Rita turned off the engine and stared at the cottage through the windscreen. Nothing seemed to have changedthe same blue roof, the same birch trees lining the perimeter, the same little green gate her father had painted years ago. Only the light on the veranda was odd. Maybe the neighbors? Though they 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, reappearing closer to the house. A woman in a T-shirt and shorts, holding a child.
“What the hell?” Rita muttered, stepping out of the car.
She approached the gate and stopped dead. Voices, laughter, the clatter of dishes drifted from inside. Baby clothes hung on the veranda. Under the awning stood three bicyclestwo adult-sized, one childs. The gate wasnt even latched. A familiar creak sounded as she pushed it open.
Her feet carried her toward the porch. One thought pulsed in her skull: someone was living here. In her house. The front door was open, 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 spilled across the floor.
Her heart hammered in her throat. From the kitchen came a womans voicesomething about a forest walk tomorrowthen a childs laughter and the scrape of cutlery. The smell of fried potatoes and dill 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 forward. Another. Then she froze in the doorway.
A man in his mid-thirties, wearing a checked shirt, sat at the table. Beside him, a woman of similar ageblonde hair tied backbounced a toddler on her knee. Across from them, a boy of about eight waved his fork, chattering excitedly.
The woman saw Rita first. Her face went slack, her eyes widening. The mug in her hand slipped and shattered on the floor.
“What are you doing here?” she stammered. “We didnt think youd come…”
Rita recognized the voice. Emily. Her ex-husbands sister. The sweet, smiling in-law whod vanished the moment the divorce was final.
“Emily?” Ritas voice came out hoarse. “What are you doing in my house?”
The manEmilys husband, presumablystood slowly, his face reddening. The children fell silent, staring at the stranger in the doorway.
“Rita,” he began. “We thoughtwell, Dave said you never came here anymore. That the place was just sitting empty.”
“Dave said that?” Rita felt heat rising in her cheeks. “And what else did Dave say?”
Emily set the toddler down, hands shaking. “Look, we didnt mean any harm. Were on holiday, and renting somewhere was too expensive. Dave said he still had keys from when we all used to visit. Remember? Your birthday, three years ago”
“You just moved in?” Ritas voice trembled. “Without even asking?”
“We wouldve called,” the man cut in. “But your numberwe didnt have it.”
Rita blinked. Were they seriously acting like the only issue was failing to check first? As if shed have welcomed them like old friends?
“How long have you been here?”
“A week,” Emily whispered. “We were going to stay another ten days…”
“Ten days,” Rita echoed.
The kitchen fell silent. The boy set down his fork. The toddler whimpered, sensing the tension.
“Listen,” the man said. “Weve kept the place tidy. Watered the plants, mowed the lawn. Its not worse off for us being here.”
“Not worse off?” Ritas voice cracked. “You broke into my home!”
“We didnt break in!” Emily snapped. “Dave had the keys! We thought”
“What? That I was dead? That this house was up for grabs?”
Emily clutched her daughter tighter. “You dont understand. We only get two weeks off a year. We cant afford rentals. The kids were so excited…”
“Thats not my problem,” Rita said coldly.
The boy burst into tears. “Mum, do we have to go? What about the river? And the bikes?”
Ritas chest tightened. The children werent to blame. But this was her house. Her refuge.
“Please,” Emily begged. “Just a few more days. Weve already stocked the fridge. The kids”
“And where am I supposed to stay? On the street?”
“Theres plenty of room,” the man offered weakly. “We could share.”
Ritas glare silenced him.
She looked around. Their plates on her table. Their flowers in her vase. Their life, settled comfortably into her space.
“Wheres Dave?” she demanded.
Emily and her husband exchanged glances.
“Hes in town,” Emily muttered. “Busy.”
“Busy handing out keys to my property, apparently.”
“Rita, just”
“Pack your things. Youre leaving tonight.”
The boy wailed. The toddler joined in. Emily shouted over the noise, “Look what youve done! Happy now?”
“You did this to yourselves,” Rita said, though the childrens tears clawed at her.
Emilys husband lugged the suitcases to their battered estate car. The kids were bundled into pyjamas under their coats. At the door, Emily turned.
“Fine. Enjoy your empty life. No wonder youre alone.”
The door slammed. Rita watched the car disappear down the lane, the childrens cries fading into the night.
She locked the gate. The house was hers again.
But the silence felt heavier than before.
