The oppressive city air weighed heavily on Emily the day the letter arrived. The envelope, yellowed with age, carried the scent of salt and something faintly familiara whiff of childhood summers. Her fingers trembled as she unfolded the crisp paper, revealing her grandmothers elegant handwriting. Grandma Margaret had left her the seaside housethe very one where shed spent every blissful summer as a girl.
Emilys heart raced, joy and sorrow twisting together. She could almost feel the warm sand beneath her bare feet, hear the crash of waves, and picture her grandmothers welcoming smile at the door.
She dialled James at once. His voice crackled through the phone, distant and impatient, as though shed interrupted something far more important.
«James, I need to go,» she said, steadying herself. «Grandma left me the house by the sea.»
Silence. Then, «That old place? The one practically falling apart?»
«Its not falling apart!» Emily snapped. «Its grand, full of history. I spent every summer thereGran Margaret adored me. Shed walk me to the shore when I was little, and later Id race there with the local kids. Wed pack sandwiches and spend whole days by the watersun, laughter, waves»
«How long will you be gone?» His curt tone yanked her back to the stifling city.
«I dont know, but not just a weekend,» she sighed. «I need to sort things out. I havent been there in yearsnot since uni. You could come laterits only a few hours drive. Take a couple days off, and we could relax by the sea.»
«Not really my thing,» he muttered. «Fine, Ill see how work goes.»
Those words hung like lead. Hed «see»just as he always did, choosing his work over her every time.
Three days later, Emily packed her bags, her heart fluttering with hope that James might change his minddrive her to the station, kiss her goodbye, promise to follow. Instead, three hours before her train, his call came.
«Emily, sorry, cant take you. Work crisis. Youll manage a cab, yeah?» His voice held a false note.
«Of course,» she replied, her throat tight. «Dont worry.»
She hailed a taxi, staring blankly at the blur of streets. The city watched her leave with indifference. Thenher heart stopped. At a traffic light stood his car. And there he was, helping a slender woman in a floral dress out of the passenger seat. They laughed, heading into a cosy café.
«Stop here!» Emilys voice shook. She leapt out, fury burning in her chest. Inside, they sat close, fingers nearly touching over a shared menu.
«Hello,» she said, icy. «Busy, I see. Just one thinggoodbye. Dont call me again.»
She turned and left, deaf to his shouts. Back in the taxi, her nails dug into her palms.
The journeytrain, then cab down winding country roadspassed in a haze of rage. By the time the car stopped at wrought-iron gates choked with ivy, she was numb.
«Here you are,» the driver grunted.
Emily paid and hauled her bags out. The air was thick with the scent of wild thyme and salt. The heavy key turned in the rusted lock with a clicklike the start of a new life.
The garden was wild, Grans flowerbeds overgrown but defiantly blooming. The oak door groaned open, revealing a hall with a soaring ceiling and a grand staircase. Sunlight through stained glass painted the floor in jewel-toned patches.
«Its mine,» she whispered.
Room by room, memories surfaced: the hearth where theyd toasted marshmallows, the dining table where Gran served Sunday roasts. In the sideboard, antique Wedgwood china gleameddelicate, priceless. A cup bore the gold stamp: «1890.»
A bang upstairs startled her. She climbed slowly, finding nothing but silenceuntil Grans bedroom. The four-poster bed, draped in faded silk, smelled of lavender. She lay down, dust rising around her.
A sharp knock at the door.
On the step stood Mrs. Wilkins, her neighbourmother of her childhood friend, Lucy.
«Emily, love! Saw the gate open. Your gran asked me to keep an eye on the place. Lucys married now, moved to Manchester. But my Toms backdivorced, living with me. Need anything, just ask.»
Emily spent the day cleaning, exhaustion setting in by evening. A trip to the village shop for groceries brought her back at sunset, the sky ablaze over the sea. She reached for her phonethen stopped.
Forget him.
Night fell fast. Upstairs, she sank into Grans bed, leaving a lamp on. Sleep came quickly, and she dreamed of gentle fingers brushing her hair. Gran stood by the bed, smiling.
«Choose wisely, love,» she murmured.
Emily woke with a start. The house creaked, the sea whispering beyond the windows.
Morning light revealed a cobwebbed chandelier. Mrs. Wilkins sent Tom over with a ladder.
He was tall now, broad-shouldered, with warm hazel eyes and a grin. «The Emily who stole our apples?»
She laughed. «Guilty.»
They cleaned the chandelier, crystal sparkling under his careful hands. He stayed, helping shift furniture, fix hinges, scrub windows. By afternoon, the house gleamed.
«Starving,» Tom declared. «Pub?»
Over fish and chips, he made her laugh with tales of village life. After, they walked the beach, swam in the warm shallows, and parted at her gate with promises to meet again.
That night, James called, syrup-sweet. «Miss you. Send the addressIll visit.»
Emily closed her eyes, seeing Toms smile, Jamess betrayal. Grans words echoed: *Choose wisely.*
«Dont bother,» she said coolly. «Were done.»
She hung up, the choice clearnot between city and sea, but past and future.
Months later, the house hummed with life. Emily moved for good, working remotely. She married Tom in a quiet garden ceremony, the sea their witness.
Now, on the terrace, his hand rested on her rounded belly as moonlight silvered the waves.
«Thank you, Gran,» she whispered.
Inside, a crystal drop on the chandelier chimed softly in reply.
