“Oh wow, who are you?” came a deep male voice from the bedroom as Emily pushed open the door to her flat.
“Actually, that’s *my* question,” she shot back. “What are you doing in *my* bedroom?”
A blonde woman in a silk dressing gown appeared in the doorway, smirking.
“Ohhh, so *you’re* Emily! Chris has told me *so* much about you,” she drawled. “I’m Sophie—his sister.”
After a gruelling day at work, all Emily had wanted was a hot bath. Instead, she found her future sister-in-law camped out in her home.
“Christopher is my *fiancé*, not my husband,” Emily corrected. “And I don’t recall agreeing to this little visit.”
From behind the blonde, a flustered young man peered out.
“We’re just here for a holiday,” Sophie cut in before he could speak. “Chris said we could stay with you for the week.”
Emily walked into the kitchen—dirty plates, empty takeaway containers, chaos everywhere.
“Wow. Funny. Because Chris *said nothing* about guests this morning.”
“God, you’re so uptight!” Sophie rolled her eyes, pulling a bottle of wine from the fridge. “Chris gave me the keys ages ago. I assumed you’d talked about it—but whatever, right?”
“No, we *didn’t* talk about it. And why are you in *our* bedroom instead of the guest room?”
Sophie shrugged. “The guest room’s tiny. Your bed’s king-sized. Chris said you two could crash in there for a couple of nights—the sofa pulls out.”
Emily’s mind flashed back to that awful evening meeting Christopher’s family, where his mother and sister had barely hidden their disdain.
“Sorry to disappoint, but this is *my* flat, *my* bedroom, and *my* bed,” she said flatly. “Chris lives here because *I* allow it.”
“Ohhh, so the rumours *are* true,” Sophie laughed. “Mum said you had him on a tight leash.”
“Listen, I’m exhausted. You can stay in the guest room—*tonight*. But our bedroom? That’s off-limits.”
“We’ll wait for Chris,” Sophie sniffed. “Pretty sure he’ll explain how *rude* you’re being.”
When Christopher walked in, his sister immediately launched into her complaints.
“Chris! Your *girlfriend* wants to kick us out of your bedroom!”
“Em, what’s going on?” he asked, confused.
“Why did you give your sister keys to *my* flat?” Emily kept her voice steady.
“*Our* flat, Emily. I *live* here, remember?”
“I remember. By *my* invitation. That doesn’t mean you give out keys without asking me.”
Out on the balcony, Chris turned on her.
“What’s gotten into you? She’s *my sister*. I told her they could stay.”
“So that means they take our *bedroom*?”
“What’s the big deal? The bed’s bigger. We can crash in the guest room for a few nights.”
“The *big deal* is you gave strangers access to *my home* without telling me.”
“Jake’s not a stranger! He’s Sophie’s boyfriend!”
“I’ve *never met him* before! And I barely know your sister!”
“Oh, so you just *hate* my family, then?”
From inside, Sophie’s loud phone rant carried: “*She’s trying to kick us out! Chris is fixing her attitude now.*”
“Em, be reasonable,” Chris sighed. “It’s just a week. If we’re getting married, you’ll have to compromise.”
With that, he walked back inside, leaving her alone. She watched as he laughed with his sister, completely dismissing her.
Emily stepped inside. The trio on the sofa didn’t even glance her way.
Something inside her snapped. Two years of love, support, bending over backwards—flashed before her eyes.
“Get out of my flat,” she said, quiet but firm.
All three stared.
“*What?*” Chris blinked.
“I said—get. Out. All of you.”
“Chris, control your psycho girlfriend,” Sophie sneered.
But Emily was already moving. She grabbed Sophie’s suitcase, dragging it to the door, tossing out dresses, makeup, shoes behind her.
“Are you *insane*?!” Sophie shrieked.
Emily yanked the front door open and shoved the suitcase onto the landing.
“You’ve *lost it*!” Chris jumped up. “Stop this!”
“No, *you* lost it when you let your sister disrespect me in *my own home*. Now it’s your turn.”
“Em, come on—” he begged.
“Nothing to discuss. I get it now—my feelings mean *nothing* to you.”
She marched to the bedroom, piling his clothes, shoes, watch—all landing in a heap outside.
“You’re *mental*!” Sophie screeched, scrambling to grab her things.
“You can’t just *throw me out*,” Chris said, stunned. “We were getting *married*.”
“Thank God we didn’t. I deserve a *man*, not a spineless idiot. You can go live with your sister.”
The door slammed shut.
Half an hour later—once the shouts outside had faded—Emily ordered her favourite takeaway. When the delivery guy arrived, she spotted Chris and Sophie still loitering on the stairs, glaring. Calmly, she took the food, thanked the driver, and shut the door without a glance their way.
Setting the table, she put on a film, poured wine. As she took the first sip, she realised—no sadness. Just *relief*.
*How strange*, she thought, *to lose a relationship and find yourself in the same day.*
Smiling at her reflection, she raised her glass.
“To me.”
*In love, respect matters most. Without it, even the fiercest passion is just a passing fling.* —Honoré de Balzac.
