When I stepped into the elevator of our building, I found a woman inside holding the keys to my apartment.

Today was utterly unsettling. As I stepped into the lift of our flat building in Manchester, a woman was already inside, holding the keys to my apartment. For a moment, I thought Id made some bizarre mistake. But no, the keyring was unmistakablea small blue heart my sister Emma had given me years ago.

She was about forty, with short dark hair and a very proper handbag on her shoulder, standing as if nothing was amiss. The lift began its slow climb. My heart was racing; I could hear it thumping.

Excuse me, I said, trying to keep my voice steady. Those keyswhere did you get them?

The woman looked me over, then glanced at the keys, then back at me. And who are you? she replied.

Her question struck me like a slap. I live in flat 12, I told her.

She paused, her face stiffening for a second. Then, quietly, she said, Thats odd.

Why? I asked.

Because so do I.

The lift stopped on the sixth floor, but neither of us moved. The silence was deafening.

Ive lived there for four years, I explained, desperate for some sort of explanation.

She clutched her keys more tightly. I have a tenancy agreement from last month.

I stared at her. What sort of agreement?

She opened her handbag and pulled out a folder. Inside was a copy of her lease. The address was correct. Flat 12.

Neither of us spoke.

Who gave it to you? I asked after a moment.

The owner, she replied.

Whos that?

George.

My stomach dropped. George was my cousin. Hed told me I was only staying in the flat temporarily, until he returned from abroad.

Hes the owner, I said, my voice barely audible.

She nodded. Yes. He told me the flat was vacant.

The lift reached our floor. The doors slid open. We just stood there, neither willing to step out.

Finally, she said, Maybe theres some mistake.

Maybe, I echoed.

We walked down the corridor together. The door to flat 12 stared us in the face.

She lifted her keys; so did I. They matched perfectly.

There was a strange pause. Sometimes, the worst feeling isnt that someones deceived you, but the realisation that, perhaps, you’d never really known the truth at all.

I looked at her. Should we open it?

She exhaled, as if bracing herself. Yes.

To be honest If you found out someone had given your home to someone else, would you try to unravel the truth calmlyor would you explode right then and there?