The Flatshare

by Beth O'Leary

Life is often simple, but you don’t notice how simple it was until it gets incredibly complicated, like how you never feel grateful for being well until you’re ill, or how you never appreciate your tights drawer until you rip a pair and have no spares.

I have a feeling Tiffy becomes “our girl” easily—she’s the sort of person distant relatives and absent neighbors still like to claim some credit for.

“It was never home until you were there, Tiffy.”