The oppressive city air weighed heavily on Emily the day the letter arrived. The envelope, yellowed with age, carried the faint scent of salt and something nostalgically familiarchildhood summers. With unsteady hands, she unfolded the crisp paper and read the neatly penned words. Her grandmother, Margaret, had left her the seaside housethe very one where shed spent every glorious summer of her youth.
Her heart raced, joy and sorrow entwined. She could still feel the warm sand between her toes, hear the waves crashing, and picture her grandmothers welcoming smile at the door.
She dialled James at once. His voice crackled through the phone, distracted and impatient, as though shed interrupted something crucial.
«James, I need to go,» she began, steadying herself. «Gran left a will. Shes given me the house by the sea.»
A beat of silence. Then, «That old place? The drafty, crumbling one?» His tone dripped with skepticism.
«Its not crumbling!» Emily snapped. «Its historicfull of memories. I spent every summer there as a child. Gran Margaret adored me, always kept a watchful eye. When I was little, shed hold my hand as we walked to the shore. Later, Id race there with the local children, packed lunches in hand, playing till dusk. Sun, waves, laughter…»
«And how long will you be gone?» His curt voice yanked her back to the stifling city.
«I dont know, but certainly not just a weekend,» she sighed. «I need to settle thingsits been years. The last time I was there was my second year at uni. That was ages ago. Ill take leave. And you…» She hesitated, pouring hope into her words. «You could join me later. Its only a few hours by car. Leave earlyyoud be here by tea. Take a couple of days off, even unpaid. We could relax. By the sea.»
«Cant say Ive missed the seaside,» he replied flatly. «Fine, no promises, but Ill see how work goes…»
Those words hung in the air. Hed «see.» Just as he always did, only to stay buried in work, his priorities never quite aligning with hers.
Three days later, Emily packed her bags, her heart fluttering with anticipationand the faint hope James might change his mind, drive her to the station, kiss her goodbye, and say hed miss her. Instead, three hours before her train, he called.
«Emily, sorry, cant take you. Urgent meeting. Youll manage a cab, wont you?» His voice carried a false note.
«Of course,» she murmured, throat tight. «Dont worry.»
She hailed a taxi and stared blankly out the window as the city blurred past. Thenher heart dropped. At a red light stood his car. And there he was, helping a slender woman in a floral dress step out, their laughter carrying as they disappeared into a cosy café.
«Stop here, please!» Emilys voice shook as she flung open the door. Heat surged through her. She stormed into the café and froze. They leaned over a shared menu, fingers nearly touching.
«Hello,» she said, her voice icy. «I see youre terribly busy. Just one thinggoodbye. Dont call again. Ever.»
She turned on her heel, ignoring his shouts. Back in the taxi, her nails dug into her palms. The journeytrain, then taxi down winding country lanespassed in a haze of anger.
The driver halted at wrought-iron gates tangled with ivy. «Here you are,» he muttered.
Emily hauled out her bags. The air smelled of salt, wild herbs, and memories. With an antique key, she turned the rusted lock. The gate creaked open.
The garden was wild, Grans flowerbeds overtaken by defiant blooms. The oak front door resisted before yielding with a groan. Inside, silence. Dust coated everything. The grand staircase, the stained-glass window casting coloured lightit was all hers now.
A knock startled her.
«Hello, love,» smiled Mrs. Wilkins, her neighbour. «Recognise me?»
Emily blinked. «Mrs. Wilkins! How did you know I was here?»
«Saw the gate open. Your gran asked me to keep an eye on the place. My lad, Tomremember him?hes back living with me now. If you need anything, just ask.»
Emily spent the day scrubbing the kitchen. By evening, she ventured to the local shop, returning as the sunset painted the sea gold. She ached to call Jamesbut pride won.
Night fell swiftly. Emily settled into Grans bed, leaving the lamp on. Exhaustion pulled her under. In her dreams, gentle fingers brushed her hair, and Grans voice whispered, «Choose wisely, my dear.»
She woke with a start. The house creaked. Downstairs, the chandelier needed cleaning. Mrs. Wilkins sent Tom over with a ladder.
Emily barely recognised the tall, broad-shouldered man at her doorTom, the boy whod once scolded her for stealing apples from his tree.
«Fancy seeing you,» he grinned. Together, they polished the chandelier, filling the house with laughter. By afternoon, the place sparkled.
«Fancy a bite at the pub?» Tom asked. Over fish and chips, he regaled her with stories. Later, they swam in the warm sea, the water like silk.
That night, James called, honey-voiced. «Miss you. Send the addressIll come.»
Emilys mind flashed to Toms honest smile, Grans words. «Dont bother,» she said coldly. «Were done.»
She hung up, realising thenGran had meant the choice between the past and something true.
Time passed. Emily made the house a home. She married Tom in a quiet ceremony on the terrace, the sea their witness. Now, standing under the stars, her hand resting on her growing bump, she whispered, «Thank you, Gran.»
Somewhere inside, the chandeliers crystals chimed softly in reply.
