When Family Turns to Strangers
“Tanya, I just had Yuri on the phone,” Michael stepped into the kitchen. “He and Marina are coming over on Saturday. Just the two of them. Says he wants to talk.”
“Oh, of course he does,” Tanya scoffed. “About the cottage, no doubt. Brace yourself—there’ll be a ‘fair family redistribution’ coming our way.”
It had been just over two months since Aunt Lydia passed. She left Michael and Tanya her two-bedroom flat in the city centre and a cottage near Brighton. For four years, they’d looked after her—brought groceries, took her to doctors, even sent her to a wellness retreat twice. The others—Yuri and Marina—only took. Spent summers at the cottage, but whenever Aunt Lydia needed a ride there, they were always “too busy.”
On Saturday at four, Yuri and Marina stood at their door. Brief, cold greetings. No smiles. They settled in the sitting room, and Yuri cut straight to it:
“We’re here about the cottage. You got the flat—fine. But the cottage… We’ve kept an eye on it. Fair’s fair—you should hand it over to us.”
“You didn’t keep an eye on anything,” Tanya said flatly. “You stayed there in summer. When Aunt Lydia was ill, neither of you even called.”
“Stay out of it,” Marina snapped.
“Why should I? I’m in the will too. And I know exactly how often you visited Lydia. Three times in four years. Once for her homemade chutney, the second to dump your kids on her, the third for a cuppa. That’s it.”
“So what? We’re family!” Marina hissed. “Now what, you’re just going to sell it?”
“Yes,” Michael said. “We’ll tidy it up and list it.”
“Fine, off you go then!” Yuri growled. “Don’t come crying when you’re left with no one!”
The next day, the phone rang.
“What the hell are you playing at?!” Yuri shouted. “We drove to the cottage with our nephew, and the locks are changed!”
“Naturally. The gate and front door too. Should’ve called ahead. We’ll meet you there Saturday—collect your things. But you’re not stepping foot inside without us.”
“You absolute—”
Michael hung up, calm. Tanya didn’t even blink.
“Smart call, changing the locks. Otherwise, there’d be nothing left.”
They sold the cottage. Sold their old flat too. Bought a new three-bedroom in a seaside estate—a ten-minute drive to the beach. Natalie kept the city flat for university. Michael took a job at the docks; Tanya taught at the local school. Life settled into quiet.
Not for long. By March, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. “Family” suddenly remembered Michael existed. Marina called first:
“Listen, we’re bringing the family down in July. No cottage now, but we need a break. 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 steep, pick another town. Or a lake. We’re not hosting.”
“Tanya’s parents stayed with you!”
“Her parents. Not in-laws with kids and grandkids in tow.”
“You’ll regret this. One day you’ll need help—and no one’ll lift a finger!”
“Relax. Between May and September, everyone remembers us. But November? February? Silence.”
That silence was what Michael and Tanya treasured most.
