“Right then, Mum, you’ve had your fun at our cottagetime to head back,” the daughter-in-law said, ushering her mother-in-law off the property.
Emma still couldnt believe it. Had they really just bought their own countryside cottage? Theyd dreamed of this for ten long years, but life kept throwing obstacles in their waymortgages, the kids school fees, another economic downturn. But now, after checking their savings, theyd decided: it was now or never.
Her husband, Oliver, worked at an insurance firmnothing glamorouswhile Emma was a paediatric physiotherapist. She earned decently, but a country home had always felt out of reach. Then fate stepped in: both her grandmother and Olivers passed away around the same time, each leaving behind a flat in smaller towns.
After some discussion, they sold both flats, pooled the money, and finally made their dream a realitybuying a plot of land.
They found the perfect spot quickly. Few people sell property in winter, everyone waits for summer. But Oliver was adamant.
“Well talk ourselves out of it otherwise, find a million excuses, and never have this place,” he grumbled.
Emma agreed completely. Everything had fallen into place!
The plot was idealelectricity, gas, utilities, all connected. They just needed to build a small summerhouse.
Come spring, Oliver took time off work, and with his mate Nigel, got to work. They made quick progress, barely taking breaks, and within a month, the family was celebrating their move-in.
They slept on air mattresses with blankets brought from the city, but the essentials were therea stove, running water. The rest could wait.
“Cheers, Oliver! Well done!” Nigel raised his glass.
The men downed their drinks, grabbed kebabs loaded with onions and ketchup, and dug in.
“Whod have thought itd happen so fast?” Emma marvelled. “At New Years, I wasnt even dreaming of a cottage, and here we are!” She gestured at the house.
As dusk fell, they lingered outside, enjoying their impromptu barbecue.
“Hello, love, hows it going?” came Margarets smooth voice over the phone.
When she was this sweet, she always wanted something.
“Mum, its brilliant!” Oliver beamed.
“Oh, I know. The grandkids mentioned you bought a cottage?”
“Thats right! Not just any cottagea proper countryside retreat!”
“Oh, listen to you,” Margaret laughed theatrically, then her tone dimmed. “Well, good for you…”
“How are you, Mum?” Oliver asked.
“Oh, whats there to say at my age? The doctors say I need peace, quiet, no stress. Maybe then Ill recover… But where do I find that? Spas are pricey, I cant afford it,” she hinted.
“Mum, come stay with us!” Oliver offered eagerly.
“Oh, love, dont be silly! As if youve got nothing better to do! And Emma wont want me there…”
“Mum, stop it. Just come.”
“Alright, Oliver, if you insist. Ill bake your favouritemy Victoria sponge.”
When Oliver told Emma his mum was visiting, she wasnt thrilled.
“So, we get a cottage, and suddenly her doctors prescribe fresh air?” Emma said dryly.
“Pretty much,” Oliver shrugged.
“Not suspicious at all, is it?”
“Nah, her blood pressures dodgy.”
“Ollie, youre missing it. Shes not here for her healthshes here to snoop!”
“Relax. Shell stay a week, then go home.”
“Forgotten what happened last time?”
Oliver had, but Emma hadnt. Margaret had done everything to wreck their marriagespreading gossip, stirring fights, implying Oliver was “too good” for her. Shed even sabotaged mealsoversalting stew, swapping sugar for salt. Emma had sent her packing on the first train back.
Emma had no doubt Margaret would stir trouble again. But she didnt want to turn Oliver against his mum. Maybe this time, things would be different?
“Oh, its lovely here, you two! Just paradise! The air, the trees, this adorable little house…” Margaret gushed. “This mustve been Emmas idea! Shes such a clever one. Hold onto her, Oliver, a wife like this is hard to find!”
“Thats new, Margaret. Whats brought this on?” Emma raised a brow.
“Oh, youve always been my favourite. My sons a bit daft, but you? Pure gold. Weve had our bumps, but let bygones be bygones…”
“So Im daft?” Oliver laughed.
“Yes, but my daft lad,” Margaret smiled. “Now, whats for dinner?”
“Barbecue, every night!” Emma grinned. “Hope thats alright? Were still obsessed with cooking outdoors.”
“Id love some. Last time I had kebabs was in Brighton, when Oliver was in school. Can you believe how long ago that was?”
“Well, Ollie, fire up the grill. Ill grab the meat.”
“Mind if I join? Fancy another look at the house.”
“Course not!” Emma nodded.
This time, Margaret seemed differentwarm, joking, especially with Emma. Maybe time had softened her. Why would she ruin things now? Theyd been together for years, had grown kids, a cottage. And Emma was a good wifepractical, loyal, a great cook.
While Oliver and his mum fetched plates, a phone buzzed, screen-up. Emmas gaze caught a message she couldnt unsee:
*When are you back in town? Have you told her about us? Waiting for news. Kisses.*
Emma dropped the phone onto the grass. Her mind raced.
*How do I tell the kids? Split the house? Who is she? How could Oliver do this?*
“Plates are here!” Oliver set them down.
“I need a minute,” Emma blurted, rushing inside to splash cold water on her face.
“Whats wrong?” Margaret barely dodged as Emma dashed past, knocking over a ketchup bottle.
Emma scrubbed her face, tears mixing with water. After a moment, she gripped the towel.
“Olivers seeing someone.”
“Oh, love…” Margaret hugged her. Strangely, she didnt seem surprised.
“You knew?”
“I hoped hed snap out of it. Youve been together since uni, have kids, a home. Like I saiddaft.”
Emma sobbed. If hed told his mum, it was serious. Their marriage was over.
“Listen. Dry those tears. You dont want a scene, do you?”
Emma shook her head.
“Well figure it out. Shes not having him that easily.”
That helped, just a little.
The next day, Oliver left for the city”to grab warmer clothes,” he said.
But Emma knew the real reason. She played along.
Once his car vanished, Margaret perched beside her on the porch and laid out her plan.
“You need a man.”
*”What?”*
“Not seriously. Just enough to make Oliver jealous. Sometimes men get bored, take their wives for granted. If he sees youre still desirable, he might wake up.”
Mad as it sounded, there was logic there.
“Whod we even use?”
“What about Nigel? Hes single. Helped build the place.”
“Call him. Kebabs, drinks, a short dress. Let Oliver come back to find his spot taken!” Margaret grinned.
Surprisingly, Nigel agreed, though theyd never been close.
“Wheres Oliver?” he asked.
“Back later. Im hopeless at grillingneed a mans touch,” Emma smiled.
Margaret watched from the window.
“More wine?” Nigel offered.
“Go on, but keep eating, or Ill get tipsy,” Emma flirted.
“Youre gorgeous, Em. Shame I dont have a woman like you. Dont tell Ollie, thoughjust thinking aloud.”
Emma flushed. What if he tried something? Oliver would be back soon. Thoughwhy should she care now?
Her thoughts spun. She took another sipthen tires crunched on gravel.
Oliver slammed the brakes, nearly hitting the fence.
“Whats going on here?!” he yelled.
“Ollie! Youre back early?”
“Mum rang, said you had a *suitor* over! And who is it? My best mate, Nigel!”
“Whats it to you? Sort out your *girlfriend*. Ill be single soon.”
“What girlfriend?”
*”The one you raced to see! I saw the text!”*
“I saw it toothought it was a wrong number. Theres no one!”
Emma glanced at the window. Margaret yanked the curtains shut.
“Mum! Get out here!”
“Oh, I was just having a laugh!” Margaret cackled. “You shouldve seen your faces!”
“You think *
