**A Sister’s Return**
“Don’t worry, I won’t overstay my welcome. Just a week or so until I find my own place. You won’t kick me out, I hope,” said my sister.
Margaret set breakfast on the table and went to wake her granddaughter. Eighteen-year-old Jenny loved her morning sleep.
“Jenny, up you get. You’ll be late for university.”
Jenny groaned and pulled the blanket over her head.
“Up all night on that laptop again? If you went to bed on time, mornings wouldn’t be such a battle. Come on, I’m not leaving till you’re up.” Margaret yanked the blanket away.
“Ugh, Gran…” Jenny grumbled but sat up, stretching her arms and wobbling on slender legs.
“Chop-chop, your tea’s going cold,” Margaret urged, leaving the room.
“I’m so done with everything,” Jenny muttered under her breath, shuffling after her.
“I heard that. And who’s ‘everything’? Me, is it?” Margaret spun around, and Jenny nearly collided with her. “One more word like that, and I’ll be hurt. Don’t like it? You can always move in with your mother.”
“Sorry, Gran.” Jenny kissed Margaret’s cheek and bolted to the bathroom.
“Little minx,” Margaret sighed. “Another ordinary morning. Just like that, life slips by,” she thought. “Once Jenny’s off to uni, I’ll get to work. Thank goodness for remote jobs. My pension alone wouldn’t keep us afloat.”
She sat at the table and picked at yesterday’s leftover casserole.
“Gran, I told you, I don’t eat breakfast. Definitely not casserole,” Jenny’s voice was sharp behind her. “I’ll have tea, but not that.” She plopped opposite, arms crossed.
“Then I’ll pack you a slice. Skin and bones, you are. Eat. You’ll be starving by evening.”
Jenny sighed and took a bite, looking as if she’d swallowed a frog.
This happened every morning. Getting an extra bite into Jenny required bargaining and blackmail. Bloody diet trends.
“That’s my girl.” Margaret grabbed her cup and plate—lest Jenny dump her leftovers—and headed to the sink.
Jenny forced down the rest, gulped her tea, and slipped away.
Before Margaret finished washing up, rustling came from the hall. She hurried over.
“Knew you’d follow me. Stop treating me like a child. My outfit’s fine, see?” Jenny zipped her jacket and looped a scarf around her neck. Preempting Margaret, she declared:
“I’m not wearing a hat.”
“Don’t dawdle, or I’ll worry. And at my age, stress isn’t good,” Margaret called after the already-departing girl.
Locking the door, she headed to Jenny’s room. Unmade bed. Fighting it was as pointless as the hat battle. Even if Jenny wore it, it’d be stuffed in her bag the second she left. “Ah well, who’ll spoil her if not her gran?” Margaret smoothed the duvet.
Settling at her computer, she barely started when the doorbell rang—noon already. Rubbing her tired eyes, she heard it again, longer this time, insistent.
Opening the door, she froze. A polished woman of indeterminate age stood there, dressed expensively, lips stretched in a smile too red to be natural. For a moment, neither spoke. Recognition dawned more than struck.
“Laura?!” Margaret gasped.
The woman’s grin widened, revealing teeth too even and white to be real.
“I wondered if you’d know me,” said the sister. “May I come in? Or shall we chat on the doorstep?” Laura hoisted a suitcase and an overstuffed bag.
“Come in.” Margaret stepped aside, still stunned. “Where’ve you come from?”
“From there,” Laura said, wheeling her luggage in, cramming the narrow hall.
“Decided to come home. Had enough of abroad—time to return. Still the same old place, I see.” Her sharp eyes noted the scuffed wallpaper, the worn linoleum.
“For good?” Margaret edged past to shut the door.
“Don’t panic, I won’t linger. A week or two till I sort a flat. You won’t toss me out, I hope?” It wasn’t a question. “Still single, then?” Laura’s raspy laugh grated.
“My granddaughter lives with me. She’s at uni now.”
“My, grown up. And your daughter?”
“Married, living elsewhere. Get settled—I’ll put the kettle on. Sorry, wasn’t expecting you. Only leftover casserole for tea. Fancy some?” Margaret called from the kitchen.
“Do you even need to ask?” Laura smirked.
***
They’d never been close—ten years between them. People say sisters spend lifetimes arguing over who their parents loved more. Laura had always been condescending, dismissive, as if to say, *I never asked for you*.
Margaret believed their parents favored Laura. She hogged their attention, got new clothes—hand-me-downs for Margaret. Fights erupted constantly.
“Mum! She took my jumper without asking, stained it!” Laura would shriek before school.
“I didn’t! It’s three sizes too big—you’d drown in it. You stained it and blamed me. Just want a new one!” Margaret retorted.
Laura would lunge, Margaret dodging behind their mother.
“Enough! I’ll buy you a new one—just stop fighting!” Mum would promise.
Exactly what Laura wanted. Smug, she’d stick her tongue out and fling the old jumper at Margaret.
When Laura married straight after school, Margaret rejoiced—now everything would be hers. Fat chance. Laura returned, begging money—a coat, boots, always pricey. Mum gave in. Margaret went without.
A year later, Laura divorced and remarried—a Londoner. Visits grew rare, but money didn’t stretch further. Margaret suspected Mum sent cash secretly. Husband number two lasted longer, till a handsome actor caught Laura’s eye.
After the USSR collapsed, the actor fled abroad—his career flopped; he pumped petrol. Laura ditched him for a wealthy, elderly Swede.
Rare calls home: “Alive, healthy—can’t talk long, it’s expensive.”
Tough times hit. Dad couldn’t adapt, drank, lost his job, died in a brawl. Mum never recovered, fell ill. Margaret graduated, studied economics. Strapped for cash, she begged Laura for help when she called.
“No money. Husband controls it—he’d never give any.” Laura vanished. Mum died a year later. Margaret called—Laura’s husband answered, barely understanding. Laura skipped the funeral.
Now, out of nowhere, she’d descended. Thirty years? Childhood grudges festered into adult ones. Both preferred life apart.
Over tea, Laura confessed: when her husband died, his family evicted her. His ex-wife and daughter inherited everything. Penniless, she tried rebuilding abroad, then came home.
“After Mum died, I married, had a daughter. Don’t recall why we split. She repeated my mistakes—married young, divorced. Now remarried, happy. But Jenny and her stepdad never clicked. My girl’s got her life; Jenny and I have ours,” Margaret shared.
“I can’t forgive you—no help when we struggled, not even coming to *her* funeral,” Margaret added bitterly.
“Think I had it easy? Stingy husband, then left with nothing. Scraped together fare home,” Laura defended.
“Why never call? I thought you were dead.”
“Then I’ll live long,” Laura chuckled, scarlet lips stretching.
Post-tea, she napped in Jenny’s room—their childhood one. Margaret couldn’t focus, eyeing the luggage, resisting kicking it. Decades of resentment bubbled.
“Gran, is she *staying*? That’s *my* room,” Jenny protested later, unimpressed by her sudden aunt.
Three weeks passed. Laura played lady—no cooking, no cleaning. Margaret tentatively asked her plans. Tensions didn’t thaw.
“Had enough? I’ll be gone soon,” Laura replied cryptically.
“No money, she claimed. Or does she expect another widower? Too old for that now,” Margaret reasoned. But she wouldn’t evict her.
Between shopping and cooking, funds drained like sand. Laura never appeared without full makeup, overdressed even at home. *”Primped like a peacock. Can’t she see those clothes hang off her?”* Margaret seethed silently.
Then Laura fainted. The ambulance took her.
“Which hospital?” Margaret asked.
“Oncology.”
“What?”
Next day, Laura admitted the truth: long-term illness. Two months left, at best. Treated while her husband lived; after, funds ran out. She’d come home to die.
“Our doctors are good—you’ll pull through,” Margaret lied, suddenly afraid.
Bare-faced, Laura looked ancient, gaunt.
“No, this is it. I’m not scaredMargaret clung to the card tightly, tears blurring her vision as she whispered, “Goodbye, Laura—thank you for coming home.”
