“The Betrayal of Blood”
Lena’s voice trembled with fury. “Emily, what on earth have you done? How could you do this to me? I’m your own sister!”
Emily barely glanced up from the legal documents spread across the kitchen table. “And what did you expect? Sit back while you drove this house into the ground?”
“Into the ground?” Lena gripped the chair for support. “I’ve kept this house standing for thirty years—since Mum and Dad passed! Where were you all that time?”
“Where was I?” Emily mocked, finally lifting ice-cold eyes to meet hers. “Working. Earning a living. Not leeching off our parents well into my forties.”
The ground seemed to shift beneath Lena’s feet. Slowly, she sank into a chair, staring at the papers before her.
“Is… is that really Mum’s will?” she whispered.
“Yes,” Emily said curtly. “She left the house to me. All of it. You’ll need to find somewhere else to live.”
“But how…? When did she even do this? Mum was ill—she wasn’t thinking clearly those last months—”
“Which is exactly why I came back. Someone had to handle her affairs while you were too busy playing nurse.”
Lena studied her sister and saw a stranger. Emily had always been tough, practical—but this cruelty was unexpected. Especially now, barely a month after their mother’s funeral.
“Em, let’s talk properly,” Lena tried, softening her tone. “You deserve a share—I get that. But throwing me out—”
“I’m not throwing you out,” Emily said, stacking the papers neatly. “You can rent the spare room. At a fair price, of course.”
“Rent a room in my own home?” Lena choked out a bitter laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious. Property is property.”
Lena stood, pacing the kitchen. Every corner held memories—her mother’s favourite fern by the window, the shelves lined with jars of homemade jam they’d made together every autumn.
“Remember what Mum always said?” Lena asked quietly. “This house was meant to stay in the family—for our children.”
“You don’t have children,” Emily shot back. “But I do. Henry and Sophie. It’ll go to them.”
Lena turned sharply. “Your kids couldn’t even be bothered to come to the funeral! I was the one who cared for Mum—every single day!”
“Cared for her?” Emily scoffed. “And where did that get her? Dead in a hospital bed.”
The words struck like a blow. Guilt gnawed at Lena—she’d blamed herself for not spotting the signs, not acting sooner.
“You know I did everything I could,” she whispered.
“Yes. And it wasn’t enough.”
A knock at the door. Emily strode to answer it, leaving Lena frozen in the kitchen.
“Oh, Lena, love—you’re here!” Mrs. Thompson, their elderly neighbour, bustled in with a pint of milk. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” Lena lied, wiping her eyes.
“I heard Emily was back,” Mrs. Thompson said, eyeing the papers. “Sorting out the will, then?”
“We are,” Emily clipped, returning.
“I remember your mum always saying you were her devoted one,” Mrs. Thompson prattled on, oblivious to the tension. “Never left her side. Unlike some…”
Emily’s jaw tightened.
“Mrs. Thompson, we’re rather busy,” she said firmly.
“Oh, of course! Just brought some milk—no sense wasting it. You take it, Lena.”
Once the neighbour left, the silence thickened. Emily pulled out another document.
“Here’s the tenancy agreement. You can keep the larger room. Rent’s eight hundred a month.”
“Eight hundred?” Lena gasped. “My pension’s barely a thousand! How am I supposed to live?”
“Get a job. Or downsize.”
“Emily, what’s happened to you?” Lena sat opposite her. “We were always close. Yes, you left after uni, built your life—but we never fought!”
“We never fought because I stayed quiet,” Emily snapped. “Quiet when you drained our parents dry. Quiet when they bought you that flat in London while telling me they had nothing to spare. Quiet when you crawled back here after divorcing Mark and let them support you again.”
“I worked!” Lena shot back. “Taught at the school, the library—”
“For pennies. And still, they fed you.”
“And you? You were hardly struggling! James earned well, the kids—”
“The kids needed schooling! I got no help. I did it all alone.”
For the first time, Lena saw past the coldness—to years of buried resentment.
“If you felt it was unfair, you should’ve said something sooner.”
“To whom? Mum, who doted on you? Dad, who thought you could do no wrong?”
“They loved us both—”
“They loved me when I was convenient. Top marks, university, marriage. But the moment I lived for myself, I became the outsider.” Emily clenched her hands. “Then you divorced and came back. And suddenly, it was all ‘Lena this, Lena that.’ ‘Lena’s so caring, so capable.’”
“I did care for them,” Lena said softly. “It wasn’t an act.”
“I know. But that didn’t make it easier.”
Lena moved to the window. In the garden stood the old apple tree their grandfather had planted. Beneath it, the bench where she and Emily had played as children.
“When did Mum change the will?” she asked, back turned.
“May. When you were in hospital with pneumonia.”
Lena remembered—she’d been bedridden for weeks. Mum had been alone. Or so she’d thought.
“You planned this.”
“No. I took leave to help her while you were ill.”
“And convinced her to rewrite it.”
“I didn’t have to convince her,” Emily snapped. “I just told her the truth—how hard it’s been without support. The kids need uni fees, and we’re drowning. Mum offered.”
“She wasn’t well, Em. Her memory—”
“Her memory was fine enough to sign legally.”
Lena turned, studying her sister—posture rigid, hands clasped, eyes betraying tension.
“And the solicitor didn’t question it? Leaving everything to the daughter who lived miles away—not the one who cared for her?”
“Solicitors follow instructions. They’re not family therapists.”
“Doesn’t it eat at you?”
Emily hesitated, then stood to boil the kettle.
“It does,” she admitted quietly. “But fairness matters more.”
“Fairness?” Lena exploded. “You have a home, a career, a family! I’ve got nothing—no savings, no health, no one. And now you’re taking my house?”
“It’s not yours. It’s mine.”
“Yours?” Lena let out a broken laugh. “You lived here eighteen years. I’ve been here over forty. Who has more right?”
“The name on the deed.”
The kettle whistled. Emily poured tea, her tone softer.
“Sit. Let’s talk properly.”
Reluctantly, Lena sat.
“Look,” Emily sighed, “I don’t want to hurt you. But Mum and Dad spent everything on you. I got nothing.”
“You chose to leave. You wanted a different life.”
“And that means I forfeit my inheritance?”
“Not inheritance—fairness. If you’d asked to split the house, I’d have agreed.”
“Why would I want half a country home? What would I do with it?”
“Sell it. Rent it out.”
Emily shook her head.
“It’s worth more whole. Easier to sell.”
Realisation dawned.
“You’re selling it?” Lena whispered.
“It’s an option.”
“Selling our family home? Where we grew up?”
“Lena, don’t be dramatic. It’s bricks and mortar.”
“Bricks and—?” Lena stood abruptly, knocking over her cup. “This is our childhood! Where Mum and Dad died! Every inch of it means something!”
“Sentimentality won’t pay bills.”
“But betrayal will?”
“I’m not betraying you. I’m being practical.”
Lena wiped the spilled tea, hands shaking.
“Fine. Say you sell it. Where do I go?”
“Find a flat. Get a job.”
“With what money?”
“Try harder. Or remarry.”
“I’m fifty-seven!”
“And? Plenty start over at that age.”
Lena stared, unable to reconcile this stranger with the sister she’d once known.
“What if I challenge it in court?”
“Go ahead. The will’s ironclad. You’ll lose.”
“Mum wasn’t competent—”
“Prove it. Get a medical report declaring her unfit when she signed.”
Lena knew no such report existed. Officially, Mum had been of sound mind.
“You know what?” She stood. “I need time to think.”
“Take it. But don’t stall. There’s already a buyer.”
**”And as the first light of dawn crept through the curtains, Lena picked up the phone, dialed the solicitor’s number, and chose to fight—not just for the house, but for the family she refused to believe was truly lost.”**
