When Family Comes Knocking: A Tale of Inheritance That Won’t Be Split Three Ways
Oliver walked into the room where his wife was watching a show and said quietly,
“Just had a call from my brother. He and Tamsin want to come over this Saturday. Said we need to talk.”
“Lovely! You know I’m always happy to have guests,” Emily smiled.
“Thing is, he mentioned it’ll be a serious chat,” Oliver added, giving her a wary look. “Just us two—no spouses.”
“Any idea what it’s about?” Emily tensed up.
Oliver hesitated, looked down… and then it hit him: the inheritance.
Two months ago, Oliver and Emily had officially become the legal heirs. Aunt Lydia, their mum’s older sister, had never married or had kids, living her life as a fiercely independent woman. When her health began to fail, she’d called on family for help. Only Oliver and Emily stepped up—taking her to appointments, buying groceries, covering carers, even organising her stays at a hospice. The rest? A birthday card now and then, if that.
No surprise, then, that Aunt Lydia left everything to them: a two-bed flat in central London and a cosy cottage in the Cotswolds.
Saturday came. Tamsin and Alexander arrived right on time. No smiles, no small talk. They sat down in the lounge and got straight to it.
“Fine, you got the flat. But the cottage? That’s just greedy,” Alexander started.
“We looked after it!” Tamsin jumped in. “Mowed the lawn, tended the garden. We spent every summer there with the kids.”
“And did you ever take Aunt Lydia out there?” Emily asked calmly. “Even once? She begged you to take her, just to get some fresh air…”
“We had our own lives. Kids, jobs…” Tamsin muttered.
“Exactly. So Aunt Lydia made her choice,” Oliver said quietly.
“You manipulated her!” Alexander snapped. “What kind of man hoards everything from his own family?!”
“And what kind of man fights over a crumbling cottage?” Oliver shot back, cool but firm.
They left in a huff. But the next morning, the phone rang.
“Oliver, did you change the bloody locks on the cottage?!” Alexander roared. “We came with our cousin Dave to collect our things, and we’re locked out!”
“Changed them. Because you didn’t ask. Come next Saturday—we’ll clear it out. Take whatever’s yours,” Oliver said, hanging up.
“You called it,” he said, turning to Emily.
“Did you really think they’d stop at just their things? They’d have stripped the place bare. You know your family.”
A month later, they sold both the cottage and their own three-bed terrace. They bought a spacious flat by the sea in Brighton—quiet neighbourhood, good schools nearby, and work was easy to find: Oliver got a job at the docks, Emily at a primary school.
Their daughter, Beatrice, stayed in Aunt Lydia’s flat while finishing uni.
Life seemed sorted. But then, come March, the calls started pouring in.
“No cottage anymore,” Tamsin said over the phone. “So we’re all coming to yours. First week of July. And we’re bringing little Charlie’s girl too!”
“Best book a hotel,” Oliver replied evenly. “We live here, we’re not a holiday let. And we’re not hosting.”
“Your in-laws stayed with you last September!” Tamsin spat.
“Because they’re my wife’s parents. Ours would’ve been welcome too, if they were still here. But we’ve no room for your lot.”
“You’re selfish!” she snapped. “Remember this, brother—when you need help, don’t come crying to family!”
“Funny, this past year’s been like a mushroom season after rain—family popping up everywhere. Though they only seem to remember us between May and September. Don’t worry, we’ve got plenty of ‘family’,” Oliver smirked.
And he hung up.
