A House by the Sea — Her Dream, Their Argument, and Someone Else’s Need to Control Everything
Lizzie dragged herself home from work, completely knackered. She’d been counting on finally getting a proper lie-in—they’d promised her the day off. But right as her shift was ending, Margaret, her self-obsessed manager, dryly announced,
“Thompson’s called in sick again. Her little one’s got a fever. You’re covering tomorrow.”
Lizzie nodded silently, though inside, she was fuming. Two months without a single day off. Meanwhile, the manager’s little favourites always had some “emergency.” Try arguing, and they’d shoot back with “plenty of jobs out there.” No one ever asked how it felt to juggle double shifts and then stay up baking cakes just to scrape together enough for her dream.
The moment she stepped into her own house, Lizzie knew relaxation wasn’t on the cards. Sitting at the kitchen table was her mother-in-law, Margaret—not just any Margaret, but Margaret with a capital M: stern, overbearing, and eternally dissatisfied. And now, here she was again, unannounced.
Lizzie quietly kicked off her shoes and edged toward the kitchen. The voices inside were hushed but painfully familiar. Margaret was at it again, lecturing her son—and, as usual, the subject was Lizzie.
“Your little missus needs to hand over the keys to that seaside cottage,” came Margaret’s commanding tone. “I’ll spend winter there. Sea air does wonders.”
Lizzie froze. This was the same woman who’d scoffed a year ago, calling anyone daft for buying a place by the sea. The one who’d rolled her eyes when Lizzie took out a loan for the last ten grand she needed. And now? Now she wanted the keys?
That house by the sea wasn’t some stroke of luck—it was hard-earned. Lizzie had slogged for years, taking on any side hustle, even baking bespoke cakes—sugar-free, gluten-free, whatever the fussy customers wanted. In their small town, she was the only one who could pull it off. The money covered everything… except her dream.
Then, finally, she found it—the perfect little cottage, nothing fancy, just a cosy spot with a sea view. She was short by just a bit. She’d asked her husband, James, to borrow from his mum. The response was brutal: “No sense in that one, is there? Now she’s after my savings too?” So Lizzie took the loan herself. And within a season? Paid it off.
Now that the place was bringing in a modest but steady income, Margaret had decided it was… hers.
“Mum, we’ve got renovations planned,” James said carefully.
“You can do them in spring!” she snapped. “I’ve already made arrangements with my friends. We’re going for our health.”
Lizzie heard it all. She lingered by the door, silent, until she caught Margaret’s next words:
“You’ve changed since she came along, James. Everything’s about her plans now. What about your own mother? Don’t you see how this looks?”
That’s when Lizzie stepped in.
“Margaret, if you’re inviting friends to *my* house, you could’ve at least asked me first,” she said calmly but firmly.
Her mother-in-law’s eyes flashed.
“And since when is it just *your* house? It’s my son’s too! Or am I supposed to beg permission now?”
Lizzie was done. No excuses. For once, she didn’t back down.
“The renovations aren’t for fun. The place is drafty, the heating’s shot—you’ll freeze. If your health’s so important, book a spa break. You can afford it.”
Margaret paled. Rage flickered in her eyes.
“I won’t step foot here again! And you, James? You’ll regret this. The second that renovation’s done, she’ll leave you. She’s already got her little escape by the sea!”
With that, she slammed the door.
James pulled Lizzie close. “I’m sorry. You’ve put so much into this… and she just—”
“It’s fine,” Lizzie murmured. “I’m used to it. But I’m not letting anyone trample over me again.”
Two days later, they drove to the seaside cottage. James had convinced her to take unpaid leave. Predictably, Margaret (the manager) refused—until the old boss, Mr. Thompson, stepped in, even mentioning he was coming back full-time and sending his “new wife” on an extended break. A small victory.
The cottage was blissfully quiet. They spent the week in slow, purposeful chaos—hiring builders, measuring walls, tallying costs. Evenings were spent on the deck with tea, silently watching the sunset. It was the calmest they’d felt in years.
Then they returned home. And who was waiting? Margaret. As if her grand exit had never happened. As if she’d never said a word. Lizzie just sighed. She knew this wasn’t over. But she wasn’t the same person anymore.
Renovations began. So did their solution.
“Love,” James said one evening, “what if Mum stays there from autumn through spring? Good for her. And us… peace and quiet.”
So they did. Every year, October to March, Margaret lived by the sea. She’d return refreshed, almost pleasant. And Lizzie? She stopped rising to the bait. They saw each other at holidays, spoke less, but it was civil.
Work settled too. Lizzie got her weekends back. She baked cakes now for fun, not survival. Even James helped—washing up, fetching packaging, taste-testing frosting.
Then one day, Margaret turned up unannounced again, simmering with disapproval. Lizzie just smiled. The words didn’t sting anymore. That house by the sea? It was her victory. And no one could take it away.