Emma sat on the edge of the bed and sighed, staring at the neat stack of banknotes on the table. For two years, she and Jake had scrimped and saved every penny, every pound, dreaming of something that once felt impossible—a seaside holiday.
A cosy cottage by the shore, fresh fish for supper, the sound of waves, the whisper of the wind, freedom from chores—it was their reward for years of hard work, sacrifices, and the rare small joys they allowed themselves.
*We’ve earned this*, Emma thought, running her fingers over the money. She wanted to believe that, at last, happiness would smile on them both. This summer was meant to be their breath of fresh air, a long-awaited escape from the endless grind.
Jake walked in, clutching a pair of headphones—his birthday present, which Emma had bought despite their tight budget, just to see him smile.
“Mum, you’re sure about this place?” he asked, perching on a chair and studying her face.
“Yes, love,” she replied softly. “It’s quiet, the beach is almost wild, and there’s a market nearby with fresh fruit. Imagine—lying in the sun, the sea breeze, no rush…”
Jake nodded, grinning, but a flicker of understanding passed through his eyes. He knew how hard she worked, how often she went without, how every pound in that envelope had been a struggle. This holiday was their shared dream, treasured like something precious.
Then her phone rang. *William* flashed on the screen.
“Hello, sis!” came her brother’s cheerful voice. “What’s the plan for summer?”
Emma hesitated. William had always been difficult—bossy, convinced he knew best, never shy about making it known.
“Just a little break by the sea with Jake,” she said carefully. “We’ve saved up for a room near the coast.”
“Why waste money?” William chuckled. “We’ve got a cottage right by the water! Come stay with us. Fresh air, berries, peace and quiet. Think of the savings.”
Emma bit her lip. William always acted like he had life figured out. But Jake’s face lit up at the idea.
“Mum, a whole cottage by the sea!” he said eagerly. “Let’s go to Uncle Will’s! We can save the money for later.”
With a small sigh, Emma agreed. “Alright. We’ll come.”
William met them at the station, beaming, arms wide. “About time! It’s been ages!” he boomed, pulling Emma into a hug. “Come on, lunch is ready.”
His wife, Claire, stood nearby with their three-year-old, Lily, who waved excitedly.
“What a reunion!” Claire cheered, embracing Emma.
The cottage was charming—wooden beams, wicker chairs on the porch, a swing beneath an old apple tree, a hammock swaying in the breeze. The beach was a fifteen-minute walk along a path lined with wildflowers. For two days, it was perfect—sunbathing, cool sea dips, fresh scones and strawberries, birdsong and waves.
Emma watched Jake play with Lily, pick apples, feed the ducks by the pond, and for the first time in years, her heart felt light.
But on the third morning, things changed. Over breakfast, William turned to her.
“Emma, you’re good at cooking, right? Fancy making lunch? Claire’s knackered with Lily.”
Emma blinked but nodded. “Of course.”
That evening, as they cleared the table, he asked, “Mind doing the washing-up? We’re shattered.”
“Alright,” she said, hiding her surprise.
By day four, Jake was handed a basket. “Go pick raspberries, lad. Everyone loves pies.”
“But I wanted to go to the beach…” he muttered.
“Work first, play later,” William said briskly.
The tasks piled up. Emma mopped floors, minded Lily while Claire shopped. Jake weeded beds, hauled water from the well. What began as small favours soon felt like labour. This wasn’t the carefree holiday they’d imagined.
That evening, Jake sat on the porch, scratched hands in his lap. “Mum,” he whispered, “why can’t we just go to the beach?”
Emma swallowed hard. “We’ll rest soon,” she lied, fighting tears.
The next day, she confronted William. “We came here to relax by the sea.”
He frowned. “Emma, there’s work to do. Who’ll tend the garden or watch Lily if you leave? Oh, and lend us some of that holiday money—we need new windows.”
“No! That’s ours!” Emma snapped.
“You’re staying here for free,” he shot back. “Consider it rent.”
Emma stood, fists trembling. “We’re leaving tomorrow.”
William smirked. “Doubt it. I’ve already taken the cash from your purse. You can nip to the beach in the morning, but chores come after. List’s on the fridge.”
Jake stared, stunned.
That night, Emma lay awake, moonlight cold on her face. She texted her ex-husband, James.
*Sorry to bother you. We need help. William’s keeping us here, took our money.*
The reply was instant. *I’ll be there at dawn.*
At sunrise, a familiar Land Rover pulled up. James strode in.
“Where’s William?”
“Look who’s here,” William sneered.
“Collecting my son. We’re leaving.”
“My house, my rules!”
“My family. Want trouble? You’ll get it. Where’s the money?”
“Call it rent!”
James flashed his police badge. William threw the cash on the table. “Get out.”
They packed in a hurry. James drove them to a seaside inn.
“Thanks, James. You saved us.”
“Next time, think first. I can’t always come running.”
Two hours later, they stood on an empty beach, waves crashing, wind in their hair, sun high overhead.
“Mum,” Jake said quietly, “why was Uncle Will like that?”
Emma sank onto the warm sand, hugging him. “Some people don’t know kindness or honesty.”
“Let’s not go back.”
“Never,” she agreed, finally feeling free.
Better to pay for peace.
Nothing’s truly free—not even family.
