Letting Trouble Through My Own Door — Dad, what’s all this new stuff? Did you raid the local antique shop? — Christina raised her eyebrows, eyeing the white knitted doily now sitting on her dresser. — I never knew you were such a fan of old relics. Honestly, your taste is just like Granny Zoe’s… — Oh, Christina! Popping by unannounced? — Oleg Petrovich poked his head out from the kitchen. — I… Well, I wasn’t expecting you… Her father was trying to look cheerful, but his eyes betrayed a guilty conscience. — Clearly, you weren’t expecting me, — Christina pursed her lips and strode into the living room, bracing herself for more surprises. — Dad… Where did all this come from? What’s going on here? Christina hardly recognised her own flat. …When she inherited the place from her grandma, it was a gloomy sight: battered old furniture, a bulbous TV on a peeling stand, rusty radiators, wallpaper falling away in places… But at least it was hers. By then, Christina had saved up a little bit of money, just enough for a proper renovation. Scandinavian: light colours and clean lines made her two-bed much airier. She’d lovingly picked out every accent, matching curtains to the mood and laying down fluffy rugs… Now her thick blackout curtains had been replaced with basic white netting. Her Italian sofa lay smothered under a synthetic throw emblazoned with a grinning tiger. On the coffee table sat a lurid pink plastic vase filled with fake neon roses. But the worst part was the smells. Frying oil and fish reeked from the kitchen. Tobacco stung her nose—her father never smoked… — Christina, love… — Oleg finally piped up. — About all this… I’m not alone. I wanted to tell you sooner, but—well, I didn’t manage. — Not alone? — Christina was dumbstruck. — Dad, this wasn’t our deal! — Christina, you have to understand—my life didn’t end with your mum. I’m still young, not even entitled to my pension yet. Don’t I have a right to a personal life? Christina froze. Of course, her father could see other women. But in her flat? …Her parents divorced last year. Her mum took the news with bizarre calm, as though she’d dropped a heavy backpack and dived into self-help books. She had so many friends, sadness never stood a chance. Her father, meanwhile, was lost. He moved back to his pre-marriage flat in horror. For ten years it’d been rented; then a tenant fell asleep with a cigarette. No money for repairs—he almost forgot it existed, never sold, never planned to move back in. Frankly, it wasn’t fit for living. Walls blackened with soot, smashed windows, mould on the sills—a haunted crypt, not a home. — Christina, I don’t know what to do… — he’d groaned, despairing. — This place isn’t safe. I’ll never finish repairs before winter. Don’t have the funds for it all. Maybe I’ll freeze… maybe that’s fate. Christina couldn’t bear it. She couldn’t let the man who raised her live in ruin. What if something happened to him? And her flat was empty—she’d recently married and moved in with her husband. Given her dad’s disaster with tenants, she’d ruled that out. — Dad, come stay at mine for now, — she’d suggested. — It’s ready to go, with all the amenities. Fix up your place, then move back. Just one condition: no guests. — Really? — Oleg asked in disbelief. — Thank you, darling! You’ve saved me. Promise, it’ll be quiet and peaceful. Right. Peaceful. As those words echoed in Christina’s mind, the bathroom door swung open, releasing a waft of perfumed steam. Out glided a woman in her fifties, wrapped in Christina’s favourite bathrobe—now straining around the woman’s lavish curves. — Oleg, have we got company? — the lady croaked in a smoker’s bass, smiling indulgently. — You could’ve warned me—I’m in my loungewear. — And you are…? — Christina squinted. — And why are you wearing my bathrobe? — I’m Jean, your dad’s beloved. What’s the fuss? The robe was just hanging there not being used. Christina’s temples throbbed with anger. — Take it off. Now, — she spat. — Christina! — her father pleaded, stepping between them. — Don’t make a scene! Jean just— — Jean just put on someone else’s clothes in someone else’s home! — Christina cut him off. — Dad, are you serious? You dragged your girlfriend here and let her rummage through my things?! Jean rolled her eyes and flopped onto the tiger-covered sofa. — How rude, — she huffed. — If I were Oleg, I’d give you a good talking-to, doesn’t matter how old you are. Watch your tone with your father. His choice to be with someone else is none of your business, darling. Christina was stunned. Some stranger was scolding her, perched on her own sofa. — None of my business, — she agreed. — Not until it’s happening in my home. — Your home? — Jean raised an eyebrow at Oleg, expecting an explanation. He stood by the wall, head down, eyes flickering between his furious daughter and his brazen lover—hoping somehow the storm would pass. But the forecast was grim. — Ah… Did my dad forget to mention? — Christina smiled coldly. — I’ll spell it out. He’s a guest here. This flat is mine. Everything here is mine. I let him stay—but I never agreed he could bring his… partners. Jean flushed a deep red. — Oleg? — she growled. — What’s this nonsense? Didn’t you say this was your place? Did you lie to me? Oleg tried to melt into the wallpaper, ears burning. — Well… Jean, you misunderstood. I have my own place, just not this one. Didn’t want to bore you with details. — Didn’t want to bore me?! Great. Now I get attitude thanks to you! Christina snapped. — Out, — she said quietly. — What? — Jean choked. — Out. Both of you. You’ve got one hour. Stay after that and we’ll settle this with the law. I thought I was letting you into my castle… Christina stalked to the hallway but Oleg finally unstuck himself from the wall and rushed over. — Darling! You’d throw your own father out into the street? You know what state my place is in! I’ll freeze! He clung to her sleeve, and for a moment, her heart wavered—duty, childhood memories, pity for her nearly-pensioner dad. A lump rose in her throat. But then she looked at Jean. Jean lounged, legs crossed, in a robe that wasn’t hers, glaring at Christina with blazing hatred. If Christina backed down now, that woman would be changing locks here by morning. — Dad, you’re an adult. Rent a place, — Christina said, tugging free. — You broke the deal. You moved your girlfriend in, let her use my stuff, and trashed my flat… — Oh, choke on your flat! — Jean butted in. — C’mon, Oleg, don’t grovel to her. Raised an ungrateful… Half an hour of packing—and it was over. Her father left quietly, hunched and defeated. Christina would never forget the look he gave her—a battered, rain-soaked stray dog’s stare. But she forced herself to stand firm. As soon as they were gone, she flung open windows to chase away the stench of fish, smoke, and cheap perfume. She binned the robe, the throw, everything Jean touched. Next day, she booked cleaners and a locksmith. She could barely stand to touch any trace left by that woman—especially her. …Four days passed. The flat was finally hers again. No fake flowers, no nasty smells. She was living with her husband now, but knowing she’d reclaimed her space felt good. She didn’t speak to her dad. On the fourth day, he called her. — Hello? — Christina answered, hesitating. — So… Christina… — her father slurred, drunk. — Are you happy now? Jean’s left. She’s gone… — Wow, what a shock, — Christina snapped. — Let me guess. As soon as she saw your real flat and realised how much work it needed? Her dad sniffled. — Yeah… I put in a space heater. Slept on an air mattress. She stuck it out for three days… Then said I was a pauper and a liar—packed up and went to her sister’s. Said she’d wasted her time… But we loved each other, Christina! — Love? You both just wanted somewhere comfy. And you both miscalculated. Silence. He wasn’t finished. — It’s awful being alone here, darling, — he whispered. — It’s scary… Can I come back? I’ll be on my own, promise! Swear! Christina looked down. Her father, alone, sitting in squalor. But he’d built that squalor himself—cheated on her mum, lied to Christina, bluffed to Jean. She pitied him. But pity would only poison them both. — No, Dad. I’m not letting you back in, — Christina said. — Hire some builders, fix the place. Learn to live with what you’ve made. All I can do is recommend good people—sorry. Need help, just ask. She hung up. Harsh? Maybe. But Christina was done letting anyone stain her robe—or her soul. Some stains can’t be washed away; sometimes, you just don’t let the dirt in at all…

Brought Trouble Upon Myself

Dad, whats with all the new stuff? Did you rob an antique shop? Christina raised her eyebrows as she stared at the white crocheted doily perched on her chest of drawers. I had no idea you liked old-fashioned things. Your taste is just like Grandma Susans

Oh, Chrissy? Youve come by without calling? Oliver Thomas stepped out of the kitchen awkwardly. I well, I wasnt expecting you.

Her father tried to act cheerful, but his eyes gave away a feeling of guilt.

Clearly you werent, Christina muttered, unimpressed, and wandered into the living room, bracing herself for more surprises. Dad Whats all this? Whats happening here?

She barely recognised her own flat.

When shed first inherited the place from her grandmother, it had looked drearyfaded British furniture, a clunky television on a chipped stand, battered radiators, peeling wallpaper But it was hers.

By that time, Christina had built up some modest savings of her own, and she put them straight into renovating her new home. Not just any renovationshe went for a crisp, Scandinavian style: pale colours and minimalism that made her two-bedroom flat feel bright and spacious. Shed set it up with love, hunting down just the right shade of curtains, fluffiest rugs

Now, instead of her heavy, light-blocking drapes, flimsy nylon net curtains hung limp at the windows. Her Italian sofa was buried under a synthetic, tacky throw printed with a grinning tiger. The coffee table held a plastic vase stuffed with lurid, fake roses.

That, however, was the least of her worries. More troubling were the smells: frying oil, the pungent odour of fish wafting from the kitchen, and the acrid stench of cigarettesher father didnt even smoke.

Look, Chrissy, theres something I need you to understand Oliver finally said, trailing off.

Im not alone anymore. I meant to tell you sooner, it just never came up.

What do you mean not alone? Christina stared at him. Dad, this isnt what we agreed!

Sweetheart, my life didnt end with your mother, did it? he protested. Im still a young mandont even qualify for my pension yet. Dont I deserve a bit of happiness?

Christina hesitated. Of course her father deserved companionship, but not in her own flat.

Her parents had divorced a year earlier. Her mum handled Olivers affair with remarkable calm, as if shed shrugged off a burden, and dove headlong into self-care and evenings with friends. She barely had time to mope.

Her father, though, was lost. Hed returned to his bachelor flat and was horrified at what he found. After years of renting it out, one of the lodgers had nodded off with a lit cigarette and completely trashed the place. There wasnt enough money for repairs, and so Oliver stopped thinking about it altogether. He never sold the placejust left it to ruin.

Calling that flat habitable was a stretch: scorched walls, broken windows, mould creeping over the sills It was like something out of a horror film.

Chrissy, love, I dont know how Ill manage here Oliver had lamented when he visited her new place, sighing heavily. Its not safe there, and Ill never get it fixed before winter, not with what Ive got saved. I suppose if I freeze, thats just fate.

Christina hadnt been able to let her dadthe man who raised herlive like that. What if something happened to him? With her own flat empty since shed moved in with her new husband, and after Olivers rental fiasco, she wasnt about to let anyone else near it.

Dad, move in here for a bit, shed offered. Its comfortable, all sorted. Once youve sorted your place out, you can move back. One condition: no guests.

Are you sure? Oliver had asked, surprised. Chrissy, youre a marvel! Youve saved me, you really have. I promisecalm and quiet the whole time.

Or so shed thought.

As Christina replayed their conversation in her mind, the bathroom door swung open, releasing a cloud of scented steam. Out sauntered a woman of about fifty, wrapped in Christinas own favourite bathrobebarely containing her ample shape.

Oh, Ollie, weve got company? the woman croaked, her voice deep and smoky, grinning as if she owned the place. Wouldve liked a warning! Im all in my house clothes.

And who are you, exactly? Christina narrowed her eyes. And why are you in my bathrobe?

Im Janet, the love of your fathers life. And why so touchy? I just borrowed the dressing gownit was practically begging to be worn.

Christinas temples throbbed with anger.

Take it off. Now, she said through clenched teeth.

Chrissy! Oliver pleaded, jumping between them. Lets not start a scene! Janet just

Janet just took my clothes in my home! Christina interrupted. Dad, are you serious? Dragging your girlfriend in here and letting her rummage through my things?

Janet rolled her eyes dramatically and flopped down on the tiger throw.

What a cheek youve got, Janet declared. If I were Oliver, Id take a belt to you, never mind your age! What kind of way is this to talk to your father? His choice to live with another woman isnt any of your concern, my dear.

Christina was speechless. This stranger was lecturing her in her own living room.

It wouldnt beexcept this is my flat, Christina answered firmly.

Yours? Janet raised an eyebrow, and looked at Oliver for confirmation.

He stood against the wall, head sunk into his shoulders, glancing feverishly between his furious daughter and his bold companion. He seemed desperate for the whole storm to blow overbut the forecast had just become much worse for him.

Oh So Dad never told you? Christina smiled coldly. Well, Ill tell you now. Hes a guest. This place is mine, every last saucepan bought with my own money. I let him stay, but I didnt expect him to bring in hisromantic interests.

Janet flushed bright red.

Oliver? Is this true? Her voice was chilly. You told me this was your flat. Have you been lying?

Oliver shrank even closer to the wall, his ears burning with shame.

Well Janet, its just a misunderstanding, really. I own a placebut its not this one. Didnt want to overload you with details.

Not overload me?! Cheers for that! Janet snapped. Now I have to put up with her attitude because of you!

Christinas patience ran dry.

Out, she said quietly.

What? Janet faltered.

Outboth of you. Youve got an hour. If youre still here after that, well work this out the legal way. I tried to help, but now

She headed for the door, but Oliver finally tore himself away from the wall and rushed towards her.

Chrissy! Youre not going to chuck your own father onto the street, are you? You know what state my place is inIll freeze!

Oliver clutched her sleeve, and for a moment, Christina waveredmemories of childhood, duty, pity for her nearly-pension-aged dad. Her throat tightened.

But then she looked at Janet.

Janet sat there, legs crossed, glaring daggers at Christina in her own dressing gown. In that instant, Christina knew: if she said nothing now, tomorrow Janet would change the locks and paste fresh wallpaper.

Dad, youre an adult. Rent somewhere, Christina said, pulling free. You broke the deal. I let you stay alone; you brought in a stranger, let her wear my things and mess up my home

Oh, keep your precious house! Janet cut in. Come on, Ollie. Dont beg. Ungrateful, the lot of them.

Half an hour later, they were gone. Her father left wordlessly, hunched like an old man. Christina would always remember that look in his eyesa wounded dog sent out into the rain. But she stood steady, unmoved.

Once theyd left, she opened all the windows to flush out the stench of fish, tobacco, and cheap perfume. She gathered up the robe, the throw, and anything else Janet had left behind. Everything went straight to the bin. Next day, she arranged for a professional cleaning and a new set of locks. Just the thought of that woman touching anything of hers made her sick.

Four days passed.

Not a trace of clutter or odours remained in Christinas flat. She lived with her husband now, but knowing her place was hers brought a welcome peace.

She didnt speak to her father, but on the fourth day, Oliver called.

Hello, Christina answered, hesitantly.

So, Chrissy Oliver began, his words slurred. Are you happy now? Janets left me. She packed up and went

How shocking, Christina replied, unable to restrain herself. Let me guessshe took off after seeing your real flat and all the work it needed?

Her father sniffled.

Yes I bought a heater. Slept on an inflatable mattress. She managed three days, then said I was a pauper and a liar. Packed up and went to her sister’s. Said Id wasted her time But we loved each other, Christina!

Oh, Dad. That wasnt loveyou wanted somewhere easy to live, and so did she. You both just got it wrong.

For a moment, neither spoke. Oliver finally continued.

Im lonely here, darling. Its frightening Can I come back? Ill be on my own, I promise! I swear!

Christina looked down. Her father was somewhere in that cold, ruined flat, but hed built that mess himselfcheated on Mum, lied to his daughter, spun tales for Janet.

Yes, she felt sorry for him. But compassion, unchecked, can damage both sides.

No, Dad. I wont let you back, Christina replied firmly. Hire some builders, repair the flat. Learn to live in the circumstances youve created. The only help I can offer is to recommend some good people. Sorry. If you need that, let me know.

She hung up.

Harsh perhaps. But Christina was done letting anyone leave stains on her robeor her heart. Sometimes the only way to keep your soul clean is never to let the muck in to begin with.

Lifes lesson: Helping others is noble, but not at the expense of your own dignity and boundaries; sometimes, kindness means saying no.