...and there stands a boy, the same age as me.
"What the fuck are you doing in my house?", I ask him stunned.
How did he get in here? And why is he even in here?
"No, stop. What are you doing here? You just wanted to break in.", he says, looking at me.
"Me? Breaking in here? Good joke. That's my house.", I say in a serious voice.
"No it isn't. I'm living here with my mother and my 3 sisters."
What? How is that possible.
Just in that moment something occurs to me.
"For how long have you been living in there?", I ask him, my voice a bit softer again.
"I think for 6 or 7 months. I'm not sure."
Oh no. She can't be serious. How could she do that?
"Oh I understand. I'm sorry that I... uhm wanted to come in here. Good evening.", I say, looking to the floor.
Please I don't have to cry now.
"Hey, wait. Are you okay?", he asks me.
I look up to him and nod.
Just as I want to go there's someone else on the door.
"Milan? Who's there?", a girls voice says.
And in that moment a two or three year old girl comes through the door.
He takes her on his arm and she smiles at me.
"What's your name?", she asks me then.
"I'm Leya. And who are you?", I ask her back and smile a bit.
"Adeja.", she replies a bit shyly and hides her head in his brother's neck.
"What a pretty name.", I say and she smiles.
I love little children. They're always so sweet.
"But Milan and Adeja don't sound British."
"Yeah that's right. Our parents are from Albania. And you? You don't look British too."
"Yes that's also right. We are Spanish."
"Milan. Who's at the door?", an older woman shouts.
A few seconds later the woman stands next to Milan and Adeja.
"Who are you?", she asks me unkindly.
"My name is Leya. I'm here because of a missunderstanding. I'm sorry to have disturbed you.", I say and smile at her.
Her gaze becomes friendly.
"Do you want to come in? You look like you could need some warmth.", she then asks.
Normally I wouldn't go inside a strangers house but that's different. This is my house.
I just nod and follow Milan into the house.
I still don't understand how my mother hasn't told me anything about selling the house.
And what happend with all the things I left in my room.
The pictures of me and my dad, of me and my sister. Are they all gone?
We sit down on the couch.
"So what lead you to us.", the woman asks.
"My mother didn't tell me that she was selling the house. I used to live here with her. We moved to Germany about ten months ago and then we we visited London again because she said she had something to do here. Now I know what she meant."
