The Sister Who Decided for Everyone
The phone rang at precisely seven in the morning, just as Lydia was stepping into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She glanced at the screen and frowned—her younger sister, Olivia, was calling.
“Hello, Liv, what’s wrong? You know I’m barely awake yet.”
“Lyd, you need to come to Mum’s right away!” Olivia’s voice was tense. “I’ve sorted everything—the paperwork’s done. We’re selling Mum’s flat and moving her into a proper care home.”
Lydia nearly dropped the phone.
“What? A care home? What on earth are you on about?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t see it! Mum’s losing her mind. Yesterday she left the gas on, and the day before, Mrs. Walker found her on the stairs—she’d forgotten which floor she lives on. This can’t go on!”
“Liv, hold on. Let’s talk properly. What paperwork have you done?”
“Power of attorney for the sale. Mum signed it herself. I told her it was for her own good.”
Lydia felt fury rise in her chest.
“Have you lost your senses? How could you do this without consulting me? Mum has two children, you know!”
“And where have you been all this time?” Olivia snapped. “Popping in for an hour once a week, thinking that’s your duty done? I’m here every evening after work—buying her groceries, making sure she takes her pills!”
“I work dawn till dusk, and you know that! I don’t live just round the corner like you!”
“Exactly! So I’m the one making decisions. Come by if you want to say goodbye to the flat. The estate agent’s coming tomorrow to value it.”
Olivia hung up. Lydia stood in the middle of the kitchen, phone in hand, unable to believe what was happening. Her little sister, whom she still saw as the baby of the family, had just unilaterally decided the fate of their seventy-five-year-old mother.
Lydia dressed quickly and left for her mother’s house. On the way, she remembered how, after their father’s death, she, as the eldest, had taken charge—helping with bills, sorting out maintenance, driving Mum to hospital appointments. Olivia had still been at university back then, living a carefree student life.
Mum’s flat was on the third floor of an old council building. Lydia climbed the familiar staircase and rang the bell. Mum answered—Margaret Harris, a slight woman with warm hazel eyes.
“Lydia, love!” she said, lighting up. “You’re here early. Is everything alright?”
“Mum, we need to talk. Seriously.”
They moved to the kitchen. Mum put the kettle on and fetched biscuits from the cupboard.
“Mum, tell me about yesterday. What did you do?”
Margaret thought for a moment.
“Got up, had breakfast… Then Liv came round. We talked about something. She brought some papers.”
“What papers, Mum?”
“Can’t remember exactly. Said they were important, for my own good. That I needed to sign them.”
“And you did?”
“Of course. Liv knows about these things. She works in finance.”
Lydia clenched her fists. Mum had become forgetful, yes—but that didn’t mean she’d lost the right to decide her own life.
“Mum, what else did Liv say?”
“Something about a care home. Said I’d be looked after there. But I don’t want to leave, love. This is my home.”
Tears welled in her mother’s eyes. Lydia hugged her.
“You’re not going anywhere, Mum. I won’t allow it.”
The doorbell rang. Olivia stood there—a brisk, sharply-dressed woman of forty-three in a tailored suit.
“Oh, you’re here already,” she said, spotting Lydia. “Good. Now we can talk like adults.”
“Adults?” Lydia stood up. “Is it adult behaviour to trick a vulnerable old woman?”
“I didn’t trick anyone! Mum signed the papers herself!”
“Mum didn’t understand what she was signing!”
“And I’m right here, you know!” Margaret cut in. “Stop shouting in my home!”
The sisters fell silent. Mum rarely raised her voice, and when she did, they listened.
“Liv, explain those papers to me again.”
Olivia sat beside their mother and took her hand.
“Mum, I’ve arranged to sell the flat. There’s a lovely care home waiting—clean, safe, with a doctor on call. You’ll have your own room, and we’ll visit whenever you like.”
“But I don’t want to sell,” Mum whispered. “My whole life’s here. Your dad lived here.”
“Mum, it’s not safe anymore. You could leave the gas on, take a fall—no one would know.”
“I’ve got neighbours. I’ve got you.”
“Neighbours aren’t family. And we’ve got jobs. Lydia’s across town, and I can’t be here every second.”
Lydia couldn’t stay quiet.
“Liv, we could hire a carer. Or I’ll take Mum in.”
“Carers cost a fortune. And where would you put her? You’ve only got a studio!”
“We’ll manage!”
“Manage?” Olivia raised her voice. “Lydia, stop pretending to be the perfect daughter! You’d cram Mum onto your sofa? Or leave me juggling work, my family, and running over here every night?”
“I never asked you to do that!”
“Didn’t you? Who else was going to? Did you think Mum could care for herself?”
Margaret stood up.
“Girls, go home. I need to think.”
“Mum—” Olivia began.
“Go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
The sisters stepped outside.
“Lydia, I’m not doing this to be cruel,” Olivia said quietly. “I’m terrified something will happen to her.”
“Then why not discuss it with me?”
“What difference would it make? You’d argue, we’d waste months, and Mum could burn the place down in the meantime.”
“Liv, you had no right to decide this alone!”
“I did! Because I’m the one actually looking after her. You swan in for tea like it’s a day out!”
“That’s not true!”
“It is! When Mum was in hospital last year, who stayed with her? Me! Who buys her pills? Me! Who brings her shopping? Still me!”
Lydia wanted to argue back—but realised Olivia wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Fine,” she said. “Say you do more for Mum. That doesn’t give you the right to decide where she lives!”
“What’s your brilliant solution, then? Wait till she sets the house on fire?”
“I’m saying we find a proper answer. Together.”
Olivia sighed.
“It’s done, Lyd. The estate agent’s coming tomorrow. The care home’s booked. The money’s needed next week.”
“Cancel it!”
“No. No more delays.”
Olivia turned towards her car. Lydia called after her:
“What if Mum refuses to go?”
“She won’t. She’ll see sense.”
“What if I challenge the power of attorney?”
Olivia turned back.
“Do it. But remember—while we’re in court, Mum could get hurt. And that’ll be on you.”
She drove off. Lydia went back upstairs.
“Mum, do you really want to move?”
Margaret sat by the window, looking out at the garden.
“I don’t know, love. Liv says it’s best. Maybe she’s right.”
“But what do you think?”
“What do my thoughts matter? I’m just a daft old woman now.”
“Mum, you’re not daft. You get to choose.”
“Do I?” She looked puzzled. “I thought I wasn’t meant to bother anyone anymore. Liv decides everything. You’re busy. I’m just in the way.”
“Don’t say that!”
“It’s true, love. Liv rushes over here every night, exhausted. And you’re worrying yourself sick.”
“Tell me honestly—are you scared to be alone?”
A pause.
“Yes,” Margaret admitted. “Sometimes I wake up and can’t remember if I turned the cooker off. Or what day it is. Last week I got lost coming back from the shops.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t want to trouble you. You’ve enough on your plate.”
Lydia took her hand.
“If you’re afraid, we’ll fix it. Maybe a carer. Or I’ll visit more.”
“You’re kind, love. But Liv’s right—carers cost loads. And it’s miles for you to come every day.”
“I don’t mind!”
“You should. You’re working all hours. And now me, with my silly problems.”
“Mum, you’re not a problem. You’re my mum.”
Margaret smiled.
“Maybe Liv’s got a point. In the care home, I wouldn’t be afraid.Lydia moved in the following week, and though the adjustment wasn’t always easy, the three of them slowly found a rhythm—one where no one had to decide alone, and no one was left to bear the weight of love all by themselves.
