I grabbed the keys, took a notebook, and went out to the car. If they were coming in two hours, I had 120 minutes to prepare something that looked like hospitality… while subtly establishing that this wasn’t going to be a free hotel.
I started at the village supermarket. I bought the essentials: rice, pasta, bread, eggs, and fruit. Nothing fancy. Then I went to the secondhand shop where I got five cheap pillows and two sets of sheets . The rest I’d have to improvise.
Upon returning, I organized the spaces: the married couples slept in the bedrooms; the young people in the living room; the rest on mats scattered along the hallway. I prepared handwritten signs with basic rules: “Everyone washes their own plate , ” “Shower shifts , ” “Shared food, shared expenses . ”
I had just put up the last sign when I heard engines approaching. Several voices, laughter, suitcases clinking together.
The door opened and the twenty guests entered without waiting for a greeting, as if that cottage had truly been designed for them.
I smiled.
They didn’t know yet that he had a plan.
And that the next two weeks would be a lesson for everyone.
The arrival of that entire crowd was like a stampede into a cabin designed for a maximum of four people. The children ran down the hallway; two of Laura’s uncles inspected the kitchen as if they owned the place; and her mother, with a critical expression, commented aloud:
— “I thought it would be bigger.”
I simply replied,
” It’s cozy. But it will only work… if we all cooperate.”
That caught their attention. They weren’t used to me saying things like that. I’d always been the easygoing mother-in-law, the one who smiled and accepted any plan without complaint. This time, however, I had clear boundaries written on posters stuck to the wall.
Laura approached with a wink.
— “I hope you don’t mind that there are so many of us. Everyone was eager to see your new cottage.”
It wasn’t entirely true—some didn’t even know it existed—but it wasn’t worth arguing about.
I calmly showed them around, pointing out where each group would be sleeping. No one complained openly, although I did see a few surprised looks when they saw the sleeping mats in the hallway. They’d been expecting real beds, I suppose.
Then, I gathered everyone in the room.
— “Welcome. I’m glad to have you here. But please read these rules. They’re so we can all enjoy ourselves without turning my house into a battlefield.”
There was laughter, but also agreement. At least the idea wasn’t so far-fetched.
The first challenge came that very night. The kitchen, already small, became a human labyrinth. One of Laura’s cousins wanted to make a complicated recipe that required half the counter, three pans, and twenty minutes of concentration. Others were trying to make sandwiches at the same time. In the end, my kitchen looked like a culinary war zone.
At nine o’clock, when we had all finally sat down, I announced casually:
” For tomorrow, I propose shifts. One group cooks, another washes, another cleans up. And each family contributes money for food. We’ll write it down.”
Silence.
An uncle cleared his throat.
— “Money? I thought this was a family visit.”
I smiled.
— “It is. And precisely because it’s a family affair, we all contribute.”
There was no opposition. Perhaps because they were already hungry and wanted to eat, perhaps because deep down they knew it was the right thing to do.
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