**A Ring That Changed Everything…**
Oliver brought his fiancée, Harriet, to his mother’s cottage in the countryside near Bath. “What a house!” Harriet gasped, taking in the two-story manor with its intricate oak beams. “It’s nothing special,” Oliver said modestly. “Mum adores it, though.” A woman with a warm smile stepped out to greet them. “This is my mother, Eleanor. Mum, this is Harriet.” “Come in, I’ve baked pies for you—perfect after your journey,” Eleanor invited. At the table, Harriet bit into a fragrant cabbage pie, only for her teeth to strike something hard. “What’s this?!” she exclaimed, pulling out a gleaming object that stole her breath.
* * *
“What are you doing here?” Harriet froze in the doorway, finding her ex-husband, James, casually sipping tea in her kitchen as if he belonged there. “Tea?” he offered, not looking up. “I asked what you’re doing here,” she repeated through gritted teeth. “Drinking tea?” he shrugged. “Why are you here? And how did you get a key? You said you lost it!” Her fists clenched. “Found it,” he said airily. “Harriet… I want to come back. Can I?”
“You walked out, and now you just waltz back?” she sneered. “Seriously?” “I’m sorry,” James murmured. “I realised life was better with you. Please.” “No,” she cut him off. “Finish your tea and leave.” “Where am I supposed to go? The flat’s yours now,” he pressed. “You have parents,” she snapped. “And I paid you every penny for your share. It’s mine.” Their divorce had been brutal. The mortgage-flat had been the battleground—James demanded it all, arguing his new woman had given him a child, while he and Harriet had none. But her parents had paid most of the deposit, and in court, James settled for compensation. Harriet took a loan, settled the debt, and now the flat was hers alone.
“Why do you need such a big place just for you?” James smirked. “Who says it’s just me?” Harriet arched a brow. “Mum said you live alone. Maybe we could start fresh?” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Never. Finish your tea and go.” “Why so harsh? Fine, I’ll leave. But this isn’t over.” Harriet realised she’d never reclaimed her key—or he’d made a copy. “I’ll change the locks,” she decided, her chest tight with the bitterness of his betrayal. Love had long faded; only resentment remained.
The next evening, her former mother-in-law, Margaret, arrived—a woman who’d never interfered before. “Harriet, dear. Still as lovely as ever,” she began. “My James is a fool. I told him not to let you go.” “That’s in the past,” Harriet said coldly. “What do you want?” “Reconcile? You were happy once.” “No. He has his life, I have mine. I owe him nothing.” “For old times’ sake, let him stay. Maybe things’ll mend.” “They won’t.”
“He’s in trouble,” Margaret admitted. “Up to his ears in debt. That woman cleaned him out—turns out the baby wasn’t even his. Now he’s back.” “How tragic,” Harriet scoffed. “Am I supposed to bail him out? Let him sort his own mess.” “He’s got nowhere to live.” “What about you?” “My pension won’t stretch that far.” “Well, I won’t support him. And he’s not moving in. Goodbye.” “Think it over. He’s changed.” “I’ll think,” Harriet muttered, knowing she wouldn’t. It was over.
By morning, a locksmith arrived. As he worked, James reappeared. “Who are you?” he challenged. “Who’re *you*?” the man shot back. “Oliver, come here!” Harriet called from the hall. Lowering her voice, she pleaded, “Play along. He’s my ex. Say you’re my fiancé. I’ll pay extra.” “No problem, love,” Oliver winked. Returning to the door, he crossed his arms. “Still here? What d’you want?” “I came to see my wife,” James said. “Ex-wife,” Oliver corrected. “She’s mine now. Wedding’s soon.” “She never mentioned you.” “You never asked. Now scram—toss that key while you’re at it.” James stormed out, slamming the door.
“Thank you,” Harriet exhaled. “How much do I owe?” “For chatting with your ex? A cuppa’ll do.” “Really?” “Tea’s fine. I don’t touch stronger stuff. My dad used to pull this—begging for cash, refusing to return keys. I delivered papers to pay for new locks. Useless, he was.” “Well, *he* won’t be back,” Harriet said, relieved.
On Saturday, the doorbell rang. “Not again,” she groaned—but it was Oliver. “Morning! Fancy a trip? Mum’s got a place in the Cotswolds. Or we could stroll through town. Up for it?” “The countryside,” Harriet brightened. “Haven’t been in ages.” “Meet you downstairs.” Outside, she gaped at the sleek Land Rover. “Nice wheels!” “What, you expected a rusted Mini?” Oliver grinned.
The village was a half-hour drive. “This isn’t a cottage—it’s an estate!” Harriet marveled at the stone manor. “Grandmother’s. Now Mum’s. No veg patches, just roses and apple trees. Our escape.” Eleanor welcomed them warmly. “Harriet! Come in, I’ve made scones.” The house glowed with polish, the aroma whisking Harriet back to childhood visits. “Just like Gran used to bake,” she smiled. “Walk down to the lake,” Eleanor urged. “It’s glorious.”
The weekend flew by. “Enjoyed it?” Oliver asked on the drive back. “Immensely!” “Then, as your fiancé, I’m inviting you fishing next week. Ever tried it?” Harriet laughed. “Wait—*what* fiancé?” “Since I booted your ex.” They burst out laughing. All summer, they escaped to the manor, sometimes with Eleanor spoiling them with pies.
One evening over tea, Oliver handed Harriet a meat pasty. “Try this.” She bit down—then froze. “Eleanor, I think your ring slipped in!” she said, tugging out a diamond. “No, dear,” Eleanor chuckled. “That’s yours.” “*Mine?*” Harriet gasped. “I’m rubbish at romance,” Oliver admitted. “Mum’s out with the neighbours. Just us.” When Eleanor left, he met Harriet’s gaze. “Marry me?” “Yes,” she breathed. “Fancy another pasty?” “Absolutely. And… I think we’re expecting.” “*What?* Why didn’t you say?” “Not certain yet. But it’s likely.”
Eleanor glowed at the news. “This is joy!” They wed quietly, with only family. Harriet’s flat became their home, while Oliver’s bachelor pad was rented out. The manor was their sanctuary, where their children grew under Eleanor’s doting eye. “Should thank your ex,” Oliver teased once. “If he hadn’t turned up, I’d never have changed your locks.” Harriet laughed, the ring on her finger warming her heart. “Suppose I owe him that.”
