“Morning,” muttered Dana as she stepped into the office, sinking heavily into her chair. She flicked on her computer, gaze drifting to the window where low clouds blurred into the dreary sky, barely sparing a glance for her colleagues.
“Morning,” echoed Vicky and Emily, exchanging puzzled looks before shrugging. Dana, usually sunshine itself—the kind whose cheerful greetings were legendary in their department—sat tight-lipped and silent. It was as if the rain outside had seeped into her mood, painting her world the same dull grey.
Three women shared the office: Dana, thirty, a married mother of one, steady and meticulous; Vicky, the eldest at thirty-six, with two kids, all energy and bustle; and Emily, twenty-seven, living with her boyfriend, unmarried. Vicky, true to form, was the one who always broke the silence.
“Fancy a cuppa, girls?” she declared, rising from her desk and heading for the kettle. “Won’t be a mo.”
“Go on then,” Emily agreed. Dana said nothing.
Minutes later, Vicky returned with a tray of steaming mugs. Dana gave a silent nod, no smile, no thanks. Emily tried to lighten the mood.
“Cheers, Vicky! You’re a proper lifesaver.”
They shared a laugh while Dana managed the faintest smile. Vicky, out of patience, sighed.
“Dana, love, what’s up? You’ve got us worried sick.”
“Nothing, really,” Dana murmured, shaking her head. “Just… family trouble. Not even at home. The relatives.”
“Not Lucy again?” Emily scowled. “Honestly, how much more can you take? You can’t just bottle it up.”
“How can I not?” Dana’s voice tightened. “We’re practically on top of each other. Two houses on the same plot. My Tom acts like he doesn’t notice, and his brother Sam’s alright, keeps to himself. But Lucy? She’s a nightmare. Last night I lost it—told her exactly what I thought. Now I don’t know how we’ll even share a postcode.”
When Dana married Tom, his father had built two identical homes side by side—one for Sam, the eldest, and one for Tom. Newlyweds, they’d moved in next door to Sam and Lucy. But mere days after the wedding, tragedy struck: Tom and Sam’s parents died in a car crash, leaving the brothers alone with their young families in that shared space.
At first, it worked. Both women had babies around the same time. Life ran parallel, harmonious. But slowly, Dana realised how different she and Lucy were.
Lucy was loud, brash, forever simmering with discontent. Dana? Quiet, orderly, happiest with a book and a cuppa in the morning hush. Tom was much the same—steady, unflappable. In that, they were perfectly matched.
“I’ve never been one for crowds. My family’s my world,” Dana confessed to her colleagues. “Just me, Tom, and our boy. That’s enough.”
Lucy, though, saw things differently.
“We’re all one family—ought to act like it!” she’d insist. “What’s with this standoffishness? We should be in each other’s pockets!”
But it wasn’t just talk. From the start, Lucy acted like queen of the cul-de-sac. Their garden? Hers to trample. Their home? Hers to barge into unannounced—even when Dana was feeding or putting the baby down.
“Oops, thought you’d be up! Never mind!” And the door would slam.
On weekends, when Dana rose early to savour the quiet with her coffee, Lucy would materialise at the window like clockwork.
“Oh, you’re brewing? Pour me one, I’ll be right over!” And suddenly, there she’d be, sprawling at Dana’s table.
“Sometimes I just want peace,” Dana would tell Tom. “But it’s like she thrives on noise.”
Speaking up felt rude. Polite people didn’t make scenes. Even Sam, Lucy’s husband, had scolded her:
“Give them some space, Luce. You wouldn’t like it if they did the same.”
Then, one evening after a gruelling week, Dana ordered takeaway sushi—a small treat for their son’s straight-A report card. As she stepped out to collect it, Lucy exploded from next door.
“Sushi?! You’re having sushi and didn’t tell me?! Why d’you always keep secrets?!” The tirade that followed left Dana stunned. Tom tried to defuse it, but Lucy’s tantrum echoed across the drive. Sam dragged her inside, but the yelling carried on through the walls. Dana shut her door and wept.
“Why must I justify every takeaway, every choice? It’s our night! Our life!” she choked out. “She’s always in our business, always shouting. We just want quiet.”
Next morning, she arrived at work hollow-eyed. Her colleagues listened, shaking their heads.
“Ten years of this?” Vicky gasped. “I’d have kicked off ages ago. No way I’d put up with it.”
“You’ve got your own family,” Emily added. “Tom, your boy—that’s your lot. The rest? ‘One family’ or not, they can sod off.”
Dana exhaled. “I’ve always bit my tongue. Always let it slide. But not anymore. Next time, I’ll stand my ground. Manners be damned.”
Outside, the rain still drizzled. But inside Dana, for the first time in years, something felt lighter. Because she’d finally understood: she had a right to silence. To peace. To her own life—without the racket next door.
