The Wounds of Betrayal
Emily was just finishing the washing-up when the phone shattered the quiet of her kitchen in a small town near Leeds. She dried her hands on a tea towel and picked up the call.
“Emily, love, hello!” came the syrupy voice of Aunt Nina.
“Evening,” Emily replied flatly.
“Darling, my boy’s moving to Leeds for work—he needs somewhere to stay. Could he crash at yours for a bit?” Nina cooed sweetly.
“No! Sort it out yourselves!” Emily snapped, feeling her face flush.
“But we’re family,” Nina stammered, thrown.
“After what you lot did, I want nothing to do with you,” Emily fired back.
“What are you on about? What did I do?” Panic edged Nina’s voice.
“Emily, you wouldn’t say no, would you?” Nina’s tone dripped with false sweetness, as if she were doing Emily a favour rather than begging one.
Emily stood by the window, fists clenched. These conversations kept happening. Once again, she’d have to drop everything for “family.”
“What now?” she asked, already dreading the answer.
“Your cousin’s daughter’s failing maths!” Nina babbled. “Exams are coming up, and her teacher’s brutal—hands out fails like sweets. You’re the clever one, love, give the poor girl some help, yeah?”
Emily gritted her teeth. She’d already tutored four of their relatives’ kids for free. But saying no wasn’t an option—that’s how she was raised.
“Fine,” she sighed, hating herself for caving.
In their family, helping relatives was sacred. Emily’s parents had drilled into her that family was everything—you never turned your back on your own. They gave time, money, whatever was needed. If someone called, they answered.
“One day, they’ll do the same for us,” her mum always said.
Emily believed it.
Her parents weren’t rich, but they ran a modest shop. Comfortable, not lavish, but it made them the go-to “bank” for the whole clan. Relatives stayed over to save on hotels, “borrowed” money (never repaid), or leaned on her dad for job favours.
Emily did her bit too. After uni, she became the free tutor for nieces, nephews, and distant cousins—sacrificing her evenings for years, convinced that if her family ever needed help, they’d return the favour.
That belief shattered.
“You’re certain?” Emily’s voice shook, her nails digging into the table.
The doctor gave her a sympathetic look, used to delivering bad news.
“We’ve checked twice,” he said quietly. “Treatment needs to start immediately.”
Emily nodded, feeling the floor tilt. The thought that they weren’t alone was her only lifeline.
At home, silence. Her dad stared blankly at the wall; her mum paced, phone in hand but too scared to dial. Emily watched them and knew they couldn’t break.
“We’ll manage,” she said, cutting through the quiet. “There’s enough of us. We’ll get through this.”
Her dad exhaled heavily.
“But the cost… It’s too much.”
“We’ll find it,” her mum said firmly.
They sold everything: Emily’s flat, the car, jewellery, even furniture. Her parents drained the business savings. Still short, they turned to the family they’d spent years helping.
“Everyone, we’re in trouble,” her mum pleaded, voice trembling. “Anything you can spare, please.”
Silence. Then excuses.
“Stay strong,” one aunt said. “We would, but we’re skint ourselves…”
“Such a shame,” an uncle sighed. “Up to our necks in mortgage payments…”
“I’d help, but my savings are tied up,” a cousin said breezily.
Emily listened, stunned. The same people who’d taken their money, slept in their home, used their connections, now couldn’t scrape together a fiver.
Only one distant cousin sent anything—a small amount, apologising it wasn’t more. Emily knew it was a stretch for him and choked back tears.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
After that, she turned off her phone and clenched her fists. They’d do this alone.
They remortgaged her parents’ house.
“Are we really doing this?” Emily’s hands shook as she gripped her head.
“No choice,” her mum said wearily.
Papers and bills littered the kitchen table. The room darkened, but no one turned on the light—saving every penny.
“If we default, we lose everything,” Emily whispered.
“If we stop, we lose your dad,” her mum shot back.
The money came fast and vanished faster—every pence going to treatment, every appointment a fragile hope. Emily stopped counting hospital trips, tests, prescriptions.
Her dad improved. That was all that mattered.
“Progress,” the doctor said, rubbing his eyes. “But it’s a long road.”
Her mum exhaled; Emily nodded. They weren’t giving up.
They worked themselves ragged. Her mum juggled the shop, part-time bookkeeping, and odd jobs. Emily took on extra tutoring, freelanced late into the night.
“When did you last sleep?” her mum asked, finding her at the kitchen table at dawn.
“Can’t remember,” Emily croaked, pouring coffee.
They exchanged tired smiles. Hard, but they wouldn’t quit.
Two years of fighting. Two years of exhaustion, sleepless nights, endless numbers, and cutting corners. But her dad walked again. Returned to work. Became himself.
One evening, he sat at the table, looked at them, and said softly:
“Thank you.”
Emily squeezed his hand.
Then, the family reappeared.
“Emily, love! You’ve been ghosts! How’s your dad?” Aunt Nina chirped, as if the two years of radio silence never happened.
“He’s fine,” Emily said coldly.
“Oh, brilliant! We thought you were mad at us. But family forgives, right?”
Emily’s throat tightened.
“What do you want?”
A pause. Then:
“My lad’s moving to Leeds—needs a place to stay while he flatshares…”
“No room. Dad’s recovering—we’re not hosting,” Emily said, hanging up.
After her dad’s recovery, the phone wouldn’t stop. Relatives who’d vanished for years suddenly remembered them. Got offended when Emily kept her distance, accused her of being heartless, pretended nothing had happened.
“We’re family!” a cousin huffed. “You’re acting like a stranger!”
“Aren’t I?” Emily shot back.
People who’d magically found money for cars and holidays didn’t get why they weren’t welcomed with open arms.
“No one owes you anything!” Nina snapped.
“Exactly,” Emily said.
Three years later, life steadied. The mortgage was cleared, her parents’ shop thrived, Emily bought her own place. No more living on the edge.
She rarely thought about the family—only when someone tried to “make amends,” angling for the old generosity. They called them “snobs,” accused them of pride. Forgot how they’d turned their backs.
“They’re just jealous,” her dad said, shutting the door on another “guest.”
Emily smiled.
“Maybe.”
She wasn’t angry anymore. But she’d never trust that “family” again. Now, they helped only each other—and those who’d earned it.
