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After purchasing our seaside home, our relatives suddenly “remembered” we were around.
I never thought anyone would call my husband and me arrogant. We’ve always lived simply, never seeking attention. Both of us are nearing 50, and this is our second marriage. I don’t have children — it just worked out that way — but my husband has a grown daughter. We’ve been together for nearly a decade, creating a peaceful and comfortable life together.
Jack lived in his own home in the countryside, while I had a city apartment. After our wedding, I moved in with him, and it turned out to be the right decision. Life in the rural area quickly grew on me: the peace, the slow pace, the closeness to nature. We weren’t fans of noisy gatherings, rarely visited others, and hardly had visitors. The only frequent guest was Jack’s daughter, Sarah, with whom I shared a warm relationship.
Shortly after our wedding, we took a trip to the seaside. This journey left an indelible impression on our hearts. The sea breeze, the sound of the waves, and endless beaches—it all seemed like paradise on earth. We began to wonder if retiring by the sea might be possible. It seemed a distant and nearly unattainable dream, but fate decided differently.
Unexpectedly, Jack’s uncle passed away, leaving him a three-bedroom flat in London. This became our opportunity to pursue our dream. We decided to sell the inherited property, leave our jobs, and relocate to a coastal town. Jack’s daughter, Sarah, took charge of selling his house. She quickly found buyers and sent us a portion of the proceeds; Jack decided to gift the remaining amount to her.
Thus, we found ourselves in a snug seaside cottage. We found work without much difficulty, and life was settling in. However, our idyllic existence was disrupted by unexpected attention from relatives. As soon as the news of our move spread, guests started arriving: brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, and even distant relatives we barely remembered.
Initially, we were pleased to see them, but soon noticed a troubling trend. Many arrived unannounced, empty-handed, expecting full hospitality. They anticipated free lodging, meals, and entertainment. After they left, we were left to tidy up, wash heaps of bed linen, and replenish food supplies.
What was particularly frustrating was that some relatives brought children and even grandchildren without letting us know in advance—turning our house into a free boarding house. Jack and I felt exhausted and taken advantage of.
We decided to set boundaries. Close relatives, like Jack’s sister with her daughter and Sarah with her family, were always welcome. They visited briefly, brought treats, and helped with chores. But we had to close our doors to others. We clarified that we couldn’t host uninvited guests and provide for them.
This decision sparked outrage. We were labeled arrogant, accused of getting above ourselves and turning our backs on family. But we felt no guilt. When we lived in the countryside, none of these people showed any interest in us. Now, having learned about our seaside home, they suddenly remembered we existed.
Jack and I have no regrets about our decision. Our home is our fortress, and we have the right to choose whom and when to invite. Life by the sea taught us to appreciate simple pleasures: morning walks along the beach, sunsets on the shore, the sound of the surf. We won’t let anyone disrupt our harmony and peace.