— This is where Diana will now reside, — declared her husband upon his return from holiday.

15April2025

Im still trying to make sense of today, so Im putting it down while the memory is fresh. After two weeks away, I finally returned from my break in Brighton the sea, the sun, a few drinks with strangers, and the promise that Id come back refreshed. I left Emma at home with the house, the bills and the endless list of chores shed been tackling while I was gone. She cleaned the windows, sorted the closets, even swept the balcony, hoping the flat would feel warm and welcoming when I walked through the door.

The front door slammed shut behind me.

James? Emma called from the kitchen, hands tucked into her apron.

I stood in the hallway, suntanned and a little lighterhearted, a suitcase in one hand and a bag of trinkets in the other. I slipped off my trainers, smiled, and tried to sound casual.

How was the trip? she asked, moving toward me. She wanted to hug, but I was already slipping past her into the living room.

Great, I replied from the doorway. The sea, the sunshine. Met some interesting people.

She turned off the hob and called me to dinner.

We sat at the table. She ate in silence, eyes fixed on her plate. After a while, she asked gently, Is everything alright? You seem off.

I set my fork down, met her gaze, and said:

Emma, Poppy will be staying here now.

She froze.

What? she whispered.

I met her in Brighton. Shes in a tough spot, no place to stay. I offered her a room, just temporarily.

You invited a stranger into our flat? she stammered.

Shes not a stranger, I said calmly. Weve become friends. Shes a good person. Youll see when you meet her.

Its my home, James! I didnt agree to this! she snapped.

Its only for a few weeks, at most a month, until she finds work and a place of her own, I replied, trying to sound reasonable.

Emma looked at me as if I were a different man. The guy she had shared seven years with, who had promised to always be by her side, just told her that an unfamiliar woman would be moving into their flat. And she was expected to accept it.

What time does she arrive? she asked quietly.

Tomorrow morning, I said.

She rose, cleared the dishes, and washed the plates, hands trembling. A cold, dark wave rose inside her.

Poppy arrived at ten oclock, two suitcases and a large leather satchel slung over her shoulder. She was striking: sunkissed skin, glossy hair just past her shoulders, a bright smile, jeans that clung to her shape, and a gold chain glinting at her throat.

Emma watched from the hallway as I helped her out of her coat, took her belongings with gentle hands, and smiled.

Come in, make yourself at home, I said. Emma, this is Poppy.

Hello, Poppy said, offering a firm handshake. Thanks for letting me stay. I wont be long, I promise!

Emma gave a silent nod. No one had asked for her opinion.

The rooms this way, I opened the door to a small bedroom off the lounge. The sofa folds out, the linens fresh. If you need anything, just ask.

Its lovely, Poppy replied, stepping inside and glancing around. Can I hang my painting later? Itd add a bit of character.

Emma felt something tighten inside her.

Of course, I said. Make yourself comfortable.

From that day on Poppy behaved as if she owned the place. She rose earlier than Emma, strolling into the kitchen in short shorts and a top, pouring coffee, and sitting opposite me at the table. We chatted, laughed about nothing in particular. When Emma entered, the conversation hushed.

Good morning, Poppy chirped, flashing a smile. Mind if I use your kettle? Your coffee is brilliant!

Emma simply nodded and left for work.

In the evenings, Emma returned to a house where Poppy was already settled on the sofa, legs draped over the cushions, eyes glued to the telly.

Emma, could you wash this cardigan for me? Poppy asked.

The washing machines over there, Emma replied evenly. You can do it yourself.

Poppys smile faltered a fraction.

Later, Poppy began cooking, spreading her groceries across every shelf, taking over the pots and the stove.

James, try this! she called, presenting a plate of pasta. Its just like in Italy.

Emma stood in the doorway, watching me eat and praise it, while I never even glanced at her.

Emma, would you like some? Poppy offered, passing a spoon.

No, thanks, Emma said, retreating to the bedroom.

About a week and a half later, our neighbour, Aunt Lucy, stopped me in the hall.

Whats this about a guest? A young, pretty lady? Did your husband bring her back from holiday? she asked, eyes narrowed.

Its temporary, I said. Just a friend.

A friend, huh? she replied, chuckling. Friends come in all shapes.

Emma felt everyones eyes on her, even if no one said a word.

At work, a colleague asked, Hows home? with a tone that made my stomach drop. At the shop, a familiar face gave me a sympathetic glance. All the while, James spent more time with Poppy than with Emmawatching movies together, staying up late in the kitchen talking about nothing.

Emma tried to speak up.

James, isnt it time? She said it was temporary. Its been three weeks.

Give her a bit more time. Shes looking for a job, a flat. We cant just throw her out onto the street, I said.

And what about me? she snapped. This is my home! I never agreed to this!

Youre being jealous, I replied sharply. Poppy is just a friend. Youre making a fuss.

He seemed blind to any problem, or unwilling to see it.

One evening Emma came home early, slipped in quietly, and found James and Poppy by the window, unusually close, laughing softly. Poppy rested her head on Jamess shoulder. When James placed his hand on her back, Emma froze.

Whats happening? she demanded.

They turned.

Ah, Emma! James pulled his hand away, flustered. Youre up early.

Whats going on? she repeated, voice shaking.

Nothing, he snapped. We were just talking.

Poppy remained silent, eyes on the floor. Emma fled to the bedroom, the tension knotted in her chest.

She lay awake all night, listening to James moving about the bathroom, then slipping into the bedroom and lying beside her, never reaching for her, always turning away.

In the morning she made a decision.

James, she said as he was fixing coffee in the kitchen. We need to talk. The three of us. Tonight.

He looked up, puzzled.

About everything. And tell Poppy.

Emma, he began.

Dont argue. Just do it.

That night we all sat at the table. Emma set the plates.

Thank you for inviting me, Poppy said, smiling nervously. I didnt expect this.

I didnt expect much either, Emma replied, cutting her words short. But now we need honesty.

She glanced at me, then at Poppy.

I have one question, plain and simple, and I expect a plain answer, she said.

Emma, whats this about? I asked, uneasy.

Silence, Emma answered, voice steady but firm. Poppy, what are you here as? A lodger, a family member, or his second wife?

The room fell silent. Poppys face went pale. James froze, glass in hand.

I Poppy began.

Answer honestly, Emma pressed. Im tired of pretending. Im tired of hearing whispers in the hallway, watching you make him breakfast, using my dishes, my kitchen, my flat, and acting as if you own it.

Emma, calm down, James interjected.

No! Emma slammed her palm on the table, glasses clinking. Ive tolerated this for a month!

Poppy lowered her eyes.

I didnt want

What did you not want? Emma snapped, leaning forward. To live here? To take my place?

Im not taking your place, Poppy replied.

You are!

Then Poppy lifted her head, met Emmas gaze, and said:

Fine. You want the truth? Here it is. James and I have been having an affair since Brighton. He didnt just ask me to stay; he asked me to come because he loves me.

The words hung in the air like a cold draft.

Emma felt her world crumble. She turned to James.

Is it true? she asked.

He stayed quiet, staring at the table.

Yes, he finally exhaled. Its true.

Emma leaned back, hands shaking, heart pounding as if it might leap from her chest.

So all this time you lied? Said she was just a friend? Said I was overreacting?

I never meant to hurt you, he whispered.

Hurt me? You brought your lover into our home, forced me to share a roof with her, and then pretended you didnt care?

Emma, Im sorry.

Just shut up, she snapped, rising. Enough.

Poppy stood as well.

I understand how hard this is for you, she said, voice thin.

You dont understand anything! Emma shouted. Youre in my house, sleeping in my flat, eating from my plates, playing the victim while you

She didnt finish the sentence. She turned and fled to the bedroom.

James followed.

Emma, lets talk calmly, he pleaded.

Talk? Emma opened the wardrobe, pulling out his clothes. Now well talk. Pack your things. And hers too. Both of you, leave now.

You cant, he protested.

I can! she shouted, throwing his shirt onto the floor. This is my flat! I bought it before we were married. I decide who lives here.

No

No buts! Emma snapped, eyes blazing with hatred, pain, and contempt. You betrayed me. Now go.

James stood there, helpless, as Poppy lingered in the doorway, silent.

Within half an hour they were out, suitcases in hand, the painting Poppy never managed to hang left behind.

The first week after they left, Emma barely left the flat. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, tears turning to a numb quiet. The emptiness was so heavy she could barely breathe.

James kept calling, texting. She never answered. Poppy sent apologies, begged forgiveness. Emma blocked her number.

One morning she finally got up, looked at herself in the mirrorpale, dark circles, hair a mess. She thought, Enough.

Enough of the pain. Enough of handing power over to those who betrayed her.

She took a shower, changed, brewed a strong cup of tea, opened the windows, let the fresh air flood in, and decided to start anew.

A month later the papers for divorce arrived. Emma signed them without a second thought. The flat remained hers; she had owned it before they married, so James had no claim.

He tried to arrange a meeting, to talk. She declined.

We have nothing to discuss, she wrote. You made your choice. Live with it.

Later she learned James and Poppy moved in together, rented a flat for two, but they split after six months. Poppy moved to another city, and James was left alone.

Emma, meanwhile, began travelling, rediscovering herself after years of putting someone elses needs first. It was terrifying to be on her own, but she never regretted it.

Lesson: when trust is broken, you must reclaim your own space and define your own happiness, not let anyone else dictate the terms of your life.