“So, you planned all this, Grandma?” asked Julia, staring at the portrait.
After the fight with her husband, Julia hadn’t slept all night. She’d sensed something was off in their marriage, but when he came home that evening and confessed he loved someone else, the blow still left her breathless. He walked out, and she spent hours sobbing, drowning in self-pity.
One moment, she wanted him back—but that meant forgiving his betrayal. And Julia wasn’t sure she could ever trust Peter again.
The next, she burned for revenge, to make him suffer as she did. But love doesn’t vanish overnight, even after betrayal. So she pushed the thought aside and focused on how to move forward.
Just before dawn, a memory surfaced—every summer, her parents would take her to her grandmother’s cottage in a small town outside London. Those were the happiest days of her childhood. If only she could go back, return to that innocence…
But Grandma had passed three years ago. Julia didn’t recall her parents selling the cottage. Did distant relatives live there now? She’d ask her mum. With that fragile hope, she drifted to sleep.
That night, she dreamed of the park near Grandma’s house. There sat Grandma in her cream-coloured trench coat and a straw hat, watching as little Julia played with a puppy alongside a boy. “I knew you’d come. I’ve been waiting,” Grandma said suddenly, her gaze locking onto Julia—not the child in the dream, but the woman she was now.
The intensity of that look startled her awake. The dream felt so real, she swore she could still feel Grandma’s presence.
The more Julia thought about it, the clearer the message became: Grandma was calling her back.
“Mum, what happened to Grandma’s cottage after she died? You didn’t sell it, did you? Is anyone living there?” she asked that evening.
“Of course not. Why would we? Grandma left it to you in her will.”
“So I could live there?” Julia’s heart lifted.
“Where is this coming from? You want to move to the countryside? What on earth for?” Mum’s voice rose in disbelief.
“I can’t stay here, Mum. I need space—time to think.”
The flat she’d shared with Peter was his parents’ gift. Staying there was impossible, so she’d moved back home. Two years of independence had spoiled her—she couldn’t bear Mum’s lectures about forgiving Peter, about how she’d never find another man like him…
“But the cottage is old, practically falling apart! Why not go to Spain if you want a change?”
Normally, Julia would’ve agreed. But the dream wouldn’t let her go.
“Do you have the keys?”
Mum rummaged through a drawer. “Here. Though why you’d want to go there, I’ve no idea.”
Julia clutched the keys. “I’ll check it out. Then we’ll decide.”
The next day, Julia put on her best heartbroken face and requested leave from work. Her boss, sympathetic to “men being absolute swine,” signed off without question.
By evening, she’d packed a bag. The next morning, she boarded a train, determined to start anew. Five hours later, a cab dropped her off at a weathered brick building. She hesitated outside the chipped green door, doubts creeping in—what was she doing? You can’t run from yourself.
Exhausted, she turned the key. The lock clicked open easily.
Inside, dust and silence greeted her. Without Grandma, the place felt foreign. She flung open windows, scrubbed floors, washed curtains—anything to push away the grief. By dusk, she collapsed onto the sofa, too tired to even shower.
A harsh buzz at the door shattered the quiet.
On the doorstep stood a plump woman in her fifties, beaming beneath a cloud of bleached curls. “Hello! New tenant? I wondered who was making all that noise!”
“Actually, I’m Evelyn’s granddaughter. Just visiting—”
“Julie! I’m Margery—remember? You used to play with my Charlie when you visited!” Margery chattered nonstop, barely pausing for breath. “Such a shame about Evelyn. Lovely woman. Shame you never visited. My son’s getting married—we’d have bought this place! Handy, having family next door. *Such* a pity you’re here now—not that I’m not glad! But if you ever sell—”
Julia’s head throbbed. Margery finally left, promising to “pop round anytime.”
The next morning, Julia woke stiff and achy. Sunlight streamed through fresh curtains, but the dripping kitchen tap soured her mood. She remembered Margery’s husband, Nigel, and knocked next door.
Nigel—tall and lanky, unlike his round wife—fixed the tap in minutes. Julia offered tea. Just as they sat down, the doorbell screeched again.
Margery burst in, mid-story about forgetting her keys, then froze at the sight of two cups.
“Who’s this for? You’re not alone—Oh! You scheming old—Where is he?!” She tore through the flat, flinging open cupboards.
Julia joined the search—Nigel had vanished.
“Maybe he crawled back through the pipes?” Julia joked weakly.
Margery gaped, speechless for once, then bolted home.
“Out with you,” Julia called. Nigel emerged from behind the curtains. “Tell her you went for cigarettes,” he whispered, slipping out the door.
Julia burst out laughing. What a pair.
Outside, the village was lush and peaceful. Julia wandered for hours, relishing the quiet. On her way back, distracted, she stepped into traffic—a car screeched to a halt.
“Trying to get yourself killed?” the driver yelled.
Julia stared, stunned, as her grocery bag split open. The man—handsome, mid-thirties—helped gather her things, then insisted on driving her home.
“Wait—you live *here*?” He grinned as they pulled up. “Julie? Mum mentioned you were back!”
It was Charlie—now tall, broad-shouldered, nothing like the boy she remembered. They talked for hours, lost in nostalgia, until the wretched doorbell rang again.
Margery stood there, eyes narrowing. “I saw Charlie’s car—Oh! So *this* is your game? First my husband, now my son?”
Charlie, long accustomed to his mother’s theatrics, steered her away. Julia exhaled in relief.
Strangely, her mood lifted. Without lifting a finger, she’d gotten her revenge on Peter—twice over. Margery would see to that.
That night, Julia smiled at Grandma’s photo on the mantel. She’d removed the black ribbon—leftover from the funeral—days ago.
Was it her imagination, or did Grandma just wink?
“Was this your doing, Gran?” she murmured.
The next day, Charlie replaced the doorbell. He admitted there was no fiancée—just his mum’s wishful thinking. He worked as a developer, too busy for dating.
But now, he made time for Julia. They explored the village, went to the cinema—by the time her leave ended, she didn’t want to go back.
Mum met her with news: Peter had called, desperate to reconcile.
“I didn’t give him the address—let him stew! But Julie, he’s a good man. Everyone makes mistakes. You’ll never find better!”
Of course, Mum told him Julia was back. That evening, Peter begged for forgiveness.
A month ago, Julia might’ve caved. But now, Charlie held her heart. She filed for divorce.
She quit her job, sold the cottage, and moved with Charlie to a new flat—far enough from Margery for peace.
On the shelf, Julia placed Grandma’s photo.
“Thanks, Gran,” she whispered.
And in the frame, Grandma’s smile seemed to say, *”Took you long enough.”*
The lesson? Sometimes, the past guides you—not to return, but to find what’s been waiting all along.
