time for curry night on Fridays and our Sunday trips to Tesco. Being away so long left a proper hole. He texted me sweet messages, video-called every other night, and swore the flat was spotless (doubtful, knowing his idea of *”spotless”*). Still, just hearing his voice kept me going.
The day I finally got home, I felt like I could finally breathe again. I took the longest shower ever, wrapped myself in my cosy dressing gown, and piled my wet hair into a towel. I was about to pour myself a cuppa when I heard it—the front door unlocking.
I froze. First thought? James must’ve forgotten something. But then—no car in the drive. I tiptoed to the hallway, my heart thumping.
And there she was. A woman I’d never seen before.
She was all done up—heeled boots, a smart blazer—and she was holding a set of keys. She looked up at me and frowned like *I* was the one in the wrong place.
*”Who are YOU?”* she said, all sharp.
I raised an eyebrow. *”Who am I? I live here. Who are YOU?”*
She folded her arms. *”Never seen you before.”*
*”Well, I’ve been gone for two months,”* I said, matching her tone. *”Who gave you keys to MY flat?”*
She barely blinked. *”James did. Said I could pop round whenever.”*
James. *My* James.
My stomach dropped.
I forced a deep breath. *”Oh, did he?”* I said, slow and deliberate. *”Because his *wife*—that’s me—had no idea about this.”*
Her eyes went wide. *”Hang on… he told me he was single.”*
*”Course he did,”* I muttered.
She looked down at the keys, then back at me. *”Right. I should probably go.”*
*”Not so fast,”* I said, firm. *”Come with me.”*
She hesitated but followed me inside.
There was James, in the kitchen, shovelling cereal straight from the box. Hair a mess, wearing my favourite jumper—the one I’d been counting the days to steal back.
*”Who’s THAT?”* the woman asked, nodding at him.
*”That’s James,”* I said. *”My husband.”*
She squinted. *”That’s not James.”*
I looked between them. *”What d’you mean?”*
James paused mid-chew. *”Uh… what’s happening?”*
The woman pulled out her phone, tapped on a dating app, and held up a profile pic.
It *wasn’t* James.
It was *Liam*.
James’s younger brother. The one who bailed on uni *twice*. The one who *”borrowed”* James’s car and got it clamped. The one with big dreams and zero action. And—apparently—the one pretending to be James while using our flat as his personal dating spot.
James groaned. *”Of course. He kept asking when I’d be home. Thought he was just being a weirdo. Again.”*
I turned to the woman, who now looked like the pieces were clicking. *”Let me guess—he never let you come round when I was in?”*
*”No,”* she said quietly. *”Always said his flatmate was about. Thought he just had a mate who never left.”*
James rubbed his face. *”I’m gonna throttle him. Or make him scrub the loo. Either works.”*
The woman cracked a tiny smile. *”Can’t believe I fell for it. He told me he was a solicitor. Should’ve known when he said he ‘passed his *soli-sitter* exam.’”*
I snorted. *”Alright, fresh start. I’m Sophie.”*
She shook my hand. *”Emma.”*
*”Right,”* James said. *”So what’s the plan?”*
Emma lifted her chin. *”I want payback.”*
James grinned. *”I like her.”*
Fifteen minutes later, we had a scheme.
James texted Liam:
*”Mate. Shep’s pie tonight. Get here.”*
Liam replied straightaway:
*”YES. Be there in 20.”*
We set the table like a proper Sunday roast. Emma touched up her lipstick. I shoved a frozen shepherd’s pie in the oven. James cracked open a bottle of wine.
Right on time, Liam strolled in, grinning like an idiot.
*”Smells bangin’! Where’s my—”*
Then he saw Emma.
*”Oi, babe! What a surprise!”*
Emma crossed her arms. *”Give it a rest, Liam.”*
Liam glanced at James. *”Bro?”*
James stood up. *”We know everything, *‘James’*.”*
Liam went stiff.
Then Emma, with Oscar-worthy drama, grabbed her glass of water and *splashed* it right in his face.
Liam stood there, dripping. *”Alright… fair enough.”*
*”You’re covering our rent this month,”* James said.
*”WHAT?!”* Liam yelped.
*”And you’re giving back anything Emma gave you,”* I added.
Liam winced. *”Even the wireless earbuds?”*
*”Especially those,”* Emma snapped.
Liam slunk out like a wet cat.
The second the door shut, we all burst out laughing.
Emma wiped her eyes. *”That was better than a night out.”*
James raised his glass. *”To shepherd’s pie and sweet revenge.”*
Emma clinked hers with ours. *”Just tell me there aren’t any more brothers.”*
I smirked. *”Just a bulldog who hates everyone equally.”*
And that, love, is how I came home after two months, caught my idiot brother-in-law, made a new mate, and finally had a proper meal. Life’s full of surprises—but sometimes, they turn out alright.
