For ten years, I’ve worked at the same company in the quaint little town of Pinebridge, and in all that time, I’ve never had a single quarrel with anyone. I’ve always made sure to stay in everyone’s good books, keeping things warm and friendly with my colleagues. But with Eleanor, it was different. We bonded over shared passions—gardening and weekend escapes to the countryside. We became close friends, our families got along, even our husbands hit it off. But now, thanks to her sheer selfishness, our friendship is hanging by a thread, and I’m left with a choice: forgive her or cut her out of my life for good.
Last year, my husband and I finally realised our dream—we bought a cottage just outside Pinebridge. We fixed it up, poured our hearts into it, and started inviting friends over. Eleanor and her husband were regular visitors. This year alone, they’d already dropped by twice, and I was thrilled to share our cosy little retreat with her. What I didn’t expect was for her to start treating my place like her own.
It all began when I wrangled three weeks’ leave from work—a rare chance to relax and tackle some cottage chores. I planned to tidy up the garden before winter and return to the office on the 12th of November. But the 11th? That’s Eleanor’s birthday. And, as it turned out, she’d decided—without so much as asking—that she’d be celebrating it at my cottage.
The whole thing was absurd. Signal out there is patchy at best, so when Eleanor couldn’t get through to me, she took my silence as a yes. Meanwhile, I was knee-deep in weeding, cleaning, and winter prep—the last thing on my mind was hosting guests. I only found out about her plans when I got back to town. She called and dropped it like a bombshell: “We’re celebrating at yours! Get ready, there’ll be about fifteen of us.”
I was stunned. My husband didn’t miss a beat—”Absolutely not.” The cottage wasn’t guest-ready: the sauna was half-finished, tools were packed away, the garden was shut down for winter. Not to mention, I only knew half the people on her guest list. A houseful of strangers? No, thank you. Then there was the decorating, the cooking, the cleaning up after a rowdy crowd—all the day before I was due back at work.
I mustered my courage and explained why it wouldn’t work. Eleanor froze, her face twisting in shock and hurt. She hadn’t seen this coming. “But I’ve already invited everyone!” she blurted. “You’re always happy to have guests!” She tried to argue, but I stood firm. She had two days to find another venue, but instead, she lashed out.
“You’re a terrible friend!” she snapped. “You can’t even help with one party when I was counting on you! That’s what friends do, isn’t it?” Her words stung. I’d half-expected an invite to her birthday, but it never came. Truthfully, I didn’t even want to go anymore. I don’t know if her celebration even happened, but the bitterness between us now is as thick as London fog.
The next day at work, I braced myself for the cold shoulder. But Eleanor outdid herself—she didn’t just ignore me; she made a point of turning away when I walked by, her glare dripping with contempt, as though I’d committed some grand betrayal. The tension was palpable, and the office atmosphere turned downright miserable. I felt guilty, even though I knew I’d done nothing wrong. My cottage isn’t some free-for-all party venue, and I had every right to say no.
Now, I’m at a loss. Do I swallow my pride and make the first move? Apologise for something I didn’t even do? Or let this friendship fade? Eleanor was once someone I trusted, but her selfishness and unfair accusations make me wonder—was our friendship ever real to begin with? I’m stuck at a crossroads, and every path feels painful. Maybe time will tell what to do, but right now, my heart’s just bruised and baffled.