You know what? I just got this wild newsmy grandma left me her seaside house in her will. Can you believe it? That massive old place where I spent every summer as a kid.
The day the letter arrived, London felt extra stuffy, like the air was weighing me down. The envelope smelled faintly of salt and something nostalgic, like childhood holidays. My hands shook as I opened it. Grandma Edith had left me the housethe one by the bright blue sea where Id had my happiest memories.
My heart raced, happiness tangled with sadness. I could practically feel the warm sand under my feet, hear the waves, and see Grandmas smile as shed greet me at the door.
I called James right away. He sounded distracted, almost annoyed, like Id interrupted something important.
“James, Ive got to go,” I said, steadying my voice. “Grandma left me the seaside house in her will.”
Silence. Then”That old place? The one falling apart?” he scoffed.
“Its not falling apart!” I snapped. “Its historic, full of memories. I spent every summer there! Grandma Edith adored meshed take me to the beach, and when I got older, Id run off with the local kids. Wed pack sandwiches, stay out till dusk, just laughing, swimming”
“How long are you going for?” His tone was all business, dragging me back to the citys grime.
“I dont know, but definitely more than a weekend,” I sighed. “I need to sort things out. I havent been back since uni, and its been years. Ill take leave from work. You could come laterits only a few hours drive. Take a couple days off, we could relax by the sea.”
“Not exactly missing the sea,” he muttered. “Fine, Ill see how work goes”
That phrase hung in the air. Hed “see.” Like always. And hed stay in London, buried in work, like it mattered more than me.
Three days later, I packed my bags, half-hoping James would change his mind, drive me to the station, kiss me goodbye. Instead, three hours before my train, he called.
“Sorry, cant take you. Work emergency. Youll manage a taxi, yeah?” His voice had that fake note.
“Of course,” I said, throat tight. “Dont worry.”
I got in the taxi, staring blankly out the window. Thenmy stomach dropped. At a red light, there was his car. And not just parked. Jamesmy Jameswas helping a woman in a flowy dress out of the passenger seat. They smiled, headed into a cosy café.
“Stop here!” My voice shook. I paid the driver and stormed out, anger burning my throat. I yanked the café door open. They were at a table, leaning over a menu, fingertips almost touching.
“Hello,” I said, icy. “Looks like youre *really* busy. Just one thinggoodbye. Dont call me again. Ever.”
I turned and left before he could speak. Didnt look back. Just ran to the taxi, nails digging into my palms.
The whole journeytaxi, train, another taxi down winding country roadsI seethed. Replaying his smile, his gentleness with her. Liar. Cheat. Nothing.
The grumpy driver finally stopped at rusted iron gates tangled with ivy. “Here you go,” he mumbled.
I hauled my bags out. He called after me, “Give a shout if you need anything,” then sped off. The silence was overwhelming. The air smelled of thyme, salt, and old memories. I fumbled with the antique keysGrandmas giftand the lock clicked open like a starting gun for a new life.
The gates groaned. The garden was wild, Grandmas flowerbeds overgrown but defiantly blooming. The oak front door stuck, but I forced it open.
Inside, silence. No smell of baking, no dried herbs. Just dust. The grand hall, the carved staircase Id licked as a kid (mum scolded me for that). Stained glass scattered coloured light on the floorboards.
“Its mine now,” I whispered. “Thank you, Grandma. My house. My sea.”
I wandered room to room, brushing dust off furniture. The living room fireplace where wed toasted marshmallows. The dining rooms oak table. The china cabinetGrandmas prized porcelain. I lifted a cup. Translucent, painted with cobalt. Turned it over: *1890*.
“This is worth a fortune,” I murmured. “And she used it every day.”
A loud *bang* upstairs. My heart jumped. Probably a loose window. I checked each roomempty. But Grandmas bedroom hit me. The huge four-poster bed, the silk canopy faded.
“This is where she slept,” I thought. “Id crawl in beside her after nightmares.”
I flopped onto the bed. Dust puffed up. Thenthe doorbell clanged.
Heart pounding, I answered. A woman with kind eyes stood there.
“Hello, love. Recognise me?”
Through the wrinkles, I saw Mrs. Wilkins, mum of my childhood friend Lucy.
“Mrs. Wilkins! Howd you know I was here?”
“Saw the gate open. Your grandma asked me to keep an eye on things. My Lucys married and moved to Manchester. Just me and my Tom nowremember him?”
Oh, I remembered Tom. The older brother whod seemed so cool.
“Well, hes back home. Needs anything, just ask. Staying long?”
“Not sure. On holiday for now.”
“Right. Tom can help with any repairs. And Aliceyou look just like your grandma. Spitting image.”
I spent the day cleaning. By evening, starving, I went to the shop. The sunset was unrealcrimson sky, sea like glass. I almost called James. Then stopped myself.
“Forget him,” I muttered.
Night fell fast. I slept in Grandmas bed, leaving a lamp onthe house felt huge and eerie. I dreamed someone tucked me in. Then Grandma Edith appeared, smiling.
“Alice, make the right choice, love,” she said, clear as day.
I woke, startled. “What choice?” But the dream faded.
Next morning, I stared at the filthy crystal chandelier. No idea how to clean it. I went to Mrs. Wilkins.
“Tomll help,” she said.
Soon, there he wastall, broad-shouldered, grinning.
“Alice. The one who pinched all our apples?”
I laughed. “Guilty. Youre Tom?”
“The very same.” He set up a ladder. “Right, lets tackle this beast.”
We cleaned the chandelier, him joking the whole time. The house felt alive again.
“Fancy a café after this?” he asked.
We went. Ate fish and chips, walked the promenade, swam in the warm sea. He walked me home, said goodnight.
I collapsed into bed, happy-achy. Thenmy phone rang. James.
“Alice! Hows the house? Miss you. Send the addressIll visit.”
My stomach twisted. Toms laugh flashed in my mind. James with that woman. Grandmas voice: *Make the right choice.*
“Dont bother,” I said coldly. “Were done.”
I hung up, turned off my phone. Then it hit meGrandma meant choosing between the past and something real.
Id made my choice.
Time passed. I moved in properly, found remote work. The house was full of life againlaughter, fires, baking smells.
I married Tom. Simple wedding on the terrace, waves crashing. He was everythingkind, handy, loving.
Now, we stood there, his hand on my barely-there bump. Our baby.
I looked at the sea, the stars, squeezed his hand.
“Thank you, Grandma,” I whispered.
Inside, the chandeliers crystals tinkled softly, like an answer.
