A Friend Invited Guests to Our Country Cottage for Her Birthday Without Asking Permission—How I Handled an Unexpected Party Plan at Our Hard-Earned Retreat

Author Walton MerrittReading 4 minViews 1

Six years ago, my husband and I bought a cosy cottage in the English countryside. We took pride in renovating every corner ourselves, planting flower beds and tidying up the garden when we had free time. Most weekends, or at least every other, we made a point to escape from the city to our little retreat.

We never planned to have a sprawling vegetable plot, but we did grow just enough: cucumbers, tomatoes, fresh herbs, spring onions, courgettes, and peppers, all dotted abouta small touch of freshness for our meals.

The cottage came with flourishing raspberry bushes, clusters of currants, and rows of strawberry plants. Often, Id take baskets of these fruits to work and share them with my colleagues, who were always delighted.

This year, a new lady called Alice transferred to our department. She seemed perfectly pleasant and well-mannered. It happened that I brought in some strawberries that day, so naturally, I offered her some.

Alice tasted them and couldnt stop raving about their flavour. Soon she started asking about the cottage, where it was, how we looked after it, that sort of thing. I was glad to share, as everyone seemed genuinely interested.

A few days later, Alice came over and boldly asked me for the keys to our cottage. Her daughter, she explained, wanted a peaceful place for her children to get some fresh countryside air while she was on maternity leaveand since my husband and I wouldnt be using it for a week, surely we wouldnt mind lending it out.

I immediately refused. Alice looked rather put out, but she didnt argue.

Two weeks on, another lady from Alices department stopped by my desk to ask for directions to my cottage. I was taken aback. When I asked why she wanted to go there, she casually replied that Alice had invited her, along with several others, to her birthday partyat our cottage. The only catch was, everyone had to find their own way there.

I was absolutely astonished.

I tracked down Alice and confronted her, asking what on earth she thought she was doing.

Oh, whats the bother? she replied, feigning innocence and smiling sweetly. Surely it cant do any harm if I celebrate my birthday at your place? Its just one afternoon. Nobodys staying overnight. You wont mind, will you?

Actually, I did mind. I cared a lot about the effort wed put in, about the flowerbeds, the neat lawn, the fruit bushes, and the cottage itself. To let a group of near-strangers run wild in the very haven wed toiled to create was out of the question.

And, whats more, she hadnt even bothered to invite me, let alone ask my permission.

I refused her request again, at which she seemed even more offended.

So be it. I dont regret my decision. For years, Ive gladly shared my fruit and hospitality with my colleagues, but never has anyone displayed such cheek as Alice.

Sometimes, kindness can be mistaken for weakness, but its important to know where to draw the line. True respect is not about generosity aloneits about valuing the effort and boundaries of others.

This experience taught me that while sharing brings people together, your boundaries are yours to protect. If you dont stand up for yourself, no one else will.

Dandelion Jam Winter’s blanket of snow finally melted, leaving behind a softness that made spring’s arrival all the more welcome. The town was waking up—you could tell by the bustle at the market and the cheerful flutter of birds outside windows. Taissia, a long-time resident of her old block of flats, watched from the third floor, eager for sunshiny days, the riot of colour, and the freedom from heavy coats. Spring suited Taissia. She lived with her granddaughter, Vera, ever since Vera’s parents left for a doctor’s contract in Africa: “We trust you with our little Vera. She’s happier with you, Mum.” Taissia had laughed, promising to make the most of retirement with her sprightly granddaughter. The day unfolded with its familiar rhythm: breakfast, school, chores. Outside, her neighbours had already claimed the bench beneath the budding trees—Mrs Simmons, whose real age was as mysterious as her sharp wit, and Valentine, the loud, joyous bookworm, always in friendly opposition to Simmons’s grumbling. The bench was never empty once the sun came out, and these two were its loyal sentinels, keeping an eye on everyone and everything. Taissia sometimes joined in, gossiping about what she’d read, sharing news from TV, enduring Simmons’s health complaints. But today she popped to the shops, promising Vera a sweet treat for good marks. After school, Vera practised her dance moves, which made Taissia beam with pride. In the evening, she waited for Vera outside, joined by their neighbour, Mr George Elliot from downstairs, who always greeted the spring with a poet’s soul, likening the golden dandelions to tiny suns. Vera, ever the bundle of energy, startled her grandmother with mischief, and Taissia gathered her up for dinner—grated carrots sugared just right and her favourite homemade cutlets. George lingered too, tempted by the mention of cutlets, and hinted at a walk later. By and by, Taissia found herself back on the bench with George, sharing quiet moments now that Simmons and Valentine had retired for the evening. These gentle evenings became habit, strolling to the nearby park, reading magazines, exchanging life stories and recipes. George’s life had not been easy. Widowed young, he raised his daughter, Vera, alone, working late into every night. Vera grew up, moved away, married, had a son, then divorced and raised her boy alone. Visits became rare and strained. One afternoon, George shared news—Vera was coming. Taissia was optimistic, but George doubted: “She wants something, I’m sure.” Vera arrived, all business. She pressed George to sell his flat and move in with her, sharing space with her and her son—a practical solution, but George recoiled, preferring his independent, familiar staple of life. Vera, relentless, learned of her father’s friendship with Taissia and visited, tea and sweets on offer. But her words cut sharp: “Convince him to sell the flat, it’s wasted on one old man. Surely you’re not after it for yourself or your granddaughter?” Accusations flew, harsh words rang out, and Vera stormed away. Taissia was mortified, worried what the neighbours must have heard. For days, she avoided George, ducking inside when she saw him. Yet, as fate would have it, she met George outside the building, making dandelion chains. “Don’t run off,” he pleaded, offering her the half-finished chain. “Sorry for my daughter. I’ve spoken to her—she’s left, and says she has no father now. But I wanted to give you this. I’ve made dandelion jam. It’s delicious—and healthy too,” he smiled, “and dandelion makes a fine salad.” That evening they shared dandelion salad and tea with spoonfuls of his homemade jam. Taissia loved it. Later, they walked together under their favourite linden tree, magazine in hand, laughter rising softly into the spring air. It was just the two of them, their worries forgotten, sharing stories and sweet dandelion jam. Thank you for reading, subscribing, and supporting me. Wishing you all the best in life!