One crisp October Saturday, Emily decided to visit her countryside plot to check on things after the winter. The morning was bright and sunny, though the air had a bite to it. She woke up early, sipped her coffee, packed a bag with tools and a thermos of tea, and set off. The plot was forty kilometres outside London, in a quaint village called Oakham. Shed bought the land five years ago, before marrying James, using savings from her years as a software developer. Back then, prices were reasonable, and shed managed to snag half an acre with a small garden shed. The deed was in her name, all the paperwork safely tucked away in her files.
Over the years, Emily had turned the plot into her little havenplanting apple and cherry trees, setting up a vegetable patch, fixing the fence, and giving the shed a fresh coat of paint. Shed spent most weekends there in summer, digging in the dirt and escaping the city bustle. James rarely joined her. He complained about the bugs, the boredom, preferring to stay in town meeting friends or watching football. Emily didnt push it. The plot was her sanctuary, a place to be alone with her thoughts.
The last time shed visited was late August. Work had swallowed her whole after thatproject after project, no time to breathe. But now, finally, a free Saturday. Time to check the windows, make sure the roof hadnt sprung a leak, and clear the autumn leaves before winter set in.
She turned on the radio and drove out of the city, watching fields and small villages blur past. The trees were alight with gold and orange, leaves crunching along the roadside. She loved this time of yearthe chill, the quiet, the scent of woodsmoke in the air.
As she pulled up to the gate, she spotted an unfamiliar car parked outsidea sleek grey Land Rover, far too posh for the locals, who mostly drove battered old Fiats. Emily frowned. Who on earth was here? She slowed to a stop, got out, and peered through the iron gate.
There, strolling through her garden, were James and his mother, Margaret, showing a stranger in a sharp suit around. Emily froze. James had claimed he was helping a mate with DIY that morning. And Margaret? Shed never once visited, always whinging about her arthritis and high blood pressure. Yet here they were, giving some bloke the grand tour like estate agents.
She watched as James gestured to the far corner where her old apple trees stood. Margaret nodded along, chattering away while the stranger scribbled notes, eyeing the land, the fence, the shed like a man sizing up a bargain.
“Plenty of space to build,” Margaret trilled. “Quiet neighbours, woods nearby, a river just down the lane. Electricitys connected, water from the welllovely and fresh. Flat ground, no issues with foundations.”
Emilys grip tightened on the gate. Her mother-in-law was selling her land. Her land. The woman whod never so much as set foot here until today.
James chimed in. “Paperworks straightforward, no complications. Price is fair, but were open to offers.”
Blood roared in Emilys ears. They were trying to sell her plot behind her back. Without asking. Without so much as a bloody heads-up.
Six months ago, James had floated the idea of selling the placesaid they could put the money towards a bigger flat, upgrade from their cramped one-bed. Emily had refused. The plot meant too much to her. Hed shrugged and dropped itor so shed thought. Turns out, hed just gone underground with it.
She took a deep breath, steadied herself, then shoved the gate open with a metallic clang. All three spun around. James went pale. Margarets mouth hung open. The stranger arched an eyebrow.
Emily stepped inside, letting the gate slam shut behind her. “The deeds in my name,” she said, voice icy. “No sales happening.”
The stranger coughed awkwardly. “Right. Seems Ive been misled.” He muttered an apology and hurried past her, not meeting her eyes. Moments later, the Land Rovers engine growled to life, kicking up dust as it sped off.
Emily turned to James and Margaret, who stood rooted like garden gnomes caught in headlights.
“Explain,” she demanded.
James swallowed. “Em, its not what it looks like.”
“Oh? What is it, then?”
“II was just showing the place to a mate. Hes in the market for land, and I thought”
“You thought youd sell mine without asking?”
“No! I wasnt selling! Just showing!”
Emily folded her arms. “And mentioning paperwork? Quick sale, no problems? Did I imagine that bit?”
James scuffed his shoe in the dirt. “Just… making it sound good. To get him interested.”
“Interested in buying what isnt yours?”
“Em, come on, its not like its *yours* yours. Were married!”
“Its in my name. Bought before we wed. My property, not yours.”
Margaret cut in. “Emily, love, youre missing the point. This place just sits here, neglected. Why not sell, put the money to good use?”
Emily shot her a look. “Not your call, Margaret.”
“But James is your husband! His opinion matters!”
“It did. I said no six months ago. He agreed. Didnt you, James?”
Silence.
Margaret huffed. “Be reasonable! Youre stuck in that shoebox flat. What if you have kids? Wherell you put them?”
Emily shook her head. “Im not selling my land for a hypothetical nursery.”
“Why not? Its practical!”
“For you, maybe. Not for me.”
“Selfish!” Margaret snapped. “Only thinking of yourself!”
Emily laughed. “Selfish? For not handing over my property?”
“Youre not thinking of your husband! Your future!”
“I am. But futures arent built on lies.”
James tried to step in. “Em, lets calm down. Yes, I shouldve told you. But its a great dealhe was offering over market value!”
“And you decided my things were yours to trade?”
“I wanted to check if he was serious first! Didnt want to bother you for nothing!”
“Bother me?” Emilys voice cracked. “You brought a buyer here, James. Discussed terms. Thats not checkingthats a done deal.”
Margaret scoffed. “And now what? Youll sulk? James worked hard for this family!”
Emily pointed to the gate. “Both of you. Out.”
Margaret gasped. “Youre throwing us out?”
“Off my land. Yes.”
James dragged his mother away, shooting Emily a wounded look. “Well talk later.”
“Will we?”
The car peeled off, leaving silence in its wake. Emily exhaled, shoulders sagging. Her hands shook, but her mind was clear. Shed done the right thing.
That evening, back in the flat, James returned alone. He looked wreckedred-eyed, unshaven. “Im sorry,” he mumbled. “I messed up.”
Emily crossed her arms. “You lied.”
“Were married! Things should be shared!”
“Not when theyre stolen.”
James flinched. “I wanted a proper home! Not this cramped flat!”
“Then save. Get a mortgage. But dont sell my things.”
“Youre impossible!” he shouted. “Selfish! Only care about yourself!”
Emily opened the door. “Were done.”
Three months later, the divorce was final. The flat was rented; the plot was hers. No fighting over assets.
Spring came. Emily returned to Oakham, breathing in the damp earth, the fresh leaves. Neighbourly old Mrs. Wilkins brought over tomato seedlings and meat pies. “All alone now?” she asked gently.
Emily nodded. “Better that way.”
Mrs. Wilkins patted her arm. “Youll be alright, love. Just keep your land. Lands forever.”
Emily smiled. “Oh, Im keeping it.”
And as she locked the gate behind her that evening, she knewno one would ever try to take it from her again.
