Two years after my divorce I was still living in a space that wasn't mine. Leftover furniture from a house my ex kept. Walls with nothing on them. A flat that looked exactly like what it was a man passing through, waiting for his real life to resume.

The real life didn't resume. And the flat stayed exactly as it was.

The furnished flat problem isn't about furniture. It's about what the space is telling you and whether you're ready to listen.