“Who on earth has been messing up in here? Call your family and tell them to come sort this out,” I grumbled. “Im not cleaning up after them. Ive had enough of washing sheets every time your mates come over. Theyve made a habit of crashing at our cottage.”
“Listen, Mum rang earlier,” my husband said over dinner. “She and the relatives are planning a barbecue this weekend.”
“Good for her,” I snapped. “Let them go. Whats it got to do with us?” Ive never exactly warmed to my mother-in-law.
“Well, they want to use our cottage,” Tom explained, as if it were obvious. “They dont have one, and Ive got to be at the garage on Saturday. I told them we couldnt go, so she asked for the keys.”
I had no choice but to agreesomething I later regretted. When we went to the cottage the next weekend, I froze at the sight. It looked like a bomb had hit it.
The berries Id picked were gone, the floors were filthy, and an old pot of soup sat abandoned on the stove. The kitchen curtain was missing. I couldnt even imagine what had happened. His parents were in their sixties, for heavens sake.
I let Tom have it.
“Who on earth has been here? Ring your family and tell them to clean this up! Im not doing it. Im sick of washing sheets after your friends crash at our place.”
“Dont make a fuss. Just toss them in the washing machine and hang them up.”
“Next time, you do it! Are you seriously fine with the state of our cottage?”
But he never called anyone. I gave him the silent treatment until we made up. Wed only been married two yearsmarried for love, though lately, I wondered if Id rushed into it. No kids yet.
Life went on as usualwork, home, home, work. Weekends were for walks or trips with friends. Everything changed when my mum suddenly remarried and moved to another city. Our family cottage passed to me.
Suddenly, Toms whole family adored me. Now everyone wanted an invite to the cottage. Who doesnt love a good barbecue outdoors?
Relatives popped up out of nowherecousins, uncles, aunts, even Toms grandmother. They all flocked to the cottage for the river and the grill. And, of course, Toms mates tagged along.
Everyone stayed overnight. Tom happily manned the barbecue. It was exhausting, but I didnt want to ruin relationships. Still, something had to give.
Weekends became something I dreaded. When we married, Toms mum was already oldershed had him late. His sister, Mary, was ten years older. His mum was from the countryside and acted like everything was communal.
She and Mary helped themselves to everythingcream, shampoo, sponges, even my slippers. Then she called again, asking for the keys. This time, Mary wanted to take her boss for a weekend getaway. Barbecue included.
As usual, no one asked how I felt.
“Well give Mum the keys,” Tom said. He remembered my reaction last time but didnt bring it up.
I knew I had to actand Tom wasnt on my side. After weighing my options, I rang Mum and complained.
“Ill call you back,” she said briskly.
Twenty minutes later, she rang. “Your aunts coming to the cottage with her husband for a bit. Dont worryAunt Helen will handle it.”
I gasped. Aunt Helen terrified me. Childhood summers at her place had left a lasting impression. Oh yes, Helen knew how to lay down the law.
She called that evening.
“Honestly, dear, you shouldve called me sooner. How do you want me to handle thislightly or full force?” She chuckled, already enjoying the thought.
I shuddered. “Did you tell them the cottage is in your name?” she asked.
“I dont think so. They all assume its mine.”
“Dont worry, love. Ill sort it.”
On Sunday, Toms furious mum called. “You sold the cottage? Wheres the money? Why didnt you tell us?”
Turns out, Mary, her boss, and Toms parents arrived to find a group of five already grilling in the garden.
“Who are you?” his mum gasped.
“And who might you be?” Aunt Helen replied coolly, stepping forward. “I own this cottage. I dont know you. How did you get in?”
Awkward silence. Mary babbled about family ties and borrowed keys. Aunt Helens glare shut her up fast. His mum stayed silent.
They took the keys, politely asked them to leave, and warned against returningunless they fancied explaining how they got hold of someone elses property.
I heard his mum shrieking through the phone. Tom was stunned, speechless.
“Give the phone to your wife.” He handed it over.
“That cottage isnt yours!” she spat.
“Did you ever ask?” I kept my voice steady. “Or did you just decide everythings yours, including whats ours?”
“Do you realise Mary invited her boss? There are layoffs comingshe was trying to impress her! If shes sacked, its on you!”
“How is that my fault? Aunt Helen owns it. She came to relax. You never asked me. Buy your own place if you want to barbecue.”
“Im never going backand neither is my family,” Tom snapped.
We had our first real fight. He was livid. Mary got sacked. “Ill never forgive you for this,” he said. “My family loved you, and you lied to us.”
I was sure Mary was fired for other reasons. And suddenly, I didnt feel guilty at all. I hadnt started this. Our marriage had hit a wall.
“Mum, I think Im divorcing Tom.”
“Your choice, love. But where will you live? Ive rented my flat out. You could stay with Helen.”
“Thanks ever so,” I muttered. “Ill rent somewhere.”
I filed for divorce, moved out, and stopped going to the cottage.
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