The engine fell silent as Rita cut the ignition, her fingers lingering on the keys. Through the windscreen, the familiar cottage came into viewthe same slate-blue roof, the same birch trees lining the perimeter, the same green gate her father had painted years ago. Everything looked unchanged. Except for the light glowing in the porch window. Neighbors? But they knew she hadnt been here in nearly a year.
She reached for her bag on the back seatthen froze. Someone was moving across the garden. A figure darted between the apple trees, then reappeared closer to the house. A woman in a T-shirt and shorts, a child in her arms.
“What the hell” Rita muttered, stepping out of the car.
She approached the gate and stopped dead. Voices floated from insidelaughter, the clatter of dishes. A line of childrens clothes dried on the porch railing. Bicyclestwo adult-sized, one childsleaned against the shed. And the gate the gate wasnt locked. She pushed it open, the hinges creaking in that familiar way.
Her feet carried her toward the house, her mind spinning. Someone was living here. In *her* house. The front door stood ajar, and in the hallway, she nearly tripped over a pair of tiny sandals. Foreign coats hung on the hooks. Two large suitcases and a basket of toys sat in the corner.
Her pulse hammered in her throat. From the kitchen, a womans voice chattered about tomorrows walk in the woods, followed by a childs giggle and the scrape of cutlery. The scent of fried potatoes and dill filled 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 halted in the doorway.
A man in his mid-thirties, wearing a checkered shirt, sat at the table. Beside him, a woman with strawberry-blonde hair tied in a ponytail balanced a toddler on her lap. Opposite them, a boy around eight waved his fork, talking animatedly.
The woman noticed Rita first. Her face went slack, her mug slipping from her fingers and shattering on the floor.
“Why are you here?” she stammered. “Wewe didnt think youd show up”
Rita recognized that voice. *Emily.* Her ex-husbands sister. The woman who had been all smiles and warmthuntil the divorce.
“Emily?” Ritas voice came out hoarse. “What are you doing here?”
The manEmilys husband, presumablystood slowly, his face flushing. The children fell silent, staring at the stranger in their kitchen.
“Rita,” he began, “we thought Well, Tom said you didnt come here anymore. That the place was just sitting empty.”
“*Tom* said that?” Ritas face burned. “And what else did *Tom* say?”
Emily scooped up the broken mug, still clutching her daughter. The little girl sniffled, pressing into her mothers shoulder.
“We didnt think youd mind,” Emily said quickly. “Were on holiday, and renting a place is so expensive. Tom said the keys were still aroundfrom when we all came here for your birthday three years ago. Remember?”
“The keys were still around,” Rita repeated slowly. “So you just decided to move into my house?”
“We wouldve asked!” Emilys husband cut in. “But we didnt have your number.”
Rita blinked. Were they seriously pretending this was just about *asking*? As if shed have welcomed a whole family squatting in her home?
“How long have you been here?”
“A week,” Emily admitted quietly. “We planned to stay another ten days.”
“Ten days,” Rita echoed.
The kitchen fell silent. The boy set down his fork, glancing between his parents. The toddler in Emilys arms whined, sensing the tension.
“Look, Rita,” Emilys husband tried, “we didnt mean any harm. The house was just gathering dust. Weve kept it cleanwatered the plants, even mowed the lawn.”
“*Kept it clean*?” Ritas voice cracked. “You broke into my home, acted like it was yours, and now youre telling me youve *improved* it?”
“We didnt *break in*!” Emily snapped. “Tom had the keys! We thought”
“What, exactly? That I was dead? That this place was up for grabs?”
Emily tightened her grip on her daughter, her face pale. “You dont understand. We only get two weeks off a year. We cant afford a rental. The kids were so excited”
“And thats *my* problem?” Rita stepped forward, and the family shrank back. “This is *my* house. *Mine.* Left to me by my father!”
“We know that,” Emilys husband muttered. “We just thought”
“You thought you could take what wasnt yours.”
The boy burst into tears. Rita flinched. He couldnt have been older than eightsmall for his age, his hair tousled. His sobs were loud, messy.
“Mum, are we going home?” he hiccuped. “What about the river? And the bikes?”
Ritas chest clenched. The children werent to blame. Theyd just wanted a holiday. But this was *her* home. Her only quiet place.
“Rita,” Emily pleaded, “please. Just give us a few more days. Weve planned everything, bought groceries. The kids”
“And where am *I* supposed to stay? The street?”
“The house is big,” Emilys husband offered weakly. “Plenty of rooms. We can make space”
“*Make space*? In my own house?”
Rita scanned the kitchen. Foreign plates on the table. Foreign mugs in the sink. A bunch of wildflowers in her mothers old vase. A pot of potatoes simmering on the stove.
Theyd settled in like they belonged here.
“Wheres Tom?” Rita demanded.
Emily and her husband exchanged glances.
“Tom?” Emily echoed. “Why?”
“Because *he* had the keys. *He* gave you permission, didnt he?”
“Toms back in London,” Emily said stiffly. “Hes busy.”
“Busy. Right.” Ritas smile was ice. “But handing out other peoples homes isnt part of that?”
The toddler in Emilys arms began to cry. The boy whimpered into his sleeve.
“Rita, *please*,” Emily begged. “Were family. Werent we close once? Have you no heart?”
“*Family*?” Rita scoffed. “We were family until I divorced your brother. After that, I was nothing to you.”
“But”
“No. No excuses. Even if we *were* family, that doesnt give you the right to steal my home.”
Emily set her daughter down and straightened. Her eyes hardened.
“You know what, Rita?” Her tone was newsharp, defiant. “You can throw us out if you want. But think about it: this place sat empty for a year. We aired it out, cleaned it, even fixed up the garden. Maybe its time you stopped being so *selfish*.”
Rita stared, stunned.
“*Selfish*?” she finally choked out. “Im selfish because I wont let strangers live in my house?”
“Were not *strangers*!” Emily shot back. “Weve known each other for years! Whats it to you? You dont even live here!”
“How do *you* know that? Maybe I was planning to move in this summer!”
“*Planning*?” Emily snorted. “You werent here last summer. Or the one before that.”
Ritas fists clenched. The audacitysquatting in her home, then lecturing her about it.
“Listen carefully,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “Youre leaving. Tonight. No debate.”
“Rita, have you lost your mind?” Emily stepped forward, eyes blazing. “How can you do this?”
“*Ive* lost my mind? *You* invaded my home, acted like you owned itand *Im* the unreasonable one?”
The boy wailed. The toddler joined in. The kitchen filled with the sound of children crying.
“Look what youve done!” Emily shouted over the noise. “Happy now?”
Rita watched the children, guilt and anger warring inside her. They *werent* at fault. But neither was she.
“You did this to them,” she said. “Not me.”
“We just wanted a holiday!” Emily hugged her daughter tighter. “Is that so terrible?”
“Take a holiday. Just not in *my house*.”
“*Where*, then?” Emilys husband exploded. “We cant afford hotels! Salaries are stretched thinmortgage, bills, loans! We saved all year for
