**Diary Entry 12th December**
The words still echo in my mind*”Youre not needed anymore.”* My son, Andrew, took the keys from my hands, his voice flat, his eyes avoiding mine.
*”Mum, enough with the drama! We agreed to talk this through calmly!”* Andrew drummed his fingers on the table, tension lining his face. Hes forty-two now, but the worry made him look oldergrey at his temples, deep creases on his forehead.
I sat across from him in my little kitchen, where everything had its place, where the air always smelled of fresh scones and tea. My hands trembled, but my voice was steady.
*”What drama? Im only asking why you and Marina decided to sell the cottage without consulting me.”*
*”Because its in my name. You transferred it to me five years ago, remember?”*
*”I remember. But I thoughtI assumed it was just paperwork. To make things easier.”*
He stood, pacing the small space. *”Mum, we need the money. Marinas business failed; weve debts hanging over us. Emilys at university nowdorm fees, living costs…”*
*”I can help. Ive savings”*
*”Your savings are pennies, Mum. Sorry, but a pension of a few hundred a month wont fix this.”*
I walked to the window. Outside, the first snow of winter was falling, thick flakes drifting lazily.
*”Your father planted every tree in that garden. The apple tree by the arbouryou helped him, you were seven.”*
*”I remember,”* he said quietly.
*”We built the greenhouse together when you were fifteen. You promised youd bring your children there one day. My grandchildren.”*
*”Plans change, Mum.”*
*”Plans,”* I turned to him. *”What about memories? Every corner of that place is our history. Your childhood, your youth.”*
The doorbell rang. Marina stood there, polished and poised in an expensive coat. *”Well? Have you talked?”* she asked, brushing past me.
*”Marina, hello,”* I said.
*”Hello,”* she replied dismissively. *”Andrew, we need to go. The estate agents waiting.”*
*”What estate agent?”* I asked.
*”The one selling the cottage. Hes got buyers lined up.”*
*”But my things are still there! Your fathers tools, the photo albums”*
*”Take them,”* she cut in. *”Youve got a week.”*
*”A week? How am I supposed to clear it alone?”*
*”Mum, well help,”* Andrew said weakly.
*”Help?”* Marina scoffed. *”When? Youre working two jobs!”*
My legs gave way. I sank into a chair. *”Andrew, lovemaybe dont sell? Rent it out instead? I wont bother you”*
*”Rentings not worth it. The place needs repairs. Sellings the only way.”*
*”Two hundred thousand,”* Marina added. *”Enough to clear the debts.”*
*”Two hundred thousand for your fathers cottage…”* I whispered.
*”Its a fair price,”* Andrew said. *”Good location.”*
*”Good for whom? Those wholl tear it down and build a mansion?”*
*”Does it matter?”* Marina shrugged. *”The moneys what counts.”*
I took Andrews hands. *”Please. Dont sell. Its all I have left of your father.”*
*”Dads been gone ten years, Mum.”*
*”For youten years. For me, its like yesterday. I still feel him there. In every plank he nailed, every flowerbed he dug.”*
Marina interrupted. *”Margaret, youre clinging to sentiment. You cant live in the past.”*
*”And the future? Where will Emily spend summers?”*
*”In Spain. Or Italy. Like normal people.”*
Andrews phone buzzed. *”Its the agent. Mum, Ive got to go.”*
*”Wait.”* I fetched an old shoebox from my room. Inside were photosthe cottage over the years. Andrew as a boy on his fathers shoulders picking apples. Andrew as a teenager digging flowerbeds. His wedding reception in the garden, laughter, dancing.
*”Mum…”*
*”Heres Emily taking her first steps. Remember? Down the path between the rose bushes.”*
Marina snatched the box. *”Enough guilt-tripping!”*
*”Im not guilt-tripping,”* I said softly. *”Im asking you to keep what matters.”*
*”What matters?”* She laughed. *”What matters is paying our debts! Emilys education! A proper car, not that rust bucket Andrew drives!”*
*”Marina, stop,”* Andrew said.
*”Why? Because its true? Your mother lives in the past, and we suffer for it!”*
*”I dont ask you to suffer. Only to keep the cottage.”*
*”And Im asking you to stay out of our business!”*
Andrews jaw tightened. *”Mum, its final. Im sorry.”*
I exhaled. *”Then Ill move there. Permanently.”*
*”What?”* Andrew gaped. *”Mum, its winter! No heating, no proper plumbing”*
*”I grew up in the countryside. Ill manage.”*
*”This is blackmail!”* Marina snapped.
I handed Andrew the keys. *”Do what you want. Just leave me out of it.”*
*”And the flat keys,”* Marina demanded.
Andrew froze. *”What?”*
*”We pay you rent. We have a right.”*
Wordlessly, I unclipped the key and gave it to him.
—
A month later, Andrew visited me in my tiny caretakers room at the student halls. *”Cottage is sold,”* he muttered, placing an envelope on the table. *”Your share.”*
*”I dont want it.”*
*”Mum”*
*”If you cared about fairness, the cottage would still be ours.”*
He left. Emily came instead, furious at her parents. *”Gran, Im moving in with you!”*
Life settled. The students became my family. Andrew returned months later, divorcedMarina had blown the money on a holiday. *”Come home,”* he begged.
*”This is home now,”* I said.
The cottage was demolished. A luxury house stands there now. Andrew wept when he saw the apple treegone.
*”Im sorry, Mum.”*
*”I forgave you long ago. But some things you dont forget. You just learn to live with them.”*
And so I do. In this small room, with my students, my independence. No one will ever take my keys again.
**Lesson Learnt:** Family isnt just blood. Its who stands by you when the world turns its back. And sometimes, the smallest rooms hold the truest freedom.
