**Diary Entry**
I walked into my flat after a gruelling day at the office, desperate for a hot bath and some peace. But the moment I opened the door, a deep voice called out from the bedroom: *”Well, who on earth are you?”*
Frankly, that was *my* question. “What are *you* doing in my bedroom?” I demanded.
A blonde woman in a silk dressing gown stepped into the doorway, smirking. “Ohhh, so *you’re* Emily!” she drawled. “James has told me *all* about you. I’m Sophie, his sister.”
Sophie? I’d never met her. James, my fiancé, hadn’t mentioned her visiting.
“James is my *fiancé*, not my husband,” I corrected her. “And we never agreed to you staying here.”
Behind her, a sheepish-looking bloke peered over her shoulder—probably her boyfriend.
“We’re on holiday,” Sophie cut in. “James said we could crash here for a week.”
I walked to the kitchen and nearly groaned—dirty plates, empty takeaway boxes, the works.
“I wonder *when* James found time to say that,” I muttered. “He didn’t breathe a word this morning.”
“Oh, don’t be so uptight!” Sophie rolled her eyes and reached into the fridge for wine. “James gave me the keys *ages* ago. I assumed you’d talked about it—but I guess not. Oops.”
“No, we *hadn’t* talked about it. And why are you in *my* bedroom instead of the guest room?”
Sophie shrugged. “The guest room’s tiny, and yours has a king-sized bed. James said you wouldn’t mind sleeping on the sofa bed for a few nights.”
Memories of that dreadful dinner with James’s family flashed through my mind—his mother and sister barely hiding their disdain.
“Look, hate to break it to you, but this is *my* flat, *my* bedroom, and *my* bed,” I said firmly. “James lives here because *I* invited him.”
“Oh, so the rumours *are* true!” Sophie laughed. “Mum always said you had him on a tight leash.”
“Listen, I’m exhausted. You can stay in the guest room *tonight*. But you’re vacating *my* bedroom.”
Sophie huffed. “We’ll see what *James* says. I’m sure he’ll remind you how rude it is to boss me around.”
When James got home, Sophie immediately launched into theatrics. “Jamie! Your fiancée’s *kicking us out* of the bedroom!”
“Emily, love, what’s going on?” James looked bewildered.
“Why did you give your sister keys to *my* flat?” I kept my voice steady.
“*Our* flat, Emily. I *live* here, remember?”
“I do—because *I* let you. That doesn’t mean you hand out keys without asking me.”
On the balcony, James turned defensive. “What’s got into you? She’s my *sister*. I promised they could stay.”
“So they decided to take over *our* bedroom?”
“What’s the big deal? The bed’s bigger. We can manage a couple of nights on the sofa.”
“The ‘big deal’ is you gave strangers access to *my* home.”
“Tom’s *not* a stranger—he’s Sophie’s bloke!”
“I’ve *never* met him! Or barely your sister!”
“So you’ve just decided to hate my family?”
From inside, Sophie’s whine carried through the glass: “Mum, she’s trying to chuck us out! Jamie’s sorting it now.”
James sighed. “Em, let’s be reasonable. It’s just a week. If we’re getting married, you’ll have to compromise.”
With that, he walked back inside—straight to his sister, laughing like nothing was wrong.
Something inside me snapped. Two years of supporting him, compromising—all of it flashing before me.
“Get out of my flat,” I said, quiet but firm.
All three just stared.
“*What*?” James gaped.
“I said *get out*. *All* of you.”
“Jamie, control your little maniac,” Sophie sneered.
I marched to the bedroom, grabbed her suitcase, and dragged it to the door, tossing her clothes, makeup, and shoes after it.
“Are you *mad*?!” she shrieked.
I flung the door open and shoved the case into the hallway.
“You’ve *lost it*!” James shouted. “Stop this *now*!”
“No, *you* lost it the moment you let your sister disrespect me in *my own home*. Now it’s your turn.”
“Em, please, let’s talk—”
“Nothing to discuss. I finally see where I stand—*nowhere*.”
I packed his things—shirts, trousers, watch—and dumped them outside.
“You *psycho*!” Sophie screeched, scrambling for her things.
“You can’t just throw me out,” James said, stunned. “We were going to *marry*.”
“Thank God we didn’t. I deserve a *man*, not a spineless git. You? Go live with your sister.”
I slammed the door.
Half an hour later, the shouting stopped. I ordered takeaway from my favourite place, and when the delivery guy arrived, James and Sophie were still glowering on the landing. I ignored them, took my food, and shut the door without a glance.
As I poured wine and set out my meal, a strange realisation hit me—I wasn’t sad. I felt *free*.
Funny, how you can lose a relationship and find yourself all in the same day.
I raised my glass to my reflection in the window. “*To me.*”
**Lesson learned:** Love without respect is just a fleeting fancy—one that’s not worth a single sleepless night.
