**Diary Entry**
*Thursday Evening*
*“Well, who on earth are you?”* A deep male voice came from the bedroom as I opened the door to my flat.
*“Actually, that’s my question,”* I snapped back. *“What are you doing in my bedroom?”*
A blonde in a silk dressing gown appeared in the doorway, smirking.
*“Ohhh, so you’re Marina! Mickey’s told me loads about you,”* she drawled. *“I’m Lizzie, your fiancé’s sister.”*
After an exhausting day at work, all I wanted was a hot bath. Instead, I found my flat invaded by my future sister-in-law.
*“Michael is my fiancé, not my husband,”* I corrected. *“And I don’t recall agreeing to this little visit.”*
A sheepish young man peeked over her shoulder.
*“We’re on holiday,”* Lizzie cut in before he could speak. *“Mickey said we could crash here for a week.”*
Walking into the kitchen, I was greeted by chaos—dirty dishes, empty takeaway containers.
*“Wonderful. When did Michael arrange this? He didn’t say a word this morning.”*
*“God, you’re so uptight!”* Lizzie pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge. *“Mickey gave me the keys ages ago. I assumed you’d talked about it—but if not, no big deal.”*
*“No, we didn’t discuss it. And why are you in our bedroom and not the guest room?”*
She shrugged. *“The guest room’s tiny. Yours has a king-sized bed. Mickey said you wouldn’t mind bunking there for a couple of nights—the sofa pulls out.”*
A memory flashed—my first awful meeting with Michael’s family, where his mother and sister had made their disdain perfectly clear.
*“Sorry to disappoint, but this is my flat, my bedroom, and my bed,”* I said firmly. *“Michael’s here because I invited him.”*
*“Right, so the rumours are true,”* Lizzie laughed. *“Mum said you’ve got Mickey wrapped around your little finger.”*
*“Listen, I’m exhausted. You can stay in the guest room for one night. But our bedroom is off-limits.”*
*“We’ll wait for Mickey. I’m sure he’ll explain why it’s rude to make demands,”* she sniffed.
When Michael finally arrived, his sister pounced.
*“Mickey! Your little miss is trying to kick us out of your room!”*
*“Marina, what’s going on?”* He looked baffled.
*“Why did you give your sister keys to my flat?”* I kept my voice steady.
*“Our flat, Marina. I live here, remember?”*
*“I remember. By my invitation. That doesn’t give you the right to hand out keys without my say.”*
On the balcony, Michael turned accusatory.
*“What’s got into you? She’s my sister. I promised they could stay.”*
*“So they helped themselves to our bed?”*
*“What’s the big deal? The bed’s bigger. We can sleep in the guest room for a bit.”*
*“The big deal is you gave out my keys without asking.”*
*“Dan isn’t a stranger! He’s Lizzie’s boyfriend.”*
*“I’ve never met him! And I barely know your sister.”*
*“So you just decided to hate my family from the start?”*
Lizzie’s voice drifted from inside, whining to their mother on the phone: *“This nobody’s trying to throw us out! Mickey’s sorting her out now.”*
*“Let’s be reasonable, love,”* Michael sighed. *“It’s just a week. If we’re getting married, you’ve got to meet me halfway.”*
With that, he walked back inside, leaving me alone. Through the glass, I watched him laugh with his sister, acting as if I didn’t exist.
Something inside me snapped. Two years of love, compromise—gone in an instant.
*“Get out of my flat,”* I said, quiet but firm.
All three turned, stunned.
*“What?!”* Michael gaped.
*“I said get out. All three of you.”*
*“Mickey, control your madwoman,”* Lizzie sneered.
But I was already moving. I grabbed her suitcase, dragging it to the front door, flinging dresses, makeup, and shoes onto the landing.
*“Are you insane?!*” she shrieked.
I shoved the suitcase out and slammed the door.
*“You’ve lost your mind!”* Michael roared. *“Stop this now!”*
*“No, you lost yours if you think I’ll tolerate this disrespect in my own home. Now you’re next.”*
*“Marina, please—”* he begged.
*“Nothing to discuss. I see exactly where I stand.”*
I marched to the bedroom, piling his clothes, shoes, even his bloody watch—everything onto the landing.
Lizzie screeched, scrambling to gather her things. *“You’re deranged!”*
*“You can’t just throw me out,”* Michael whispered, stunned. *“We were getting married.”*
*“Thank God we didn’t. I deserve better than a spineless coward. Go live with your sister.”*
The door slammed shut.
Half an hour later, once the yelling had faded, I ordered dinner from my favourite restaurant. When the delivery arrived, Michael and Lizzie were still lurking on the stairs, glaring. I took my food without a glance, shut the door, and set the table.
As I took the first sip of wine, I realised—I wasn’t sad. Just free.
*How strange,* I thought, *to lose love and find yourself in the same evening.*
Smiling at my reflection, I raised my glass.
*“To me.”*
——
*”In love, respect is everything. Without it, even the strongest passion is just a passing whim.”* —Honoré de Balzac.
