A Family Betrayal
“Nina, what on earth are you doing?” Lena’s voice trembled with outrage. “How could you do this to me? I’m your own flesh and blood!”
“And what did you expect?” Nina snapped without looking up from the papers spread across the kitchen table. “Should I have just sat back and watched you run this house into the ground?”
“Run it into the ground?” Lena gripped the back of a chair for support. “I’ve kept this house standing for thirty years! Ever since Mum and Dad passed! Where were you all that time?”
“Oh, here we go again,” Nina mocked, finally raising her cold eyes. “I was working, for your information. Earning a living. Not leeching off my parents well into my forties.”
Lena felt the ground shift beneath her. Slowly, she lowered herself into the chair and stared at the documents.
“Is this really the will?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Nina said bluntly. “Mum left the house to me. The whole thing. You can start looking for somewhere else to live.”
“But… how? When did she even do this? She was ill, barely lucid in those last months—”
“That’s exactly why I came when I did. Someone had to handle things while you were running around with pills and hospital visits.”
Lena stared at her sister, barely recognising her. Nina had always been tough, practical—but no one had expected this cruelty. Especially now, barely a month since their mother’s funeral.
“Come on, Nina, let’s talk like civilised people,” Lena tried, softening her tone. “I get you’re entitled to a share. But kicking me out—”
“I’m not kicking you out,” Nina said, stacking the papers neatly. “You can rent a room. For a fair price, of course.”
“Rent a room in our parents’ house?” Lena couldn’t believe it. “You’re serious?”
“Perfectly serious. Property is property.”
Lena stood and paced the kitchen. Every corner pulsed with memories. Their mother’s favourite fern by the window, faithfully watered every morning for fifteen years. The shelves lined with jars of preserves they’d made together every autumn.
“Remember how Mum always said this house should stay in the family?” Lena asked quietly. “That we should keep it for the grandchildren?”
“You don’t have any grandchildren,” Nina shot back. “But I’ve got Thomas and Emily. It’ll go to them.”
Lena turned sharply.
“Your kids couldn’t even be bothered to come to the funeral. I was the one looking after Mum every single day!”
“Oh yes, of course, Saint Lena,” Nina scoffed. “And look how that turned out. She still died in hospital.”
The words struck like a knife. Lena had already blamed herself for not noticing the signs, for failing to prevent the stroke.
“You know I did everything I could,” she whispered.
“And it wasn’t enough.”
The doorbell rang. Nina went to answer it, leaving Lena standing in the middle of the kitchen, numb with disbelief.
“Oh, Lena, love, you’re home!” Mrs. Wilkins from next door bustled in, clutching a carton of milk. “How are you holding up, dear?”
“Fine,” Lena lied, wiping her eyes.
“I heard Nina was back,” Mrs. Wilkins said, eyeing the papers curiously. “Sorting out the inheritance, are you?”
“We are,” Nina said crisply, returning to the kitchen.
“Your mum always said you were the devoted one,” Mrs. Wilkins prattled on, oblivious to the tension. “Never left her side. Not like some.”
Nina’s lips thinned, but she said nothing.
“We’re in the middle of a family discussion,” she said firmly.
“Oh! Of course, of course!” Mrs. Wilkins flustered. “I just brought some milk—bought too much yesterday. Here, Lena, take it—no point wasting good food.”
Once she was gone, the sisters were alone again. Nina pulled more documents from her bag.
“Here’s the tenancy agreement,” she said briskly. “You can keep the master bedroom and kitchen. Rent is £800 a month.”
“£800?” Lena gasped. “My pension is barely £900! How am I supposed to live?”
“Get a part-time job. Or downsize.”
“Nina, what’s happened to you?” Lena sat opposite her. “We’ve always been close. Yes, you moved to London after uni, started your own life—but we never fought.”
“We didn’t fight because I kept quiet,” Nina said, lifting her gaze. “Quiet when you mooched off Mum and Dad. Quiet when they bought you that flat in town and told me they couldn’t afford to help. Quiet when you moved back here after the divorce and lived off them again.”
“I worked!” Lena shot back. “Teaching, the library!”
“For pennies. Mum and Dad still had to support you.”
“And you were struggling? Mark had a good job, the kids—”
“The kids needed university funds! I had to do everything myself. No help from them, ever.”
For the first time, Lena saw more than coldness in Nina’s eyes—an old, festering resentment.
“If you felt it was unfair, you should’ve spoken up sooner. We could’ve sorted it.”
“Spoken to who? Mum, who doted on you? Dad, who thought you walked on water?”
“They loved us both—”
“They loved me when I was convenient. Good grades, good uni, good marriage. The moment I lived for myself, I became an outsider.”
Nina fell silent, fingers clenched.
“Then you divorced and came back. Suddenly you were the golden child again. ‘Lena’s so kind, Lena’s so dutiful.'”
“I did care for them,” Lena said quietly. “It wasn’t an act.”
“I know. That just made it worse.”
Lena stood and walked to the window. In the garden stood an old apple tree their grandfather had planted. Beneath it, the bench where she and Nina had played as children.
“When did Mum change the will?” she asked, back still turned.
“May. When you were in hospital with pneumonia.”
Lena remembered. She’d been bedridden for two weeks. Their mother had been alone—or so she’d thought.
“You planned this?”
“No. I took leave to help Mum while you were ill.”
“And convinced her to rewrite it.”
“I didn’t convince her,” Nina snapped. “I told her how hard it was without support. That Thomas and Emily needed uni fees. Mum offered.”
“She wasn’t well, Nina. You saw the memory lapses.”
“Lapsed enough to sign legally, apparently.”
Lena turned and studied her sister—rigid in her chair, hands folded, only her eyes betraying strain.
“Did the solicitor not question it? Rewriting it for the daughter who lived miles away, not the one who cared for her?”
“His job is to execute the will, not play family therapist.”
“And you don’t feel guilty?”
Nina hesitated, then stood to boil the kettle.
“I do,” she admitted unexpectedly. “But fairness matters more.”
“Fairness?” Lena exploded. “You’ve got your flat, your job, your family! What do I have? A pittance of a pension, no life—and now you’re taking my home?”
“Taking what’s mine.”
“Yours?” Lena laughed bitterly. “You lived here until you were eighteen. I’ve been here forty years. Who has more right to call it home?”
“The name on the deed does.”
The kettle whistled. Nina poured tea and pushed a cup toward her sister.
“Sit. Let’s talk properly.”
Lena sat reluctantly.
“Look,” Nina continued, “I don’t want to hurt you. But Mum and Dad gave you everything. I got nothing.”
“You left. Chose a different life.”
“Doesn’t mean I should forfeit my inheritance.”
“Not inheritance—basic decency. If you’d suggested splitting it, I’d have agreed.”
“What would I do with half a house in the country? Sell it?”
Nina shook her head.
“A whole house sells better.”
Understanding dawned.
“You’re selling it?” Lena whispered.
“It’s an option.”
“Parents’ home? Our childhood?”
“Lena, stop being melodramatic. It’s bricks and mortar.”
“Bricks and—?” Lena stood so fast her cup tipped. “This is where we grew up! Where Mum and Dad died! Every inch means something!”
“Sentiment doesn’t pay bills.”
“But deceit does?”
“I’m not deceitful. I’m pragmatic.”
Lena wiped the spilled tea and sat again.
“Fine. Say you sell it. Where do I go?”
“Find a flat. Get a London job.”
“With what? I can’t afford to move!”
“Get better work. Or remarry.”
“I’m fifty-seven!”
“Plenty start over then.”
Lena stared, unable to reconcile this stranger with the sister of her youth.
“What if I sue?” she asked quietly.
“Try. TheLena picked up the solicitor’s card, took a deep breath, and whispered, “Then I’ll fight—for Mum, for this house, for everything you’ve forgotten still matters.”
