When Family Turns Distant
“Emily, it was James on the phone,” William said as he stepped into the kitchen. “He and Charlotte are coming over this Saturday. Just the two of them. Says he wants to talk.”
“Oh, I’m sure he does,” Emily scoffed. “About the cottage, no doubt. Brace yourself—it’ll be a ‘fair family discussion’ about splitting it up.”
It had been just over two months since Aunt Margaret passed away. She had left William and Emily a two-bedroom flat in central London and a cottage near Brighton. For four years, they had cared for her—bringing groceries, taking her to doctor’s appointments, even sending her to a spa retreat twice. Meanwhile, James and Charlotte had only taken—spending summers at the cottage but never around when Margaret needed help.
At four o’clock on Saturday, James and Charlotte stood at the door. Their greetings were stiff, lacking warmth. They settled in the living room, and James wasted no time.
“We’ve come about the cottage. You got the flat—fine. But the cottage… We’ve kept an eye on it. We think it’s only fair if you let us have it.”
“You didn’t keep an eye on it,” Emily said calmly. “You stayed there in the summers. When Margaret was ill, neither of you even called.”
“Stay out of this,” Charlotte snapped.
“Why should I? I was in the will too. And I know exactly how often you visited Margaret. Three times in four years—once for aubergines from her garden, another to bring the kids, and a third for tea. That’s it.”
“So what? We’re family!” Charlotte huffed. “Are you seriously planning to sell it?”
“Yes,” William replied. “We’ll tidy it up and put it on the market.”
“Well, good riddance!” James muttered. “Don’t act surprised when you’re left with no one!”
The next day, the phone rang.
“What’s the meaning of this?!” James shouted. “We took our nephew to the cottage, and the locks are changed!”
“Of course. The gate and the front door too. You should’ve called ahead. We’ll meet you there Saturday to collect your things. But not without us.”
“You absolute—”
William hung up calmly. Emily didn’t even blink.
“Smart call changing the locks. If you hadn’t, there’d be nothing left.”
They sold the cottage. Sold their old flat, too, and bought a new three-bedroom house in a seaside estate—just a ten-minute drive from the beach. Their daughter, Sophie, kept the London flat while she finished university. William took a job at the docks, and Emily taught at a secondary school. Life settled into peace.
But not for long. By March, the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. “Family” suddenly remembered William existed. Charlotte was first.
“So, we’re coming to stay with you in July. We don’t have a holiday home anymore, and we need a break. We’re not strangers!”
“You’re guests. And we didn’t invite you.”
“Have you seen the prices for rentals in Brighton?!”
“No. But if it’s too dear, pick another town. Or a lake. We’re not hosting.”
“Emily’s parents visited 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 will come!”
“Don’t worry. From May to September, everyone remembers us. But November to February? Silence.”
And that silence—that was what William and Emily valued most of all. Greed fades when the sun sets, but kindness lingers in every season.
