**Diary Entry**
“Son, you’ll have the house. But please, I beg you, look after your sister. You mustn’t abandon her,” my mother whispered.
“Listen to me, son…” Her voice was barely audible.
Every word came with effort. The illness was stealing her life away. She lay in bed, frail, almost translucent. To Jonathan, she didn’t even look like his mother anymore. He remembered her as tall, full of life, always smiling. Now…
“Son, promise me… don’t leave Emily… She needs you. She’s not like others, but she’s ours. Promise me…” Her grip on his hand tightened with unexpected strength. Where did she find such strength?
Jonathan winced. His gaze drifted to his older sister, Emily, who sat in the corner of their cramped flat in Manchester. She was in her forties but still played with her doll, humming softly, smiling as if tomorrow held joy, not the loss of her dying mother.
Jonathan had built a good life—his own construction company, a luxury Range Rover, a spacious house by the Thames. But there was no place in it for Emily. His children were unnerved by her odd behaviour, and his wife, Victoria, called her “mad,” even though Emily was gentle, harmless, never bothering anyone.
“Well… you know… I’ve got my family… and Emily… she’s…” Jonathan mumbled, trying to pull his hand free from her frail but stubborn grasp.
“Son, your father’s house is yours… but I’ve left Emily a three-bedroom flat. It’s all settled.”
“Where did you get the money?” Jonathan and Victoria exchanged stunned glances. Their faces brightened at the news.
“I cared for an old schoolteacher… brought her meals, her medicine… She was kind. I never expected she’d leave me her flat. I put it in Emily’s name, so she’d have a home. But you… you must watch over her, I beg you… Later, the flat can go to your children or grandchildren… Who knows how long she’ll live…”
They said their goodbyes. She died that same night.
Emily didn’t seem to understand she was now alone. Jonathan took her in straight away and began renovating the three-bedroom flat.
“Why does Emily need such a big place? Let her stay with us for now. We’ll rent it out,” he said eagerly to Victoria.
At first, Victoria didn’t object. Emily caused no trouble—playing with dolls or sorting through her things, always smiling. But her strangeness unsettled them. “She’s quiet today, but what about tomorrow?” Victoria whispered.
“Just be patient,” Jonathan pleaded. But six months after their mother’s death, with the help of a solicitor friend, he transferred both the family house and Emily’s flat into his name. He coaxed her into signing papers without explaining what they were.
From then on, Emily’s life became a nightmare.
When Jonathan was at work, Victoria tormented her—mocking her, locking her in her room, refusing to let her outside even in summer. Sometimes, instead of proper food, she’d put down a bowl of cat food, screaming until Emily sobbed. One day, Victoria slapped her across the face. Emily was so terrified, she wet herself.
“Not just a nutter, but incontinent too? Get out of my house—I can’t stand the sight of you!” Victoria shrieked.
She stuffed Emily’s things into a bin bag and threw her out.
“Where’s Em? Haven’t seen her today,” Jonathan asked that evening as he got into bed.
“Gone!” Victoria snapped. “Your darling sister wet herself in the middle of the room, then locked herself in the bedroom. I had to force the door open. I told her off, and she grabbed a bag and ran. Like I’d chase after her! Princess threw a tantrum…”
Jonathan went still. He thought for a long moment, then said,
“Well, if she’s gone…” and turned on the telly. “Found tenants for that flat, by the way.”
The night was unbearable. Jonathan lay awake till dawn, wondering—where was she? Was she alright? She was like a child, helpless in the world. Only as morning crept in did he doze off. He dreamed of his mother.
“I asked you, son…” she said from her coffin, wagging a finger.
The dream returned every week, draining him. He couldn’t bear it. Two months after Emily vanished, he rang his godmother, Margaret, his mother’s old friend, hoping she knew where she was.
“What, Johnny? Guilt eating at you?” Margaret’s voice was icy. “Good thing I stopped by your mother’s old place. Found Em there—terrified, wretched. Don’t know how the poor soul got there. She’s with me now. I’ll care for her—I don’t want her flat. You live with your shame. Pray your mind stays with you till the end!”
“Auntie, enough…” Jonathan muttered and hung up. Relief washed over him—she was safe. Life could go on.
Emily died two months later. The same illness that took their mother. Jonathan didn’t go to the funeral—”business to handle.”
Ten years passed. Now Jonathan lay bedridden, his body aching, his soul heavier still. Victoria barely visited—living with a new man in the next room. His grown children came rarely, wrinkling their noses—”You smell again…” Like his mother, he faded slowly.
One day, Victoria came in with papers.
“Sign these. Need to sort the business.”
He did. Too late, he realised—it was the deed to the house. Then the company. Memories of his mother and Emily flooded back. Tears streaked his face.
“Forgive me… forgive me…” he whispered into the emptiness.
