“Oh, what are you doing here? We didnt think youd show up” muttered the sister-in-law, baffled, as she spotted Rita standing on the doorstep of her own country cottage.
Rita turned off the engine and stared at the little house through the windscreen. Everything seemed the samethe same blue roof, the same birch trees lining the perimeter, the same gate her father had once painted green. The only odd thing was the light glowing on the porch. Maybe the neighbours? Though the neighbours knew Rita hadnt visited in nearly a year.
She reached for her bag in the back seatthen froze. Someone was walking around the property. A figure darted between the apple trees, then reappeared, closer to the house. A woman in a T-shirt and shorts, holding a child in her arms.
“What on earth” Rita muttered under her breath as she climbed out of the car.
She stepped up to the gate and stopped dead. Voices drifted from inside the houselaughter, the clinking of dishes. Baby clothes hung drying on the porch. Two adult bikes and a childs one leaned against the shed. And the gate the gate wasnt locked. She pushed it, and it swung open with a familiar creak.
Her feet carried her to the front door without thinking. Only one thought pounded in her headsomeone was living here. In her house. The front door was ajar, and in the hallway, Rita nearly tripped over a pair of kids sandals. Strange coats hung on the hooks, two large suitcases sat in the corner, and a toy basket overflowed with plastic dinosaurs.
Her heart hammered in her throat. She listeneda womans voice from the kitchen, talking about a trip to the woods tomorrow, then a childs giggle and the scrape of cutlery. The smell of fried potatoes and herbs filled the air.
“Mum, can we go to the river tomorrow?” a boys voice piped up.
“Well see, Tommy. If it doesnt rain”
Rita took a step toward the kitchen. Then another. She froze in the doorway.
A man in his mid-thirties in a checked shirt sat at the table, next to a woman about the same ageblonde hair tied back in a ponytail. A toddler girl perched on her lap, while across from them, a little boy waved his fork around, chattering excitedly.
The woman spotted Rita first. Her face went slack, her eyes widening. A teacup slipped from her hands and shattered on the floor.
“Ohwhat are you doing here?” she stammered, flustered. “We didnt think youd come back!”
Rita recognised the voice. Emma. Her ex-husbands sister. The sister-in-law whod always been so sweet while Rita was married to Davidbut vanished the moment the divorce papers were signed.
“Emma?” Ritas voice came out hoarse. “What are you doing here?”
The manpresumably Emmas husbandslowly stood. His face was flushed with embarrassment. The kids fell silent, staring at the stranger in their kitchen.
“Rita” he began. “We thoughtwell, Dave said you werent using the place. That it was just sitting empty.”
“Dave said that?” Rita felt heat rising in her cheeks. “And what else did Dave say?”
Emma picked up the broken cup, still holding her daughter, who sniffled and clung tighter.
“Wewe didnt think youd mind,” Emma rushed out, nerves fraying. “Its our only holiday this year, and renting somewhere was too expensive. Dave said the keys were still around from when we used to visit. Remember? Your birthday, three years ago”
“The keys were still here,” Rita repeated slowly. “So you just decided to move in?”
“We wouldve asked!” Emmas husband cut in. “But your numberwe didnt have a way to reach you.”
Rita blinked. Were they seriously acting like the only issue was that they hadnt asked first? As if shed have happily handed over her house if theyd just texted?
“How long have you been here?” Rita demanded.
“A week,” Emma admitted quietly. “We were planning to stay another ten days”
“Ten days,” Rita echoed flatly.
A heavy silence settled over the kitchen. The boy carefully put down his fork, glancing between his parents. The toddler on Emmas lap started to whimper, sensing the tension.
“Look, Rita,” Emmas husband tried. “We didnt mean any harm. The place was just gathering dust. Weve been cleaning, watering the plantsits not worse off for us being here.”
“Not worse off?” Ritas voice went sharp. “You broke into my house and made yourselves at home, and you think thats fine?”
“We didnt break in!” Emma snapped. “Dave had the keys! We thought”
“What? That I was dead? That this place was up for grabs?”
Emma tightened her grip on her daughter. Her face had gone pale.
“You dont understand,” she said, voice shaking. “We only get two weeks off a year. We cant afford a holiday home. The kids were so excited”
“And thats my problem how?” Rita stepped forward, and the whole family instinctively shrank back. “This is my house. Mine. I inherited it from my father!”
“We know,” Emmas husband muttered. “We just thought”
“You thought wrong.”
The boy burst into tears. Rita flinched, looking at hima skinny eight-year-old with messy hair, tears streaming down his face.
“Mum, do we have to go?” he sobbed. “What about the river? And my bike?”
Ritas chest clenched. The kids werent to blame. Theyd just wanted a holiday. Butthis was her home. Her one quiet place.
“Rita” Emma pleaded. “Please. Just a few more days. Weve got all the food, the kids were so happy”
“And where am I supposed to stay?” Rita snapped. “On the street?”
“The house is big,” Emmas husband offered cautiously. “Plenty of rooms. We can make space”
Rita shot him a look that shut him up instantly.
“Make space? In my own house?”
She scanned the kitchen. Strange plates on the table, strange mugs in the sink. A bunch of wildflowers in her mothers old vase. The smell of roast potatoes still lingering.
Theyd settled in like they belonged here. Like it wasnt theft.
“Wheres David?” Rita demanded suddenly.
Emma and her husband exchanged glances.
“David? Why?”
“Because hes the one who handed out my keys. So where is he?”
“Hes in town,” Emma said reluctantly. “Busy with work.”
“Right. Work.” Rita smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Handing out other peoples houses isnt part of his job, is it?”
The toddler on Emmas lap started crying again. The boy hiccuped into his sleeve.
“Rita, please,” Emma begged. “We used to be family. Doesnt that mean anything?”
“Family?” Rita scoffed. “We were family until I divorced your brother. After that, we were strangers.”
“But”
“No buts.” Rita cut her off. “And even if we were still family, that doesnt give you the right to move into my house!”
Emma set her daughter down and straightened up, something defiant in her eyes.
“You know what, Rita?” she said, voice firmer than before. “Fine. Kick us out. But think about itthis place was empty for a year. We aired it out, cleaned it, fixed up the garden. Maybe stop being so selfish?”
Rita just stared, blinking, unsure how to respond.
“Selfish?” she finally echoed. “Im selfish because I dont let strangers live in my house?”
“Were not strangers!” Emma shot back. “Weve known each other for years! And its not like you were even using this place!”
“And how would you know that?” Ritas voice dropped dangerously low. “Maybe I was planning to move in for the summer?”
“Planning?” Emma scoffed. “You werent here last summer. Or the one before that.”
Ritas fists clenched. The nerve of this womanfirst sneaking into her home, then acting like she had the right to criticise.
“Listen carefully,” Rita said, slow and deliberate. “Tomorrow morning, you pack up and leave. No arguments.”
“Rita, have you lost your mind?” Emma snapped, stepping forward, eyes blazing. “How can you be so heartless?”
“Ive lost my mind?” Rita let out a sharp laugh. “Youre the ones squatting in my house!”
The boy burst into tears again, and the little girl wailed. The sound filled the kitchen, bouncing off the walls.
“See what youve done?” Emma yelled over the noise. “Happy now?”
Rita looked at the crying children, her chest tight. Part of her pitied themthey didn
