“Not another word about the holiday, my sisters coming with her family tomorrow,” the husband snapped sharply.
“Stop going on about your beach!” Oliver barked, throwing the TV remote onto the sofa. “Ellas arriving tomorrow with her lot, and were not going anywhere!”
The words hit the living room like a bucket of cold water. Charlotte froze in the middle of the room, a glossy travel brochure trembling in her handsbright blue sea, golden sand.
*Bothering him?*
She slowly set the pamphlet down on the coffee table. Oliver slouched in his armchair, flicking through channels, the glow from the screen making his face look distant, almost bored.
“What did you say?” Her voice was quiet, but something sharp flickered beneath it.
“I said what I said.” He didnt glance away from the telly. “Ellas coming with James and the kids. For a month. So forget about your beach and stop nagging me.”
A *month*. The word hung in the air like a lead weight. Charlotte felt something twist inside her.
“Oliver, weve planned this since January. Ive already *booked* it. Paid for it.” She spoke slowly, as if to a stubborn child. “Ive waited all year”
“And I said *drop it*!” He smacked his palm on the table. “Family comes before your little fantasies!”
*Fantasies?* Her face burned. Those late nights with her calculator, skimping on lunches, passing up that new coatdreaming of salt air and the sound of waves.
“What fantasies, Oliver?” She took a step toward him, her movement oddly steady. “I work my fingers to the boneat the office, at home. When was the last time I had a proper break?”
“Dont start the waterworks.” He turned the volume up. “Ellas my sister. She hardly ever visits. End of.”
*Hardly ever?* Charlotte scoffed. Ella turned up every summer like an unwelcome heatwaveher three kids, her husband James (who could empty a fridge in one sitting), and every time, Charlotte became the unpaid maid.
“Oliver, listen to me.” She perched on the edge of the sofa opposite him. “I get that family matters. But Im a person too. I need thingsjust *once*”
“What *things*?” He smirked. “Lying about? Paddling in the sea? Christ, are you twelve?”
Twelve? She stared at himthe man shed shared fifteen years with. When had his eyes gone so cold?
“Yes, I want the sea.” She stood. “I want to wake up to waves. Walk barefoot on sand. Be *Charlotte*, not just your live-in cleaner and babysitter.”
“Babysitter?” Oliver shot up. “Theyre my *nieces and nephews*!”
“Wholl wreck the place by lunchtime!” The words burst out. “Screaming, breaking things, demanding snacks! And Ella will sprawl on the sofa moaning about her back!”
“How *dare* you!” Olivers face darkened. “Ellas a brilliant mum!”
“Brilliant mums dont raise terrors!” The words tumbled like rocks. “Remember last year? Smashed the antique vase, drew on the walls, and the little one nearly set the kitchen alight!”
“Kids will be kids”
“And what about *me*? Dont I count?” Something hot rose in her throat. “Im just meant to suffer because kids will be kids?”
Oliver blinked at herlike hed never seen her properly before: wild-eyed, fists clenched, *furious*.
“Ellas coming tomorrow,” he said quietly. “Thats final.”
“Then *you* deal with them.” She turned toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“Upstairs.” She paused at the doorway. “To think.”
To think about living with a man who saw her as furniture.
The bedroom door clicked shut, and the house fell silent. Thick, heavy silencethe kind before thunder breaks.
Charlotte lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. In her hand, the crumpled travel brochure. The sea Shed imagined it so clearly. Dawn walks, the smell of salt, freedom from the grind. Now? A month as a skivvy for spoiled kids and their lazy parents.
*But what choice do I have?*
She drifted off clutching the last shred of her dream.
Outside, wind rustled the treesalmost like distant waves. Waves she wouldnt hear this summer.
*Or would she?*
Morning brought drizzle and the growl of a car pulling up. Charlotte stood by the window, sipping tea, watching the familiar circus unfold below.
First out was Ellatall, bottle-blonde, in a neon pink tracksuit. Even from here, her shriek carried:
“James, mind my *new handbag*! Thats *designer*!”
Jamesa burly bloke going baldheaved suitcases silently, jaw clenched like a man long defeated.
The kids Charlotte grimaced. Ten-year-old Liam immediately jumped in a puddle, splashing mud. Seven-year-old Poppy wailed about a forgotten teddy. Four-year-old Noah just screechedbecause he could.
“Charlotte!” Oliver yelled up the stairs. “Theyre here! Come down!”
*Theyre here.* As if she hadnt noticed. As if the house hadnt been shaking from the racket for five solid minutes.
She finished her tea and went downstairs. The hallway was carnage. Ella hugged Oliver, leaving lipstick on his collar; kids zigzagged between suitcases; James wiped mud off his shoes onto the mat.
“Lottie!” Ella air-kissed her. “Darling, you look *exhausted*! Working too hard?”
Ella smelled of cheap perfume and cigarettes. Charlotte forced a smile.
“Hi, Ella. How was the drive?”
“*Awful*!” Ella rolled her eyes. “Kids were beasts, James took three wrong turns, and the AC broke. Speaking ofwheres yours? You *do* have AC, right?”
“In the bedroom,” Charlotte said flatly.
“And the lounge?” Ella was already peering in. “Were sleeping there. James snores like a tractor.”
*Of course you are.* Charlotte shot Oliver a look. He busied himself with luggage.
“Mum, I need the loo!” Liam tugged Ellas sleeve. “*Now*!”
“Down the hall,” Charlotte said.
The boy bolted, leaving muddy footprints. Poppy, meanwhile, had found Charlottes favourite porcelain vase.
“Poppy, put that down,” Charlotte said.
“What is it?” The girl turned it over. “Can I play with it?”
“No. Its delicate.”
“But Ill be *careful*!”
“Poppy,” James muttered, “listen to Aunt Charlotte.”
“Shes *not* my aunt!” Poppy stuck her tongue out.
An awkward pause. Ella laughed nervously:
“Kids, eh? So *blunt*! Dont take it personally, Lottie.”
*Blunt.* Charlotte rescued the vase. Poppy flounced off to cause more chaos.
“Mum, whats *this*?” Liam was back, poking a hole in the wall where a picture hook had been.
Everyone turned.
“Thats for a painting,” Charlotte said.
“Can I stick my finger in it?” Liam reached.
“No!” Charlotte grabbed his wrist. “Its dangerous.”
“Why?” He squirmed. “Let *go*!”
“Liam,” James sighed, “stop annoying Aunt Charlotte.”
“*Not my aunt!*” both kids chorused.
Noah, silent till now, suddenly howled. No reasonjust volume.
“Whats wrong, sweetheart?” Ella scooped him up.
“I want *home*!” Noah sobbed. “I want *Gran*!”
“Were visiting Uncle Oliver and Aunt Charlotte,” Ella cooed. “Remember?”
“*Dont like it!*” Noah wailed. “*Scary!*”
*Scary.* Charlotte surveyed the hall. Mud, scattered bags, a screaming toddler
“Maybe theyre hungry?” she offered. “Ill fix snacks.”
“Oh, *yes*!” Ella brightened. “Were *starving*! Whatve you got?”
*What have I got?* She mentally checked the fridge. Enough for two. Not five.
“Ill sort something,” she mumbled.
“*Brill*!” Ella headed to the lounge. “Well get settled. James, bags! Kids, dont touch *anything*!”
The last bit was pointless. Liam was already rifling through the bookshelf; Poppy turned the telly to full blast; Noah smeared snot on the sofa.
Charlotte stood in the wreckage, something hot bubbling in her chest. She looked at Oliver. He was grinning, hauling suitcases, *thrilled*.
A *month* of this.
“Lottie!” Ella called. “You got organic oat bars
