James returned from his work abroad in Germany to his hometown of York late one evening. As always, his first stop was his mother’s house. Margaret Wilson embraced her son tightly.
“It’s been an age, Jamie! I’ve missed you terribly! Well then, did you manage to save a fair bit?”
“Same as always,” he replied with a wry smile. “On the way back, it struck me—why pay rent for a place I hardly live in? Better to pay a mortgage on my own flat, even if it’s a stretch.”
“You’re quite right,” his mother nodded. “You’re twenty-seven now, time to think of settling down. And then children. You can’t do that without a roof of your own.”
Two months later, James bought a cozy one-bedroom flat in a new development, furnishing it just to his taste. He left a spare key with his mother, just in case, before heading back to work overseas.
But the moment he crossed the border, Margaret handed the keys to his sister, Eleanor. A few years older than James, Eleanor had never held a steady job, was always drowning in debt, and lived in hopes of marrying into wealth.
“She’ll stay a while, save some money, get back on her feet,” Margaret reasoned. “What harm could it do?”
Her hopes were misplaced. In four months, Eleanor hadn’t saved a penny—instead, she’d sunk deeper into debt. When the time came to leave, she simply changed the locks, ensuring no one, not even James, could evict her.
When James returned and his key wouldn’t turn, he stood frozen in the hallway.
“What in blazes—?” he muttered, then stormed straight to his mother’s.
Margaret admitted, hesitantly, that she’d let Eleanor stay—but swore she’d had no idea about the locks. James seethed.
“Letting her stay without asking me is one thing. But changing the locks? Does she even intend to leave?”
“I offered to take her in,” Margaret defended. “She refused.”
The next day, James called the constable. The authorities forced the door open. He chose not to press charges, but the confrontation was bitter.
“You could’ve stayed with Mum,” Eleanor said coolly. “You’ll be off again soon enough. I’ve a life to sort out.”
“That’s not why I bought the flat,” James snapped. “Take your suitors to a rented place. Get a job and pay your own debts.”
“I’ll manage without your advice! Worry about settling down yourself!”
Eleanor packed her things and left. The rift between brother and sister was complete. James felt no grief—he’d long known Eleanor saw family only as a purse to be emptied.
Months passed. Margaret had a cottage with a small garden, and James, on leave, offered to help with the harvest. Who should he find there but Eleanor?
“Well, if it isn’t dear brother,” she sneered. “Conscience got the better of you, so you’re digging potatoes now?”
“Better question—why are you here? Need more money?”
“Mum’s bought me a flat,” Eleanor declared without blinking. “Reward for my efforts.”
“What? What flat?”
“A two-bed in the new development. Fully furnished. On mortgage. Mum’s name’s on the deed.”
James went pale. He remembered the long hours on foreign construction sites, the years of saving for his deposit. And Eleanor got hers handed to her?
He said nothing. Finished the work and left. But his chest tightened.
A week later, Eleanor texted him. The patio doors were stuck—could he fix them? James agreed, curious to see her so-called palace. The flat was ordinary, no grander than his own.
“Hardware’s come loose,” he assessed. “Need to order a part.”
“You order it. And get the money from Mum,” she tossed back dismissively.
“Are you joking? Mum bought you this place, furnished it, and you won’t even pay for the repair?”
“You’re just jealous. She loves me more. Now go!”
James walked out without a word. That same day, he blocked her number. No more calls, no more meetings.
“Let them live as they please,” he decided. “I know my place now. And no one gets a spare key again.”
