The summer cottage had been carefully kept secret from the family. Everything had to be sorted immediatelygrab the spades, start digging in the garden. They werent coming anymore.

The phone shattered the quiet morning so abruptly that Emily flinched. The screen flashed: *Aunt Margaret.*

*”Emily, darling!”* came the shrill voice down the line. *”Youll never guesswere popping round to your country house!”*

Her mug of tea froze mid-air. Aunt Margaret was the very one who had *”just stayed a few nights”* in their new flat while her own was being refurbished. Those few nights had stretched into three monthsthree months of *”Why have you done it like this?”* and *”Back in my day”*

*”How are you coming? Who is we?”* Emily managed to choke out.

*”Oh, just me and the girls! A little holiday, a week or so,”* Aunt Margaret trilled, laughter and clinking glasses muffled in the background. *”Whats the fuss? Were family!”*

The word *”family”* had always been Aunt Margarets golden ticket, unlocking any door. After the flat incident, Emily and James had sworn not to tell a soul about the cottage. But someone had betrayed themeven given the address.

*”Aunt Margaret, we cant”* Emily fought to keep her voice steady.

*”Too late, love! Were already on the train!”* her aunt chirped. *”See you soon!”*

The line went dead. Emilys pulse quickened. She dialled James.

*”Aunt Margaret and the girls are coming.”*

*”Christ, not again,”* he groaned. *”Cant you just not answer the door?”*

*”They wont leave,”* Emily muttered, twisting her apron. *”Theyll camp outside, shaming us to the neighbours. Remember the flat? Oh, our own niece turned her poor aunt away!”*

By lunchtime, Aunt Margaret and her entouragethree middle-aged cousinshad commandeered the kitchen. The terrace, where Emily had savoured the morning peace, was now buried under strangers luggage. The fridge overflowed not with their own preserves but with someone elses shoppingand, of course, bottles of wine.

*”Emily, where are your towels?”* bellowed Sarah from the bathroom.

*”And fetch us some loo roll!”* added Lucy.

*”Your shampoos dreadful,”* sniffed Helen, wrinkling her nose at the lavender bottle. *”Got anything normal?”*

Emily clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. Her shampoo was *hers*personal, chosen, not meant for an invasion. It was high time she learned to say *”no”*even to family.

*”Youve done well for yourselves!”* Aunt Margaret declared, sinking into the wicker chair theyd hauled back from France. *”Plenty of land, a lovely little sauna Why keep it to yourselves? Were family!”*

*”Exactly why,”* Emily murmured, the strain in her voice barely contained.

*”What was that?”* Aunt Margaret cupped her ear theatrically.

*”Exactly why!”* Emilys voice cracked like a whip. *”Because youre the sort who thinks you can barge in, take over, and treat our home like your own!”*

*”Emily!”* Aunt Margaret stiffened, as if bracing for battle. *”How dare”*

*”I dare!”* Something long-simmering erupted inside her. *”Remember the flat? Just a week!then three months! And every day: Change this, do that”*

Just then, the *”girls”* appeared in the doorwaytowels, wine glasses in handstaring at the scene unfolding.

*”Besides, were going on holiday soon,”* Emily said, voice trembling but firm. *”Train tickets are booked.”*

*”Oh, dont mind us!”* Aunt Margaret waved a dismissive hand. *”Well manage!”*

*”No.”* Emilys knees shook, but her voice didnt waver. *”Youre not staying. Not for a week, not even a night. This is our home. We want it to ourselves.”*

Aunt Margaret blinked, as if the words hadnt quite registered.

They endured three days. Three gruelling days of stiff smiles and gritted teeth. Mornings began with foreign chatter in the kitchen; afternoons brought a barrage of *”Whys it like this?”* and *”Everyone else does it properly!”* Evenings dissolved into raucous singalongs, ignoring the neighbours glares. Emilys petunias wiltedno one thought to water them. Little Sophies toys vanished from the terrace*”in the way of proper relaxing.”* Even the cat, whiskers twitching in disapproval, decamped to the house next door.

But on the fourth morning

*”Aunt Margaret.”* Emily planted the suitcases squarely before them. *”Youre leaving today.”*

*”What do you mean, leaving?”* Aunt Margaret spluttered into her wine. *”We agreed on a week!”*

*”No,”* Emily shook her head. *”You decided. Just like with the flat. But no more. Our trains tomorrowweve packing to do.”*

*”How *dare* you?”* Helen shot up, scandalised. *”Were”*

*”Family, I know,”* Emily cut in bitterly. *”But family doesnt mean trampling over peoples lives. You didnt ask. You just *took*.”*

*”Whats the harm?”* Sarah scoffed. *”A short visit never hurt anyone!”*

*”Short visit?”* Emilys anger boiled over. *”Youve *occupied* us. Criticised, rearranged, *commandeered* Do you know how many nights I cried in that flat?”*

Aunt Margaret froze, glass halfway to her lips.

*”Emily, we never meant”*

The memory flashedsharp as yesterday. A knock at the door, Aunt Margaret teary-eyed on the step: *”Love, the builders are in! Just a week!”* That week became three months.

At first, it seemed harmless. Just a few nights. Theyd only just moved ina two-bed in a quiet cul-de-sac, every cushion, every lampshade chosen with care.

Then

*”Emily, these curtains are so *dour*!”* Aunt Margaret tutted, reorganising the china cabinet. *”Look at Helensproper floral prints, lovely frills”*

*”Theyre minimalist, Aunt Margaret,”* Emily had argued.

*”Minimalist?”* Shed snorted. *”More like *funeral parlour*! And who stacks plates like this? Let me sort it properly”*

Day by day, their sanctuary warped into something alienless home, more boarding house. The kitchen sprouted gaudy tea towels*”brightens the place up!”* The bathroom brimmed with strangers potions*”the girls need their bits and bobs!”* The hall became a jumble of coats and shoes*”cant turn family away!”*

Then came the *”girls nights.”*

*”Emily, shush now!”* Aunt Margaret would chide, lining up wine glasses. *”Were just having a *quiet* drink!”*

The *”quiet drink”* roared on past midnight. James retreated to the bedroom, headphones clamped on. Emily locked herself in the loo, muffling sobs.

*”Sweetheart, why hide?”* Aunt Margaret would croon through the door. *”Come join us! Helens made her famous sponge!”*

Mornings brought fresh critiques, odd new habits, unsolicited verdicts on their life.

*”Emily, your fridge is *barren*!”* Aunt Margaret lamented. *”In my day”*

*”In my day”*the phrase that sealed every argument. *In her day*, wives cooked feasts daily, hosted endlessly, lived by unspoken rules. Each morning, Emily resolved: *Today, Ill say enough.* But the words always died on her lips.

*”Hang in there,”* James whispered at night, pulling her close. *”Its temporary”*

That *”temporary”* lasted three months. Three months of foreign smells in her kitchen, foreign hands in her cupboards, foreign order imposed on her home. Three months of *”Helen does it this way”*, *”In my day”*, *”Proper people dont”*

And when Aunt Margaret finally packed

*”Darling, how will I cope without you?”* shed sniffed, clutching her bags. *”Maybe just a *little* longer?”*

*”Aunt Margaret,”* Emily had said, voice tight. *”The builders have finished,