No Country Cottage for Us!
Emma had barely turned the key in the lock when she sensed something was off. The flat wasn’t empty. Voices drifted from the kitchen—one male, the other female, older. Her mother-in-law had dropped by unannounced. Emma grimaced. Their relationship was cordial but strained, laced with passive-aggressive remarks and unsolicited advice. Not in the mood for a confrontation, she decided to slip out for a stroll to the shops—let the old woman finish her tea and leave.
But as she stepped into the hallway, she froze. The tone of her husband’s conversation with his mother sent a chill down her spine. She strained to listen—and what she heard left her numb.
“Don’t worry, Em will come round to the idea of the cottage,” Thomas said calmly.
“Just make sure it’s in your name,” his mother added. Emma’s brows shot up. Seriously?
“I’ll figure out how to convince her. Even if it doesn’t work, we’ll buy it together in the marriage—split it later. But her flat stays hers if we divorce? That’s not fair. We’ve lived at my place for two years—I deserve something too.”
Emma’s blood ran cold. Divorce?
“Exactly. You and Sophie could upgrade after. How’s it going with her, anyway?”
Sophie? Who the hell was Sophie?
“It’s fine. She wants me to hurry up with the divorce, but I told her we have to wait. Once the cottage is sorted, I’ll file. I’ll tell Emma it’s safer to transfer everything to my account—she’s gullible enough to believe me.”
Emma clutched the wall, her ears ringing. Memories flashed: their first meeting, their wedding, that estate agent’s office she’d visited just hours ago—planning to sell her flat as a surprise “gift” for their dream cottage. The cake she’d bought on the way home still sat in its bag.
Mum had been right. Never sell. The flat was her safety net.
Silently, Emma marched to the bedroom. She yanked out a suitcase and began packing. A minute later, Thomas appeared in the doorway.
“Emma? You’re back? What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Her voice shook. “Wanted my flat in your name, didn’t you? Well, tough luck! Every penny I spent on renovations—I’ve got the e-receipts. And everything we bought? We’ll split it. Consider the free ride over.”
Her mother-in-law, hearing the venom in her tone, fled instantly. Thomas stammered, backpedaled, denied everything. Too late.
Then it all clicked.
When she turned twenty-one, her parents gifted her a one-bed flat. “This is your safety net,” her mum had said. “Never sell it. Always have a place to return to.” Back then, it’d seemed excessive. Now? Every word rang like prophecy.
She’d met Thomas a year after uni. Fell hard. Moved in together. He’d insisted she live with him—”A man brings a woman into his home.” So she’d rented out her flat, splitting the earnings between their expenses and her savings.
Then came the wedding. Guest gifts funded the refurbishment of Thomas’s place. Mum had fretted—why invest in someone else’s property? Emma brushed it off. “I live here now.”
Then the distance began. Thomas grew colder, snappier, working late. Then, like a switch flipped—he was sweet again. Flowers, compliments. And the cottage talk—fresh air, barbecues, future kids. He’d nudged: “Your flat’s too small. We’ll buy another later, but we need the cottage now.”
She’d nearly caved. Wanted to make him happy. Even visited the estate agent last weekend and bought that cake. Then she came home and heard the truth.
Her husband and his mother had already divvied up her assets. Planned to swindle her money, then dump her.
No tears came. Just ice—the cold sting of betrayal.
That night, Emma packed her things and left. Her parents rallied around her. Mum held her close, silent, just there.
Back in her one-bed, Emma wandered the rooms, fingertips grazing the walls, gazing out the window. Then she perched on the sill and whispered:
“You and I aren’t divorcing. You’re the only stable thing I’ve got. And in this world, stability’s worth its weight in gold.”
Because now, the only things she trusted were her mother’s words and these four walls.
