**Strangers in My House**
That Saturday, Emily decided to visit her parents’ house. It had only been three months since her mother passed away, and all this time, she couldn’t bring herself to sort through her belongings. The house stood empty, unattended. The neighbours—mostly elderly—had either moved in with their children or rented their places out. The Millers, whose children she used to play with as a girl, no longer lived nearby—their old house was now occupied by strangers, leaving no one to ask for help.
Her husband, Thomas, had left at dawn for a fishing trip, and her teenage daughter, headphones glued to her ears, waved off Emily’s invitation to spend the day together. So she made up her mind: no more delaying. She’d go, take a look, maybe start sorting things out, then drop by Charlotte’s—her friend had been inviting her for tea for ages. She booked a taxi and stood outside, reminiscing about the street where she grew up—the quiet, cozy lane with its familiar scents and light. With every minute the car drew closer, a tightness gripped her chest. She missed her parents terribly.
A few streets from the house, Emily got out, deciding to walk the rest of the way. The closer she got, the stronger her unease grew. At the garden gate, she froze.
“What the…?” she whispered.
The window was open, the curtains drawn aside—though she distinctly remembered locking everything tight. The lock was broken. Someone had been inside. Or worse, someone was still there.
She called Thomas—no signal. The street was empty—a crisp autumn weekend, everyone gone or busy. She debated calling the local constable, but then a chilling thought struck her.
“What if… it’s Thomas?”
Lately, he’d been acting odd—distant one moment, oddly cheerful the next. Maybe “fishing” was a cover, and he was here with another woman? The idea burned through her. She couldn’t believe it, couldn’t picture him like that. But the suspicion wouldn’t let go.
For ten minutes, she stared at the windows. Then—a woman’s laughter. Bright, carefree, as if someone were enjoying life… in her parents’ house! Her stomach twisted.
Suddenly—the door slammed. Out stepped a slender woman in a short robe, towel in hand, heading toward the garden shed with the sauna.
“Darling, come with me! It’s boring alone!” she called back inside.
Emily went cold. Young, pretty… Of course he’d traded her for someone like that. Everything made sense now.
Jaw clenched, she strode to the gate, scanned the garden, and found a stick to wedge the sauna door shut—keeping the “guest” out of the way. On the porch, she spotted her father’s old belt—thick, heavy buckle. “Perfect,” she thought.
Inside, she found a set table, a bottle of prosecco, and the telly on. And on the sofa—a man, asleep.
“You absolute wretch! We’ve a grown daughter, and you—!” she shrieked, raising the belt.
“Wh—what are you doing?! Emily—it’s me, James!”
She halted. Not Thomas. James—her husband’s nephew.
“What are you doing here? How’d you get in?”
“Oh, come off it! The door was like paper! I’ve nowhere to live! Thought the place was empty, so I… brought my girlfriend.”
“Your *girlfriend*?!” Emily paled. “And you thought that was fine? This isn’t a bloody hotel!”
“Relax, Em, have some tea, we’ll just stay a bit—”
“No! Pack your things—now! And you’re fixing that lock!” she snapped.
“Jasmine…?” James called out. “Where is she?”
“In the sauna. Locked in. Teach her not to trespass next time!”
Jasmine soon broke free and stormed in, red-faced and furious.
“This is *my* house, James—tell her! I already transferred money for the furniture!”
“*Yours*?” Emily scoffed. “This house belonged to my mother. You, love, just fell for a smooth-talking con artist.”
Jasmine shrieked, “Give me my money back, you cheat! I’ll report you!”
“Brilliant,” James muttered.
Once the chaos settled, Emily went to Charlotte’s and recounted everything—the fear, the sauna, the belt. Charlotte roared with laughter.
“Emily, you’re a legend! I’d have called the police straight off. But you—handled it yourself!”
“At least it wasn’t Thomas,” Emily sighed in relief. “But that lock’s getting changed. And the door—a steel one.”
“To brave women!” Charlotte toasted, raising her glass.
“To us!” Emily smiled.
