The Sisters
Grace rose at dawn, made breakfast, packed a lunch for her husband, and only then went to wake him.
“Love, why so much? I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, eyeing the bulging bag.
“You’ll need something to eat. No time to cook there—just heat it up. Don’t fuss. There’s warm clothes in there too. Nights are chilly now. Drink your tea before it gets cold,” Grace waved him off.
He ate heartily, dressed, and grabbed the bag.
“Off I go. You go back to sleep,” he said, stepping out.
Grace shut the door behind him, returned to the kitchen, and glanced out the window. She knew he’d turn and wave halfway across the yard. True to form, he paused, looked back, and raised his hand. She waved back, smiling to herself. *Like newlyweds.* A warm, fuzzy feeling settled in her chest.
Since retiring, she’d always seen him off like this—whether to work or their cottage. They’d been married twenty-six years. Not long, really, given their age. Both had pasts before each other.
Grace hated being alone. She’d have gone to the cottage, but she’d promised their daughter she’d watch her grandson today. She sighed. No point going back to bed now. Too early to vacuum—the walls in their terraced house were thin, and neighbours liked their lie-ins on weekends.
With nothing better to do, Grace lay down on the bed in her dressing gown, lost in thought until she dozed off.
Even in her dream, she saw her grandmother’s old dog—a big, shaggy Alsatian named Daisy. In the dream, Daisy bounded up, tail wagging. “Daisy! Where’ve you been?” Grace reached out to pet her—but suddenly, Daisy bared her teeth. Grace jerked her hand back, baffled—
She startled awake. The room was empty. No Daisy. The dog had died of old age when Grace was fourteen. A glance at the clock—barely ten minutes had passed. She shut her eyes again. *Dreams of the dead mean bad weather. Dreams of dogs mean relatives.* The doorbell rang. Who on earth was here this early?
Grace swung her legs off the bed, slipped on her slippers, and shuffled to the door. The bell chimed again, impatient.
“Alright, I’m coming!” she muttered, yanking the door open.
The sight of her visitor nearly made her slam it shut. *First instincts are always right.* Later, she’d wish she’d listened. There stood her younger sister. Grace’s heart thudded like a trapped bird.
“Hello, sis,” said Emily, stressing the last word with a grin.
Large front teeth jutted forward, her pale gums visible when she smiled. *So much for dreams not meaning anything,* Grace thought, remembering Daisy’s snarl. The thought soured her stomach. A visit from Emily after all these years? Nothing good ever came of it.
They had different fathers and a ten-year gap. Grace’s dad died in a crash; three years later, their mother remarried and had Emily. The sisters looked nothing alike—Grace plump and petite with delicate features, Emily tall and bony with that prominent overbite.
“Going to keep me on the doorstep? Or do I get an invite inside?”
Grace still had time to slam the door. But—blood was blood, unwanted or not.
“Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
Emily toed off her heels, fluffed her hair in the hall mirror, then turned.
“Surprised? I did drop by unannounced.” She reached for Richard’s slippers, but Grace fished out guest ones. Too small, but they’d have to do.
“Show me how you live,” Emily said, striding into the living room, eyes darting, taking in every detail.
“Posher than I expected. Imported furniture, fresh decor…” She glanced back at Grace. For a split second, Grace caught the envy, the bitterness—then the smile was back, those teeth on full display. And again, Grace thought of Daisy.
“Landed yourself well, didn’t you? Where’s the husband?”
“At the cottage,” Grace said flatly.
“Oh, a cottage too? Proper bourgeois, you two.” The words dripped with that mocking lilt people used when they meant, *We’ll see about that.*
“Why are you here?” Grace’s patience frayed.
“Missed you. We’re all each other’s got.” Emily studied the photo of Grace’s daughter and grandson. “Who’s this? Yours?”
Grace didn’t answer.
“Me? I’ve been alone. Mike and I split fast. Two more after him—no different, really. Waste of effort.”
“Did you steal those too?” Grace bit out before she could stop herself.
“Ooh, testy. Let bygones be bygones, love.” Emily’s grin showed crooked uppers. “I didn’t come to fight.”
“Then why? Nostalgia? Or another round of taking what’s mine?”
“You always were dramatic. How old’s your daughter?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“So you married two years after me. Rushed the kid to keep your man, did you?” Emily threw her head back and cackled.
“She’s Richard’s from his first marriage,” Grace said—then hated herself for justifying.
She fumed, still reeling from the shock of Emily’s arrival.
“Truce, then? Fancy a cuppa?”
As Emily gushed over the kitchen—Grace’s taste, her homemaking skills—Grace lit the hob under the still-warm kettle.
“How long are you staying?”
“Already kicking me out?” Emily volleyed back. Silence. Grace desperately wanted her to say she’d leave after tea.
“Just tonight? Hate hotels. And hubby’s away anyway. Tomorrow, I’m off.”
“Where to?”
“The coast. Wanted one last dose of sun. Thought I’d drop by first. Shame you’re not happier to see me.” An exaggerated sigh. “All these years. Still holding a grudge? I was young, didn’t know why I did it. Mike and I crashed and burned. He’s married now—did you know? Two boys. Happy, apparently. And you’re not exactly suffering. All’s well that ends well.”
Grace missed the “one last” bit—but the old wound reopened.
“Forgive you? You ruined my life!”
“Please. You’re married, comfortable. And your Mike? Middling in bed, honestly.”
The conversation circled the drain—same ugly, pointless topic. Grace turned off the kettle, set out a cup, biscuits, a tin of shortbread.
“Not joining me? I don’t bite.” Emily nodded at the lone cup.
“Already ate with Richard.”
“Ah.”
“Ta for the tea. Mind if I leave my bags? Fancy a wander. You’ll be in later?”
“Promised my daughter I’d watch the baby after lunch.”
Emily’s brow arched.
“Give me a key, then. Don’t worry—I’ve got my own clutter.”
Grace hesitated but handed it over. Once Emily left, she checked the hiding spots—cash, documents, her modest jewellery. With Emily, you never knew. People didn’t change. Still, she couldn’t toss her own sister out. Though part of her wished she had. One night. At least Richard wasn’t here.
Grace had always been prettier but quieter, reserved. Emily twisted boys round her finger, had them trailing after her in droves.
Grace and Mike had been childhood sweethearts. He proposed right after his army service. Wedding plans were in full swing—until Grace walked in on him and Emily in bed. Humiliated, she fled to another city. Emily? Unfazed. The wedding went ahead—Mike married her instead. Like he’d been bewitched. Or maybe he always had been.
In the new city, Grace found work, lived in shared digs. Mum wrote, begging her to forgive Emily, to reconcile.
Grace couldn’t—not Emily, not Mike. It took years to heal. Then, one day in a shop, she met Richard. He was with his little girl, who was wailing for a doll. Richard, red with embarrassment, whispered they’d have to wait till payday.
Grace took pity and bought it. The girl clung to her, overjoyed. Richard’s wife had died six months prior; he was drowning solo.
When he proposed, Grace said yes—though she knew he didn’t love her yet. His daughter called her Mum straight off. Over time, they grew into love. Grace never regretted it. Richard was steady, kind. They’d tried for their own, but after a miscarriage, it never happened. Still, she adored Alice like her own.
A call from Alice snapped her from the memories—a reminder she was expected.
“On my way,” Grace said, gathering her things.
She rang Richard on the walk over, told him about Emily.
Returning that evening, Grace saw every light in the flat blazing. Unease prickled her spine. Had RichardReturning home, Grace braced herself—but when she pushed the door open, Emily was gone, the flat eerily silent save for an envelope on the table with her sister’s scrawled note: *Sorry for everything.*
