**A Holiday with Family**
I sat on the edge of the bed, exhausted, staring at the neat stack of banknotes laid out on the table. For two years, Alfie and I had painstakingly saved every spare penny, every pound, just so we could afford what had once seemed like a fantasy—a holiday by the sea. A cosy little cottage, fresh fish for dinner, the sound of waves, the whisper of the breeze, freedom from the endless chores—it all felt like the reward we deserved after years of hard work and small, rare indulgences.
*We’ve earned this,* I thought, tracing my fingers over the money. I wanted to believe that, at last, luck would finally smile on us. This summer was meant to be our breath of fresh air, our long-awaited escape from the grind.
Alfie walked in, his ten-year-old hands fidgeting excitedly with a pair of headphones—a birthday gift I’d splurged on despite our strict budget, just to see him smile.
“Mum, are you sure about this place?” he asked, sitting on the chair and watching me carefully.
“Yes, love,” I said softly. “It’s quiet, the beach is nearly untouched, and there’s a market nearby with fresh fruit. Imagine—just lying in the sun, the sea, the open air, no rushing about…”
Alfie grinned and nodded, but a shadow flickered in his eyes. He understood—he knew how hard I worked, how often I went without so we could save, how every pound in that envelope had been earned with sacrifice. This holiday was our shared dream, something we’d guarded like treasure.
Then the phone rang. *Tom.*
“Hey, sis!” came my brother’s cheery voice. “How’ve you been? Any summer plans?”
I sighed. Tom had always been difficult—bossy, convinced he knew best, never shy about letting everyone know it.
“Alfie and I are going to the seaside,” I answered cautiously. “Just renting a little place, some peace and quiet.”
“Why waste the money?” Tom scoffed. “We’ve got a cottage right by the sea! Come stay with us. Fresh air, berries, no noise. Think of the savings.”
I hesitated. Tom always acted like he had life figured out. But Alfie perked up at the idea.
“Mum, a whole cottage by the sea!” he said hopefully. “Let’s go to Uncle Tom’s! We can save the money for later.”
I sighed, uneasy but unwilling to disappoint him. “Alright,” I agreed. “We’ll go.”
Tom met us at the station with open arms and a broad grin.
“About time! Long time no see!” he exclaimed, crushing me in a hug. “Come on, we’ve got dinner ready.”
Claire, his wife, stood nearby with their three-year-old, Sophie, who waved excitedly.
“What a reunion!” Claire cried, pulling me into another hug.
The cottage was lovely—wooden beams, wicker chairs on the porch, a swing under an old apple tree, a hammock swaying in the breeze. The beach was a fifteen-minute walk down a path lined with wildflowers. For two days, it felt like paradise. We swam in the crisp sea, ate fresh scones and strawberries straight from the garden, listened to birdsong and the murmur of the tide.
Watching Alfie play with Sophie, pick apples, and feed ducks by the pond, I felt lightness in my chest for the first time in years.
But on the third morning, things changed.
“Liz, you’re good at cooking, right?” Tom said over breakfast. “Could you whip up lunch? Claire’s knackered with Sophie.”
I blinked but nodded. “Sure, no trouble.”
That evening, after dinner, he asked me to wash up.
“Liz, we’re shattered. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Fine,” I said, hiding my surprise.
The next day, Alfie was handed a basket.
“Go pick raspberries, mate. Everyone loves pie.”
“But I wanted to go to the beach…” he mumbled.
“Work first, play later,” Tom said sharply.
The requests piled up. I scrubbed floors, minded Sophie while Claire shopped. Alfie weeded beds, hauled water from the well. At first, it felt like pitching in—but soon, it was clear: our holiday had become unpaid labour.
That evening, Alfie sat on the porch, hands scratched from gardening.
“Mum,” he whispered, “why can’t we just go to the beach?”
I bit my lip, holding back tears. Injustice and frustration coiled in my chest.
“It’ll be alright. We’ll rest soon,” I murmured.
But inside, dread grew. I didn’t want to leave—but staying felt just as impossible.
The next day, I confronted Tom.
“Tom, we came here to relax. We’d like to go to the sea.”
He frowned. “Liz, be reasonable. There’s work to do. Who’ll tend the garden? Mind Sophie?” His tone hardened. “Actually, I need some of that money you saved. Windows need replacing.”
*”No!* That’s *our* money!”
“You’re staying here for free,” he snapped. “Consider it rent.”
I stood, anger boiling over. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Tom smirked. “Doubt it. I’ve already taken the cash from your purse. You can visit the beach—but chores come first.”
Alfie stared, disbelief in his eyes.
That night, I barely slept. Cold moonlight spilled through the window, the walls closing in. I grabbed my phone.
*”James, I’m sorry to bother you. We need help. Tom’s taken our money—he won’t let us leave.”*
The reply was instant. *”I’ll be there at dawn. Hang on.”*
Morning came. Tyres crunched on gravel. James stepped out of his SUV.
“Where’s Tom?”
“Look who’s crawled out of the woodwork,” Tom sneered.
“I’m here for my son. We’re leaving.”
“This is *my* house!” Tom snarled.
“And this is *my* family. Want trouble? You’ll get it. Where’s the money?”
Tom threw the stolen cash on the table. “Get out.”
We packed in a hurry.
James dropped us at a seaside inn.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
“Next time, think first,” he said. “I won’t always be this quick.”
Two hours later, we stood on an empty beach. Waves crashed, wind tangled our hair, sun high above.
“Mum,” Alfie asked quietly, “why did Uncle Tom do that?”
I sat on the warm sand, hugging him, eyes closed.
“Some people don’t understand kindness or honesty.”
“Let’s not visit them again.”
I nodded, finally feeling the weight lift.
Better to pay for peace.
Nothing’s truly free—not even family.
