— Emily, I’ve been thinking— Andrew lazily spread jam on his toast, as if nothing were amiss. — We ought to throw a proper celebration this year. Something grand.
— I wanted to talk about that too, — Emily smiled, pouring strong morning coffee into their mugs. — After all, it’s our first New Year’s together…
— Brilliant! — Andrew brightened. — I’ve decided: my parents, my sister with her husband and their two kids are coming over. It’s only right to celebrate with family!
Emily froze, mug halfway to her lips. The air thickened with tension.
— Wait… What do you mean, ‘coming over’? We agreed it would just be the two of us.
— Oh, don’t be like that, — Andrew waved his hand dismissively. — Who’d want to spend New Year’s without family? They’ve already got their tickets sorted.
— So you invited six people into my flat without even consulting me? — Emily’s voice was calm, but cold as ice.
— Well, we’re living together now… What’s the big deal?
— Andrew, you’ve been here two weeks. Temporarily. While your flat supposedly undergoes repairs—which we’ve never discussed properly. And now you think it’s fine to host your entire extended family here?
He sighed theatrically, rolling his eyes.
— Oh, don’t go on about boundaries. Normal people don’t act like this. It’s family. It’s sacred.
— Exactly. That’s why you talk about it first. You didn’t even bother asking me. Where, precisely, do you plan to fit six people in a two-bedroom flat?
— Well… parents in the lounge, sister and husband in your room. We’ll take the fold-out. Already sorted it.
— You’ve *already* sorted it? — Emily blinked in disbelief. — Without even checking with me?
— No point dragging it out. You’d have agreed anyway.
Emily stood abruptly, blood boiling. Memories flashed through her mind—saving for years to buy this place, painting the walls late into the night, carefully choosing every piece of furniture. And now a man she’d known for three months was turning her home into a boarding house.
— You really do think I’m being petty, don’t you? But I’m tired of being convenient. This is my home. And I won’t let you turn it into a hotel.
— So I’m just a temporary guest? Is that it?
— You already know that. We never talked about moving in together. *You* asked to stay while your flat was being done up. Except there *is* no renovation—you rented your place out to live here for free.
He spun around.
— Where’d you get that idea?
— Saw your listing online. Your address. Your photos.
Andrew floundered, then spat out:
— So what? I wanted to be closer to you. What’s wrong with that?
— Plenty. You lied to move in, contribute nothing, invite guests without asking, and expect me to just accept it. Is *that* your idea of a ‘normal’ relationship?
He bristled.
— You just don’t know how to be a proper woman in a relationship. Cold. Calculating…
— And you don’t know how to be a man. You won’t even pay your own way. Didn’t book your family’s tickets either—got a text from your sister.
He paled.
— You’ve been snooping?
— Hard not to see when messages pop up on your screen in front of me. You don’t hide a thing. Yet you still spin lies.
The doorbell cut them off.
— That’ll be the delivery. The fold-out, — he muttered.
— Don’t answer it, — Emily said coolly. — I’m not accepting it. And Andrew… pack your things.
— *What?*
— You heard me. Gather your stuff. A relationship where one person decides everything for both isn’t for me.
— You’ve lost it! — he shouted. — You’re kicking me out over *nothing*?
— It’s not nothing. It’s a pattern. You leech off others and think the world owes you.
Emily yanked his suitcase from the wardrobe and began stuffing his clothes inside.
— Leave the keys in the postbox. Your taxi’s on its way.
— I’m not going! — he snarled.
— You are. You’ve no choice. You’re not welcome here.
He lunged for the suitcase, but Emily gritted her teeth.
— Get out, Andrew. Before I call the police.
The doorbell rang again. The courier waited. Emily opened it herself.
— Afternoon. Delivery for Andrew.
— We’re declining it. Take it back.
— No refunds…
— *His* problem.
She slammed the door. Andrew stood in the hallway, pale, pressed against the wall.
— You’re really ending this? Over a party?
— No. I’m ending what was never real. Thanks for the lesson.
Andrew left, the door banging shut behind him. Half an hour later, Emily checked the postbox. The keys lay at the bottom. And for the first time in ages, she felt light. Truly light.
