**When Family Turns to Strangers**
“Megan, Jeremy rang,” William stepped into the kitchen. “He and Samantha are coming this Saturday. Just the two of them. Says he wants to talk.”
“Oh, of course—talk,” Megan scoffed, rolling her eyes. “About the cottage, no doubt. Brace yourself—it’s going to be a ‘fair family discussion.’”
It had been just over two months since Aunt Margaret passed. She’d left William and Megan a two-bedroom flat in Central London and a quaint cottage near Brighton. For four years, they’d cared for her—groceries, hospital visits, even two spa retreats to help her recover. Meanwhile, Jeremy and Samantha only ever took—summer holidays at the cottage, dodging every plea for help when Margaret needed it most.
Saturday at four, Jeremy and Samantha stood at the door. Their greeting was stiff, no warmth in their smiles. They settled in the lounge, and Jeremy wasted no time.
“We’re here about the cottage. You got the flat—fine. But the cottage… We kept an eye on it. It’s only right you hand it over.”
“You didn’t keep an eye on it,” Megan said flatly. “You stayed there in summer. When Aunt Margaret was ill? Not one of you even called.”
“Stay out of it,” Samantha snapped.
“Shouldn’t I? I was in the will too. I know exactly how often you visited. Three times in four years. Once for the garden vegetables, another to drop off the kids, and a third for tea. That’s it.”
“So what? We’re family!” Samantha shot back. “You’re not seriously selling it?”
“Yes,” William answered. “We’ll tidy it up and put it on the market.”
“Fine, then—off you go!” Jeremy huffed. “Don’t act surprised when you end up alone!”
The next morning, the phone blared.
“What the hell is this?” Jeremy roared. “We went to the cottage with our nephew—the locks are changed!”
“Of course. The gate, the front door too. Should’ve called ahead. We’ll meet you there Saturday—collect your things. But you won’t set foot inside without us.”
“You absolute—”
William hung up calmly. Megan barely blinked.
“Good call changing the locks. Leave it to them, and there’d be nothing left.”
They sold the cottage. Sold their old flat too. Bought a sleek three-bed by the coast—just a ten-minute drive to the beach. Emily stayed in Aunt Margaret’s city flat while she finished university. William took a job at the docks, Megan kept teaching. Life settled into quiet contentment.
But peace never lasts. By March, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. “Family” had suddenly remembered William existed. First, it was Samantha.
“Right, we’re coming down in July. No cottage now, and we need a holiday. We’re not strangers!”
“You’re guests. And we didn’t invite you.”
“Have you seen rental prices in Brighton?!”
“No. But if it’s too dear, pick another town. Or a lake. We’re not hosting anyone.”
“Megan’s parents visited you!”
“Parents. Not in-laws dragging kids and grandkids along.”
“You’ll regret this. When you need help someday—don’t expect anyone to come!”
“Don’t worry. Between May and September, everyone remembers us. But November? February? Silence.”
And that silence—that was what William and Megan cherished most.
