**My Husband Sent Me to an Old Village with Three Kids, and a Week Later I Found Something That Changed Our Lives Forever**
What did you say? Emily froze, a cold dread creeping through her. James stood by the door, clutching a set of keys, his usually cheerful face tight with frustration.
I cant do this anymore, he repeated flatly. Neither can Mum. Pack up the kids and go to Little Wellingford. Your grans cottage is still standing, the roofs intact. Youll manage.
Emily stared at him as if he were a stranger. Ten years of marriage, three childrenand this was his answer. A dying village, barely more than a handful of houses, no shops, not even proper roads.
Why she began, but he cut her off.
Because Im exhausted, James said, avoiding her eyes. The constant complaints, the endless whingeing, you just sitting at home with the kids. Mums rightyouve turned into a proper little housewife. I dont even recognise the woman I married anymore.
Tears burned in her throat, but Emily swallowed them. Behind the wall, the children were asleepSophie and Oliver, and the eldest, William, likely heard every word.
How am I supposed to work? How will we live? Her voice was barely a whisper. James tossed an envelope onto the table.
Theres money to start. And the cottage deedstheyve been in your name for years. If youre so independent, prove it now.
Without another word, he turned and left. A moment later, the front door slammed.
Emily sank into a chair, one absurd thought circling her mind: *I made his favourite apple crumble yesterday. For pudding.*
The cottage greeted them with damp chill. Emily stepped inside, little Sophie drowsy in her arms, and felt her chest tighten. This was where shed spent childhood summersGrans baking, the attic full of dried lavender, jars of homemade jam in the pantry. Now, it was just dust, cobwebs, and the sour tang of neglect.
William, too serious for his age, marched in and threw open the shutters. Sunlight streamed through grimy windows, catching motes of dust in the air.
Its freezing, Oliver grumbled, arms wrapped around himself.
Well light the fire soon, itll warm up, Emily said, forcing confidence into her voice. Will you help me, William?
The boy nodded, still refusing to meet her eyes. He hadnt spoken a word since overhearing his parents last conversation.
Thankfully, the old fireplace still worked. As flames licked at the kindling and warmth filled the room, Emily exhaled slightly.
Mum, are we staying here forever? Oliver asked, poking at faded photos on the wall.
I dont know, love, she admitted. Lets get settled first, then well see.
That first night, they all squeezed into Grans big bed. The children fell asleep quickly, worn out from the move. Emily lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering how life had brought her here.
At dawn, slipping free from the tangle of sleeping children, she stepped outside. The garden was a jungle of weeds. The apple trees, once heavy with fruit, were now gnarled and broken. The shed leaned dangerously, and the well was choked with moss.
Emily surveyed her new kingdomand laughed, sharp and bitter. Here it was. Her fresh start.
The first week was a blur of exhaustion. Each morning, she woke half-expecting to be back in their London flat, to hear the coffee machine humming and James voice.
Mummy, whens Daddy coming? Sophie asked, used to their weekend walks. Soon, sweetheart, Emily lied, unsure how to explain what she didnt understand herself.
Her phone stayed silent. James ignored her calls. Once, a single text arrived: *Youve got what you need. Give me time.*
*Time for what?* To realise he missed them? Or to wipe them from his life entirely?
By weeks end, it was clear the money James left wouldnt last. The chimney needed fixing, the roof leaked, and groceries didnt buy themselves. Worst of all, there were no jobs in Little Wellingford.
Maybe you ought to go back to London? suggested Margaret, one of the few remaining neighbours. Emily shook her head. Theres nothing to go back to. At least here, weve got a roof.
That afternoon, she decided to tackle the garden. The soil, untended for years, was thick with weeds, but Emily remembered how generous Grans plot had been.
William, can you help? she asked her eldest. He just nodded, still silent and distant.
They worked side by side, yanking up roots and breaking clumps of earth. Hands used to tapping keyboards and folding laundry quickly blistered. By evening, her back ached as if shed been kicked. And theyd only cleared a tiny patch.
Mum, William suddenly broke his days-long silence. Why are we doing this?
For vegetablespotatoes, carrots, tomatoes, she began.
No, I mean why are we *here*? he interrupted. Why dont we go home? What happened with you and Dad?
Emily straightened, wiping sweat from her brow. How did you explain to a child that his father had left them? That his grandmother had always thought her unworthy? Or that there might be another woman?
We need time to figure things out, she said carefully. Sometimes grown-ups need space
To decide if they still love each other, William finished, his voice edged with a bitterness too old for his years. Is it because of that lady? The one at Dads work party?
Emily froze. *Eleanor*tall, polished, always laughing at James jokes. Just a colleague, hed said when she noticed how late hed been working.
Maybe, she admitted. But rememberDad loves you three. And I Ill make sure youre happy, even here.
William studied her, then stepped forward and hugged her tight. His arms were strong, almost grown-up.
Well be alright, Mum, he said firmly. You and me. Well sort it.
That night, after the children slept, Emily sat by the window, staring at stars brighter than any in London. For the first time since arriving, she didnt feel despairjust a strange, quiet strength, as if the earth beneath the cottage was holding her up.
From then on, she worked the garden daily, now with Oliver and Sophie joining in. The children, once fussy, threw themselves into plans for a magic garden. Sophie even sketched flower beds between the vegetablesto make it pretty, like the park.
Then, one afternoon, the spade struck something hard with a metallic *clink*.
A rock? Oliver guessed, crouching closer.
Emily brushed away soiland froze. In her palm lay a coin, old and heavier than a pound. She rubbed it clean on her jeans, revealing a mans profilea king, perhaps.
Mum, is it treasure? Sophie whispered, eyes wide.
Just an old coin, Emily smiled. Probably Gran dropped it years ago.
But something told her Gran wouldnt have been so careless.
By evening, theyd found twelve more coins scattered across the plot.
After the children slept, Emily spread them on the table. Under lamplight, she traced the dates1897, 1899. Victorian gold sovereigns, she guessed. Rare. Valuable.
She barely slept, mind racing. If these *were* gold, what were they worth? Where had they come from? Andmost importantlywas there more?
The next morning, she rang the only person who could helpUncle Edward, her fathers brother, living in the nearby market town.
Eddie, she said hesitantly, I found old coins in Grans garden. Gold, I think. With a kings head
Sovereigns? he cut in, voice sharp with excitement. Emily, are you serious?
I dont know, but they seem real
Stay put, he ordered. Tell *no one*. Ill be there by lunch.
He arrived right on time, his battered Land Rover rattling up the lane. Grey-haired, in a waxed jacket, but with bright, keen eyes. She hadnt seen him since Aunt Claras funeral three years back.
Uncle Edward examined one coin, turned it, even bit it lightly.
Gold, he declared. Proper collectors pieces. Em, do you have any idea what youve dug up?
She shook her head.
Its a hoard. A real one, he said, lowering his voice. Each of these is worth thousands. And if theres more
But where did they come from? Emily frowned. Gran never had money like this.
Edward smirked.
You dont know? Your Gran married a local chap, George Hartley. But before that, she was a *Wentworth*.
