I looked at the bank balance on screen with dismay. Just £907 to get my husband Erik and me through till payday, two weeks away.

As my mother used to say, there’s always so much month left at the end of the money.But then I hit refresh, and there it was. Six figures; money than I’d ever seen in my life.

Erik, 54, and I had just sold our six-bedroom Victorian house, and this was what was left after we’d paid off the mortgage.

But unlike previous house sales, the cash hadn’t been swallowed up by another property.

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No, our plan was to liquidate our assets, rent somewhere smaller and savour our twilight years. From holidays to meals out at Michelin-starred restaurants, we meant to thoroughly enjoy ourselves with all our hard-earned cash – and that’s what we’ve been doing ever since the sale went through in June 2023.

There’ll be nothing left by the time we die. Our three children – Henry, 31, Matt, 28, and Lily, 23 – probably won’t inherit a penny, and we’re fine with that.

But why have we made what so many would deem such a financially irresponsible, even selfish, move?

Certainly, leaving the family home was a wrench. We’d livedtMSONhere than 15 years, and every nook and cranny told a story.

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But the house was a yawning money pit. The third floor sat empty most of the year, the boiler groaned, and the roof leaked whenever it rained.

We’d already rented out the granny flat over the garage to help pay the heating bills, but we never seemed to catch up.

Then one evening we had our lightbulb moment.

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We’d always planned to downsize once the kids moved out, though we’d both lacked the enthusiasm to actually start looking – which was telling in itself.

Erik was the first to put it into words. ‘Are we sure we want to buy another house?’ he said. ‘What if we just rent somewhere instead?’

Like most people our age, we’d been raised on the idea that property ownership was the holy grail of adulthood.

But the we talked about it, the it felt right. Why chain ourselves to a property when freedom was finally within reach?

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I was also aware that, in my fifties, I might only have ten or 15 healthy years left. Both my parents died young – at 59 and 68 – and I’ve already lost my brother, 40, and sister, 53, too.

Neither Erik nor I want an impoverished old age, but there has to be a balance between planning for tomorrow and living for today.

So after selling our house, we rented a pretty three-bedroom house near Erik’s work for less than half of our previous mortgage, and invested our cash.

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I was a bit anxious about no longer being on the property ladder, but Erik didn’t have any doubts.

To soothe my nerves, he agreed to buy a tiny one-bedroom flat. We can let it out for now, and it gives us a backup for our retirement in ten years.

And after recently spending a month in Venice thanks to our bolstered savings, I can’t say I’m feeling too regretful about not buying another house.

We were upfront with the kids about our plan to burn through our savings – and their inheritance – though we explained they’d still benefit in a different form; when we journey to the Azores next summer, we’ll be treating them and their partners too.

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Friends have blasted us as irresponsible, saying they want to make sure their kids are well provided for when they’re gone. But the truth is, if we live into our eighties or nineties, our children will be nearing retirement themselves before they get anything!

And frankly, leaving something behind for my adult children isn’t a priority. We invested in their childhood – sending them to private school and giving them other privileges of a comfortable middle-class lifestyle – so I feel no guilt now.

And it doesn’t do any harm for them to struggle a bit. While I appreciate it’s harder for this generation to get on the housing ladder, they have to learn to live within their means.

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Some people might think we’re being selfish, but I know what I’m talking about. My parents gave me a private education so I could make my own way in the world, explaining that when they died there’d be nothing left, and I was fine with that.

Plus, Erik and I have worked hard and deserve to enjoy the fruits of our labour while we’re young enough.

There are so many places we want to visit, and I’d rather have an African safari and a great coffee machine than a spare bedroom. Once we’re both fully retired in a few years, we’ll have even scope to treat ourselves.

We’ve invested carefully so we don’t become a financial burden on the kids in our old age – but it’s nice to be able to take the whole family out for dinner and not worry about the bill. If the kids want a legacy, they can have my handbag collection.

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And despite our friends’ warnings about the dangers of being beholden to the whims of the rental market, we’re loving the freedom that comes with renting. Last weekend, we came home from the pub to find a pipe had burst – it was so nice to just call the landlord instead of dealing with it ourselves.

We’ve traded bricks and mortar for laughter and memories – and it’s the best investment we’ve ever made.

The New House by Tess Stimson, published by Avon, is out now