Rita turned off the engine and stared at the cottage through the windscreen. Nothing seemed differentthe same blue roof, the same birch trees lining the perimeter, the same green gate her father had painted years ago. The only oddity was the light on the porch. Neighbors? But the neighbors knew she hadnt visited in nearly a year.
She reached for her bag on the back seatthen froze. Someone was walking across the garden. A figure darted between the apple trees before reappearing, closer to the house. A woman in a T-shirt and shorts, carrying a child.
“What on earth” Rita muttered, stepping out of the car.
She approached the gate and stopped dead. Voices, laughter, and the clatter of dishes drifted from inside. Baby clothes dried on the porch. Bikestwo adult-sized and one childswere parked under the awning. And the gate the gate was unlocked. Rita pushed it open with a familiar creak.
Her feet carried her to the front door. Only one thought pulsed in her head: someone was living in her house. The door was ajar, and in the hallway, she nearly tripped over a pair of tiny sandals. Strangers coats hung on the hooks, two large suitcases sat in the corner, and a basket of toys lay nearby.
Her heart thudded in her throat. From the kitchen, a womans voice prattled about tomorrows woodland walk, followed by a childs giggle and the scrape of plates. The smell of fried potatoes and dill hung in the air.
“Mum, can we go to the river tomorrow?” a boys voice piped up.
“Well see, Oliver. If it doesnt rain”
Rita took a step forward. Then another. She froze in the kitchen doorway.
A man in his mid-thirties, wearing a checkered shirt, sat at the table. Beside him was a woman with blonde hair tied in a ponytail, a toddler on her lap. Across from them, a little boy waved his fork, chattering excitedly.
The woman noticed Rita first. Her face went slack. The mug in her hand slipped, smashing on the floor.
“What are you doing here?” she stammered. “We didnt think youd turn up”
Rita recognised the voice. Emma. Her ex-husbands sister. The in-law whod been all smiles and niceties when Rita was married to James. After the divorce? Radio silence.
“Emma?” Ritas voice came out hoarse. “What are you doing in my house?”
Emmas husbandpresumablyrose slowly from his chair, his face flushed. The children fell silent, staring at the unfamiliar woman.
“Rita,” he began, “we thought Well, James said you never came here anymore. That the place was just sitting empty.”
“James said that?” Ritas face burned. “What else did James say?”
Emma scooped up the broken mug, still holding her daughter. The little girl whimpered, burrowing into her mothers shoulder.
“Look, we didnt mean any harm,” Emma babbled, flustered. “Were on holiday, and renting somewhere was too expensive. James said he still had keys from when we all used to visit. Remember? Your birthday three years ago”
“You just *let yourselves in*?” Ritas voice sharpened.
“We wouldve asked!” the husband cut in. “But we didnt have your number.”
Rita blinked. Were they genuinely suggesting the only issue was a lack of *permission*?
“How long have you been here?”
“A week,” Emma admitted. “We planned to stay another ten days.”
Rita exhaled slowly. Silence settled over the kitchen. The boy put down his fork, glancing nervously at his parents. The toddler sniffled, sensing tension.
“Listen, Rita,” the husband tried. “We didnt steal anything. Weve been cleaning, watering the plantsits not worse off.”
“Not worse off?” Ritas voice pitched higher. “You broke into my house and set up camp!”
“We didnt *break in*!” Emma bristled. “James had the keys!”
“And since when does James decide who stays in *my* home?”
Emma clutched her daughter tighter. “Youre being unreasonable. The house was just sitting here!”
Rita clenched her fists. The audacityfirst squatting, then acting like *she* was the problem.
“Pack your things. Youre leaving. Tonight.”
Emmas lips thinned. “Fine. But youre heartless.”
The family left in a flurry of tears and muttered complaints. Rita watched their car vanish down the lane, then bolted the gate.
Silence at last.
Yet unease gnawed at her. The kitchen still smelled of their dinner. A childs sock lay abandoned under the bed.
The next morning, she called a locksmith. New locks, new keysno spare copies.
Over the next month, Rita made the cottage hers againfresh paint, new furniture, even security cameras. No more uninvited guests.
Emma never called back. James didnt return.
Some lessons, it seemed, had to be taught the hard way.
