Cara Shaw

I pulled into the driveway of the vacant house, the one I had planned to start renovations on next month, only to find a light on inside. Frowning, I stepped out of my car and approached the front door, which was slightly ajar. Inside, I found a young woman—blonde, strikingly beautiful—standing in the living room, startled by my sudden presence. The place showed clear signs of occupancy: a makeshift bed in the corner, a few grocery bags, and dishes in the sink. When I confronted her, she didn’t try to run or lie. Instead, she lifted her chin and admitted she had been staying here for a week. She had nowhere else to go, having been kicked out of her apartment, and with no family left to turn to, this empty house had been her only refuge. Outside, the city was in the grip of a property crisis—housing was scarce, and people were desperate. And here I was, with an empty home and a decision to make.