The Inherited Cottage
“How can you decide to do this?” her daughter asked, eyes wide with concern. “Mum, you’ll be all alone in that village—aren’t you afraid?”
“People are everywhere,” Elizabeth replied calmly, adjusting her scarf. “I’ll make friends there, don’t you worry. But you’ll always be welcome to visit. I won’t be coming back to the city—not ever. I’ve waited for my pension like it’s a reward. And the cottage is lovely, even on instalments. Isn’t that a miracle?”
Elizabeth’s spirits were high. Not only had she realised her dream of owning a cottage in the nearest village, but there was another reason to leave. Her daughter, Emma, was nearly thirty and still hadn’t settled down.
So Elizabeth decided to leave the flat to Emma, hoping it might help her find love.
“You take care of this place, and I’ll pop in when I come for market day or shopping,” she said, hugging Emma before boarding the bus that would carry her toward her new life.
The village embraced Elizabeth quickly. She didn’t miss city life—she’d always preferred the countryside, having spent years at her old allotment before selling it.
The village had everything: a shop, bus service, even a small clinic and a library.
“Perfect!” Elizabeth would often exclaim, stretching on the porch each morning. The neighbours were kind, offering help, but she refused, eager to manage on her own.
Emma visited often at first, restless without her mother, anxious for her safety. They’d lived side by side for years, and now Emma felt the weight of starting a family—if only to make her mother proud. That’s what Elizabeth had asked of her.
Spring was warm and wet.
“Good for sowing,” said her neighbour, Thomas, a retired man in his seventies. “Damp earth means a good harvest.”
Elizabeth didn’t just tend her garden—she raised chickens and ducks, the old barn still sturdy. She worked tirelessly, from dawn to dusk, her tabby cat, Winston, trailing behind her, eyeing the poultry with quiet suspicion.
“You’ll get used to it, Winston,” she’d say, scratching his ears. “Look at you, already acting like the lord of the manor.”
Soon, a scruffy stray dog named Scout joined the household—once a wanderer begging scraps, now curled up under the porch. Thomas built him a proper doghouse when Elizabeth asked.
Word spread about the kind, hardworking newcomer, and the villagers smiled when they passed by.
Emma took longer to adjust, guilt gnawing at her.
“How can I ever repay you, Mum?” she’d ask during weekend visits.
But when she met Robert, she understood her mother’s gift. They married, and a year later, Emma gave birth to a daughter, Lily.
“This is how you repay me,” Elizabeth laughed, cradling her granddaughter. “Our family goes on! You’ll bring her in the summers—I’ll get a goat, so she can have fresh milk.”
Years passed, and Elizabeth became a true countrywoman. Emma and Robert visited—helping in the garden, enjoying her preserves, relaxing in the sauna.
“Aren’t you tired of all this work?” Emma would ask. “You’re not young anymore, and we can’t always be here.”
“I manage,” Elizabeth would reply. “And if it gets too much, I’ll cut back. What else would I do? Stare out the window? This keeps me alive.”
Time took its toll. Aching legs made chores harder, and by eighty, she’d only kept the chickens. Winston and Scout were gone, replaced by two abandoned tabbies.
“Promise me you won’t take in more,” Emma pleaded. “I’m exhausted helping here, and I’ve got my own pension to think of.”
Emma’s marriage didn’t last. They divorced after Lily finished school and moved to London for university. Robert helped with tuition, and Emma gave everything for Lily’s education. After graduating, Lily stayed in the city, marrying there.
So Emma was alone in the flat again, her daughter and son-in-law visiting rarely—their own lives in full swing.
Elizabeth struggled to walk now. The garden shrank, and every visit, Emma begged her to return.
“Won’t you come back? You’d have a hospital nearby, your old room—and I wouldn’t worry so much.”
But Elizabeth refused.
“Why burden you? You might still find someone. I’ve had my time—the best years were here.”
Emma had no choice but to accept it.
Two months before turning fifty-five, she promised, “Just wait—I’ll retire soon. We’ll fix the cottage, tend the garden together.”
But Elizabeth didn’t wait. A neighbour called—she’d passed peacefully in her sleep.
“Like an angel,” they said.
After the funeral, Emma planned to sell the cottage. Neighbours sighed, searching for buyers. But returning forty days later, just to pack and find homes for the cats, something changed.
Her heart ached as she stepped inside—twenty-five years of her mother’s joy, her own sweat in these walls. The cats wound around her ankles, mewing.
“I brought treats, Molly, Daisy. Missed me?” She stroked them. “Mum loved you. Now no one wants you…”
She aired the house, swept, lit the stove. Soon, soup bubbled, potatoes sizzled, the old clock ticked.
“Just like when she was here,” Emma whispered, smiling through tears at her mother’s photograph.
Footsteps. Her neighbour, Alex—Thomas’s son—appeared in the doorway.
“Welcome back. Decided anything? Smells like home in here.”
“Join me. I can’t eat alone,” she said.
He washed his hands at the sink while she set another bowl.
“Funny, isn’t it?” Alex mused. “Our parents loved it here—now we’re the ones clinging to it. Maybe we should stay.”
Emma glanced at the cats, purring by the stove. “Maybe I will.”
A week later, she returned to the city—but only to rent out her flat. She brought her things back to the cottage.
“Happy now, Molly? Daisy? I’m home,” she murmured, their purrs like tiny engines.
“Tea’s on!” Alex called from next door.
So Emma stayed, to Lily’s surprise.
“You kept it,” Lily said during a visit, her toddler laughing in the garden. “This place is special. Grandma always said life was sweeter here.”
“That’s why I stayed,” Emma said. “And like her, I’ll always wait for you.”
The sun warmed the orchard, heavy with apples. Emma propped up sagging branches.
“What will we do with all these?” she laughed.
“Eat them, bake them, dry them,” Lily said, stroking her daughter’s hair.
