An Inheritance by the Sea — When Family Turns to Strangers
“Tanya, my brother James called,” said Michael, stepping into the kitchen. “He and Marie are coming over on Saturday—just the two of them, no spouses. Said he wants to talk seriously.”
“I wonder what’s so serious it can’t involve wives or kids?” Tanya narrowed her eyes. “No, don’t bother guessing. I already know. It’s about the inheritance. Two months have passed, and now they’re ready.”
Michael nodded silently. He’d felt it coming ever since Aunt Lydia left their flat in the city centre and the country cottage to him, Tanya, and their daughter Emily. For four years, they’d looked after her when she fell ill. The rest of the family? They only showed up in summer for holidays, and when the old woman begged them to take her to the countryside for fresh air, everyone was suddenly “too busy.”
On Saturday, at precisely four, James and Marie arrived. No small talk—they sat straight down in the living room.
“We need to talk about the cottage,” James began bluntly. “The flat’s yours, fine. But the cottage… We’ve been the ones maintaining it.”
“No,” Tanya replied coldly. “You haven’t maintained it. You’ve used it. Enjoyed it, but never helped. And, let’s not forget, when Aunt Lydia asked, you never came.”
“And who had the time? We’ve got kids, grandkids, jobs!” Marie flared up.
“Yet here you are, making demands,” Michael cut in. “Odd, isn’t it?”
“Did you even take her to the cottage?” Marie sneered.
“We didn’t have one, but we paid for her spa breaks twice,” Tanya answered calmly. “And we’re in the will. It’s joint ownership. We’re selling.”
“Seriously?” James scoffed. “You’re picking fights over a few square feet in a crumbling house?”
“If it’s so worthless, why cling to it?” Michael countered.
The next day, the phone rang.
“Michael, what the hell? We drove with David to collect our things from the cottage—and the locks are changed!”
“Exactly. On the gate and the house. Should’ve called ahead. Come by Saturday with Tanya—take what’s yours. But not before.”
Hanging up, Michael turned to his wife.
“How’d you know they’d rush over?”
“Don’t you know your own family? If we hadn’t changed those locks, they’d have stripped the place bare.”
They sold the cottage. With the money from their old flat, they bought a three-bedroom house in Brighton, steps from the sea—just a ten-minute drive to the beach.
Emily stayed in Aunt Lydia’s city flat while finishing university. Michael took a job at the docks; Tanya taught at a nearby school. It should’ve been a peaceful new chapter. But life had other plans.
By March, their phones wouldn’t stop ringing. Relatives who’d ignored them for years suddenly remembered they existed. Marie called first:
“You took the cottage, so we’ve nowhere to go. We’re coming in July—our whole family, including James’s granddaughter.”
“Marie, we didn’t invite you. We live here—it’s not a holiday let. Book a hotel if you want a break.”
“Have you seen Brighton’s hotel prices?!”
“Haven’t checked. But if they’re too steep, pick somewhere cheaper. Don’t come here. We’re not hosting.”
“So your in-laws get a stay, but your own sister doesn’t?!”
“Tanya’s parents visited. If ours were alive, they’d be welcome too. But five adults and kids for a fortnight? No thanks.”
“You’ll see! You’ll end up alone—no one will remember you!”
“Don’t worry. Since we moved, we’ve had more ‘family’ than we know what to do with. Everyone remembers us between May and September. The rest of the year? Silence.”
A silence that had become the most precious part of their lives.
