“You’re no longer needed,” her son said, taking the keys.
“Mum, stop making a scene! We agreed to discuss this calmly!” Andrew drummed his fingers on the table, avoiding her gaze.
Elizabeth Margaret sat across from him in her small kitchen, where every item had its place, where the air smelled of fresh bread and tea. Her hands trembled slightly, but her voice was steady.
“What scene? Im just asking why you and Caroline decided to sell the cottage without consulting me?”
“Because its in my name. You transferred it to me five years agoremember?”
“I remember. But I thought I believed it was just a formality. To make paperwork easier for you.”
Andrew stood, pacing the kitchen. He was forty-two but looked oldergrey at his temples, deep lines on his forehead, tired eyes.
“Mum, listen. We need the money. Carolines business failed, weve got debts. Sophies at universitywe have to pay for her accommodation.”
“I can help with money. Ive got savings”
“Your savings are pennies, Mum. Sorry, but a pension of eight hundred pounds a month wont solve our problems.”
Elizabeth rose, walking to the window. Outside, the first snow drifted down in slow, heavy flakes.
“Your father planted every tree in that garden. Remember the apple tree by the arbour? You helped him. You were seven.”
“I remember,” Andrew said quietly.
“We built the greenhouse when you were fifteen. You said youd take your children there one day. Bring my grandchildren.”
“Plans change, Mum.”
“Plans” She turned to him. “What about memories? Every corner of that place is our history. Your childhood, your youth.”
The doorbell rang. Andrew went to answer. Caroline stood therehis wife, tall, polished, wrapped in an expensive coat.
“Well? Did you talk?” she asked, stepping past her mother-in-law without a greeting.
“Caroline, hello,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh, hello,” Caroline muttered. “Andrew, we need to go. The estate agents waiting.”
“Estate agent?” Elizabeths voice sharpened.
“The one selling the cottage. Hes already got buyers.”
“But my things are still there! Your fathers tools, the photo albums”
“Take them,” Caroline cut in. “Youve got a week.”
“A week? How am I supposed to move everything alone?”
“Well help,” Andrew said uncertainly.
“Help?” Caroline shot him a look. “Since when do you have free time? Youre working two jobs.”
“Ill figure something out.”
Elizabeth sank into a chair, her legs suddenly weak.
“Andrew, love, maybe dont sell it? Rent it out instead? I wont visit, I promise.”
“Mum, renting isnt profitable. The place needs repairs. Selling gives us a lump sum.”
“Three hundred thousand,” Caroline added. “Enough to clear the debts.”
“Three hundred thousand for your fathers cottage,” Elizabeth whispered.
“Its a fair price,” Andrew said. “Big plot, good location.”
“Good for who? For the people wholl tear it down and build some monstrosity?”
“What does it matter?” Caroline shrugged. “Moneys money.”
Elizabeth stood, took Andrews hands.
“Andrew, please. Dont sell it. Its all we have left of your dad.”
“Hes been gone ten years, Mum.”
“For youten years. For me, it feels like yesterday. I go there and feel him in every plank he nailed, every flowerbed he dug.”
“Elizabeth,” Caroline interrupted, “you cant live in the past.”
“And the future? Where will your daughter spend her summers?”
“Spain. Greece. Like normal people.”
“Normal people”
Andrews phone rang. He checked the screen.
“The estate agent. Mum, I really have to go.”
“Wait.” Elizabeth fetched a folder. “Look at these.”
Inside were photosthe cottage over the years. A young Andrew on his fathers shoulders picking apples. A teenage Andrew in the vegetable patch. His weddingtables in the garden, laughter, the newlyweds dancing.
“Mum”
“And heres Sophie taking her first steps. Remember? Down the path between the flowerbeds.”
Caroline snatched the folder, slamming it shut.
“Enough guilt-tripping! Andrew, lets go.”
“Im not guilt-tripping,” Elizabeth said softly. “Im just asking you to keep what matters.”
“What matters?” Caroline laughed. “You know what matters to me? A life without debt. My daughters education. A decent car, not that rust bucket Andrew drives.”
“Caroline, stop,” Andrew said weakly.
“Stop what? Telling the truth? Your mother clings to the past while we drown because of it!”
“Im not asking you to drown. Im asking you to keep the cottage.”
“And Im asking you to stay out of our decisions!” Caroline raised her voice.
“Ours? Its my husbands cottage. My sons father.”
“Was his cottage. Now its Andrews. And hes selling it. End of.”
Elizabeth looked at her son.
“Is this your final decision?”
Andrew avoided her eyes.
“Yes, Mum. Im sorry.”
“Then Ive only one choice.”
“What?” Caroline tensed.
“Im moving there. For good.”
“What?” Andrew stared. “Mum, are you mad? Winters coming!”
“Theres a stove. Firewood left from last year.”
“But its not fit to live in! An outhouse, water from a pump”
“I grew up in the countryside, Andrew. Ill manage.”
“This is emotional blackmail!” Caroline snapped. “Youre saying this to make him change his mind!”
“Im saying what I mean. If the cottage goes, Ive nowhere left. This flat suffocates me.”
“A rented flat, might I add,” Caroline said. “That we pay for.”
Elizabeth flinched.
“I never asked you to pay. I couldve”
“On your pension? Dont be ridiculous.”
“Ill find work.”
“Doing what? Youre sixty-eight!”
“Cleaning. Night watchman.”
Andrew stood, gripping her shoulders.
“Mum, stop. Youre not moving, and youre not working. Well sell, clear the debts, and things will get better.”
“Whose things? Yours?”
“And yours.”
“My life wont get better without that place.”
“Youre being dramatic.”
Elizabeth walked to the hook, took down the keys.
“Here. The cottage keys. Take them.”
“Mum”
“Take them. Do what you want. Sell it, bulldoze it, build anew. Just leave me out of it.”
She held out the keys. Andrew took them, turning them in his palm.
“And the flat keys,” Caroline said suddenly.
“What?” Both turned to her.
“The flat keys. We pay the rent, we have a right.”
“Caroline, what the hell?” Andrew gaped.
“What? If were selling against her will, trusts gone. Who knows what shell do in here?”
“What could I possibly do?” Elizabeth asked wearily.
“Anything. Leave the gas on, start a fire”
“Caroline!” Andrew barked. “Enough!”
“No, shes right.” Elizabeth unclipped the flat key. “Here. Take it.”
“Mum, dont”
“Take it.” She pressed it into his palm. “Is there anything else you need from me?”
“Yes,” Caroline said. “Your signature on the sale papers.”
“Why? The cottage is in Andrews name.”
“But youre registered there. We need your consent.”
Elizabeth nodded.
“Fine. When?”
“Tomorrow. Ten at the solicitors.”
“Ill be there.”
Caroline smiled, tugging Andrew.
“Come on. The agents waiting.”
Andrew hesitated, something flickering in his eyes.
“Mum, you sure youre okay?”
“Perfectly. Go on.”
They left. Elizabeth stood alone in the kitchen. Then, slowly, she sat, pulled out her phone.
“Sarah? Its Aunt Liz. Yes, fine, thank you. Listen, you mentioned needing a porter at the halls? Yes, Ill take it. When do I start? Tomorrow? Lovely. Yes, with lodging. Thank you, dear.”
She hung up, looking around. The rented flat held littleclothes, dishes, a few photos. All would fit in two suitcases.
That evening, Andrew called.
“Mum, how are you?”
“Fine. Packing.”
“Packing? Where?”
“Moving. Found a job with lodging.”
“Doing what?”
“Porter at the student halls. Tiny room, but mine. Pays six hundred a month.”
“Mum, why?”
“Why? I need to live. Youre not paying for the flat anymore.”
“We are! Mum, dont be daft.”
“Andrew, today you took my keys. You saidor rather, she didthat I wasnt needed anymore.”
“I never said that!”
“But Caroline did. And you didnt stop her.”
“Mum”
“Its alright. I understand. Youve your life, your troubles. Ill manage.”
“Mum, let me come over. Talk properly.”
“No need. See you at the solicitors.”
She hung up. He didnt call back.
The next morning, Elizabeth signed the papers. Andrew and Caroline were waiting. He looked haggard, sleepless.
“Mum, lets talk.”
“About what? Where are the documents?”
The solicitor, a plump woman in glasses, peered over the forms.
“Elizabeth Margaret, you consent to the sale of the cottage?”
“I do.”
“You understand you forfeit residency rights?”
“I do.”
“Sign here and here.”
Elizabeth took the pen. Her hand didnt shake.
“Done? May I go?”
“Yes, youre free to leave.”
She stood, turning for the door.
“Mum, wait!” Andrew caught her in the corridor. “Where are you going?”
“The halls. My shift starts at two.”
“Mum, dont do this! Come home, lets talk.”
“Home? I dont have one, Andrew. You took the keys, remember?”
“Caroline went too far! Ive spoken to her.”
“And?”
“She thinks she was right.”
“There you are. You agree with her if you dont argue.”
“I dont agree! Its just complicated.”
“I know, love. Go on. Carolines waiting.”
Outside, snow fell thickly, blanketing the streets. Elizabeth tilted her face to the sky.
“Forgive me, John,” she whispered. “I couldnt keep our cottage. But I tried.”
A month later, Andrew knocked on her door. The room was crampeda bed, a desk, a cupboard. Photos lined the wallJohn, young Andrew, granddaughter Sophie.
“How are you here?”
“Fine. The students are kind. Help with heavy things.”
“Mum, the cottage sold.”
“I know. Caroline called. Bragged.”
“She wasnt bragging, just updating.”
“If you say so.”
Andrew sat, pulling out an envelope.
“I brought money. Your share.”
“I dont want it.”
“Dont be silly. Its from the sale.”
“The cottage was yours. Ive no claim.”
“But morally”
“Morally?” Elizabeth smiled sadly. “If morality mattered, the cottage would still stand.”
“Mum, we had no choice!”
“Theres always a choice. You couldve worked more. Caroline couldve found a job.”
“She was raising Sophie!”
“Sophies nineteen. What raising?”
Andrew was silent. Then, “Take the money. Three thousand pounds.”
“To buy my silence?”
“Just help.”
“I dont need help. Ive work, a roof, food. What more is there?”
“What about us? Your family?”
Elizabeth looked at him long.
“Andrew, you said I wasnt needed.”
“I never said that!”
“No? Then who took the keys? Who sold the cottage against my will?”
“We had to!”
“Had to. And after that, I understoodIm a burden. An old woman clinging to the past.”
“Mum, stop!”
“Its the truth. Im not angry. Life goes on.”
Andrew knelt, pressing his face into her hands.
“Mum, Im sorry. Im a fool. A traitor.”
“Not a traitor. Just lost.”
“Come home.”
“Home? What home, Andrew? A rented flat where I lived on sufferance?”
“Well get somewhere bigger. Your own room.”
“No need. Im happy here.”
“In this box?”
“In this box, Im in charge. No one takes my keys.”
Andrew wepta grown man, broken.
“Im sorry, Mum. Im sorry.”
She stroked his hair, like when he was small.
“Its alright, love. Its alright.”
Six months later, Andrew divorced Caroline. The cottage money hadnt gone to debtsshed bought a new car and a holiday in Bali.
He came to Elizabeth, ashamed.
“Now I see what an idiot I was.”
“Dont blame yourself. We all err.”
“Mum, come home. Ive got a two-bed flat. Well live together.”
Elizabeth shook her head.
“Thank you, love. But Ill stay.”
“Why?”
“Because this is my world now. Small, but mine. The studentstheyre like grandchildren. Kind, caring.”
“But Im your son!”
“You are. And I love you. But trust trust broke with those keys you took.”
“Ill earn it back! However long it takes!”
“Maybe. Time will tell.”
Andrew visited weeklybringing groceries, medicine, just talking. Sophie moved in with him but visited Elizabeth often.
And Elizabeth lived quietly. Helped students study, taught them to cook, listened.
One day, the university warden noticed her tutoring struggling students.
“Are you a teacher?” he asked.
“Once. Forty years in classrooms.”
“Would you run prep courses? Modest pay, but extra income.”
“Gladly!”
At sixty-nine, Elizabeth Margaret taught again. And she was happy.
The cottage was demolished. A modern house stood in its place. Andrew visited once, then came to her.
“Mum, I went there. Where the cottage was.”
“And?”
“Gone. Even the apple tree.”
“Shame. Your dad loved that tree.”
“Im sorry, Mum.”
“Ive forgiven you, love. Long ago.”
“But not forgotten.”
“Some things cant be forgotten. Only accepted.”
Andrew hugged her.
“Youre strong.”
“No. Just old. Age changes your sight.”
“I love you, Mum.”
“And I love you, son. Always.”
They stayed embraced in her tiny room. Outside, snow fell, students hurried by, life moved on.
And Elizabeth knewwhatever came, shed endure. Because shed found the one thing that mattered: freedom to be herself. In a small room, on a modest wage, but with no fear that anyone would ever again say, “Youre no longer needed,” and take her keys away.
