The Relatives Who Weren’t
The morning quiet in the small flat in the quaint town of Amersham was shattered by her mother’s call. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes and picked up the phone.
“But Emily’s a doctor!” Her mother’s voice trembled with insistence.
“So?” Elizabeth replied coolly.
“A doctor isn’t just a job—it’s a calling!” her mother declared, as if uncovering some great truth.
“A calling, then,” Liz sighed. “But why does Emily matter to you now, after twenty-five years of pretending she didn’t exist?”
“She’s a doctor—she has to help!” the woman persisted.
“Forgive debts, not duties,” Liz thought bitterly, but there was no laughter in it. Jokes about family didn’t land when the family had never truly been there. Elizabeth and her daughter, Emily, had been forgotten—until suddenly, they weren’t. Not after Emily graduated from medical school in London.
Then, like shadows creeping in at dusk, the relatives emerged from nowhere. Aunt Margaret, who’d once turned her nose up at her pregnant niece, now cooed, “How wonderful—we’ve got our own doctor in the family!”
Uncle Nigel, who’d once sneered, “You made your bed—lie in it,” now complained, “My back’s been playing up—best get it checked.”
Even her mother, who’d washed her hands of Liz years ago, now called with saccharine concern.
Twenty-three years earlier, Liz had been left alone. Her sweetheart, Daniel, had bolted the moment she told him she was expecting. In TV dramas, men wept with joy at two blue lines—but life wasn’t a script. She’d met him while waitressing in a London café, fresh from Yorkshire with a business degree and big dreams. Back home, the only job going was at the dairy farm, where the livestock manager had already started leering. So she fled to the city, hoping her uncle Gregory might help.
“I came straight from the station!” she’d chirped, handing over a jar of strawberry jam and a bottle of cream.
Her uncle took the gifts but cut her off: “This isn’t the countryside—space is tight. Try a hostel.”
Stunned, Liz left without even a cuppa. Desperate, she ducked into the first café she saw and spotted a sign: “Dishwasher wanted.” The owner, taking pity, offered her a storage room to sleep in if she’d take night shifts. She agreed. Humiliating, but what choice was there? She scrubbed plates, saved pennies, and kept her head down.
Then came Daniel. A courier, he often stopped by for lunch. Handsome, broad-shouldered—he felt like a safe harbor. Plain-faced but sharp-eyed, Liz had never felt wanted before. When he asked her to move in, she said yes without thinking. Love had blinded her. Five blissful months—then the pregnancy test.
Daniel exploded. “I’m not ready!” he’d shouted, shoving her out the door. Liz called her mother in tears.
“Mum, I’m pregnant. I need help.”
“Got yourself in trouble, have you?” her mother sniffed. “Sort it out yourself.”
Uncle Gregory was no better. “You’re having a laugh, aren’t you? We’ve got our own to feed!”
Abandoned, Liz was left with nothing but a swelling belly. The café’s storage room was gone—filled by another girl. But the owner, kind-hearted, sent her to her gran, a spry 86-year-old.
“Look after her, and I’ll waive rent—just cover the bills,” she’d said.
Liz cried with gratitude. And so it began. Gran helped with baby Emily, cooked when Liz was wiped out. It was hard. Twice, Liz begged relatives for money—Emily had asthma attacks, needed medicine. No one helped. Only the café owner lent a hand.
Years passed. Gran died. Liz returned to the café, then took courses, landed an office job. Nights, she still washed dishes to give Emily the best. She scrimped, bought a cramped flat on London’s outskirts. Men were off the table—love was a fairy tale. Emily grew up, aced medical school, snagged a spot at a private clinic.
Then, the relatives resurrected. Emily, ever trusting, wanted to visit Grandma, who’d since moved to London. Liz warned her: “Let sleeping dogs lie.” But Emily went. She came back different—Grandma had called her brilliant, beautiful, spun lies about “bad timing,” not abandonment. Things would be different now!
Liz didn’t buy it. She was right. The phone rang nonstop. The relatives were giddy—a doctor in the family!
“I need a cardiologist!” Uncle Gregory demanded.
“Get me an endocrinologist!” Aunt Margaret chimed in.
“Make it free—we’re family!” Grandma snapped.
Emily, flustered, tried explaining: “It’s a private clinic—I can’t just—”
“Sort it!” Grandma barked before slamming the phone down.
Emily regretted going. They’d lived fine without family! But calls kept coming, so Liz took over. When she stopped answering, the relatives stormed the clinic. Uncle Gregory, his wife, and Grandma marched in at dawn, jam jars in hand, demanding free tests.
The receptionist called Emily: “Dr. Hart, your family’s causing a scene!”
“Remove them,” Emily said firmly. “They won’t listen.”
Security escorted the trio out, their jars clinking. From the lobby, they bombarded Emily with furious texts, calling her and Liz every name under the sun. But Emily exhaled—these weren’t family. Just strangers.
Shame gnawed at her—she was new here. Yet, to her surprise, the higher-ups admired her backbone.
“Young, but knows where to draw the line,” they said. “She’ll go far.”
The relatives vanished. Liz and Emily carried on as they always had—relying only on each other. Being a doctor was a state of mind, but the heart had to stay guarded. And to family who only remembered you when they needed something? Best to wish them health. And a hefty medical insurance plan—private care doesn’t come cheap.
