“You’re so independent!” her parents said, then secretly gifted a three-bedroom flat to her younger sister.
Anna was pushing her trolley through the shopping centre when someone called out:
“Annie! Hi!”
She turned and saw Marlene, her sisters friend, beaming and reaching for a hug.
“How are you? Listen, I wanted to ask what should I get Lydia for her housewarming? The flats gorgeous, three bedrooms right in the city centre!”
“What housewarming?”
The trolley stopped on its own.
“Come on, you know! Shes moving into Grans old place! Says your parents gave it to her. Lucky girl, your little sister!”
Anna felt everything inside her tighten. Her parents had rented that flat out for three years she even recognised the tenants.
And deep down, shed hoped theyd sell it one day, split the money, and shed finally pay off her mortgage early.
“Has she moved in already?”
“Not yet, but shes planning a housewarming next week.”
An hour later, Anna stood outside Lydias one-bed flat in the suburbs. The buzzer didnt work, so she knocked.
“Annie?” Lydia opened the door in overalls, face sweaty, a rag in her hand. “Why didnt you call first?”
“Ran into Marlene. She asked what to get you for your housewarming.”
The rag hit the floor. Lydia scooped it up, wiped her hands, and stepped back inside.
“Hold on, I just need the loo.”
The bathroom door shut, but the thin walls did little to muffle the panicked call:
“Mum? Annie knows about the flat Shes here What do I do?”
Anna scanned the room. Boxes everywhere “Kitchen,” “Books,” “Clothes.” A stack of paperwork on the sofa.
Lydia emerged, tense.
“Look, dont make a drama over the flat. Youre a grown woman youve got your own place.”
“Lyd, you got nearly three hundred grand. Just like that!”
“So what? It was a gift I took it. Would you have refused?”
“Maybe not. But I wouldnt have lied to my sisters face.”
“I didnt lie! I just didnt mention it.”
“Whats the difference?”
Lydia sank onto the sofa, covering her face.
“Annie, what do you want? The flat back? Ive already booked builders, hired a designer.”
“I dont want anything. I just finally see where I stand in this family.”
“Oh, stop it! Youre strong, independent. Im married Mark lost his job, we needed it more.”
“Mark lost his job? When?”
“Last year. We told Mum and Dad, and they decided to help.”
Anna nodded slowly. So even *that* had been a lie.
“Did you factor in my mortgage running till Im fifty when deciding who needed it more?”
“God, Annie, drop it! The flats mine, end of. Stop counting other peoples money.”
Anna turned for the door.
“Thats it? Youll just walk off in a huff?”
“Not in a huff, Lyd. Ill just know who you really are.”
At home, Anna phoned her mother.
“Mum, we need to talk.”
“Lydias already told me. Why are you making such a fuss? A gifts a gift.”
“Remember when you said youd split Grans money when the flat sold?”
“I did but things changed. Lydias married, Marks struggling.”
“And my mortgage isnt a struggle?”
“You manage on your own. Youre so capable.”
Half an hour later, her father called.
“Love, dont fret. Its awkward, sure.”
“*Awkward*, Dad? You looked me in the eye for three years and let me hope.”
“We thought youd understand. Youve always been so independent.”
Right. Independent. So she could pay two grand a month and never complain.
Sunday lunch at her parents was sacred. Anna went, as always. Her daughter Sophie played on her tablet; Lydias husband Mark told jokes; her mum bustled with pans.
Everyone pretended nothing had happened.
“Lyd and I are thinking of buying another place,” Mark said, serving salad. “New build. Weve got the deposit now well rent Grans out.”
Anna froze, fork mid-air.
“Rent it? What about the housewarming?”
“Plans changed,” Lydia said, cutting meat without looking up. “The centres too noisy, no parking. Well get something modern.”
The fork clattered onto the plate.
“So you gave her a flat worth nearly three hundred grand so she could buy a *second* one?”
Her father choked on his drink. Her mother spun from the stove:
“Whats wrong with that? Young people should better themselves.”
“Mum, am I *old*? Ive got a mortgage till Im fifty!”
“You chose to take that loan!”
Anna stood.
“Sophie, were leaving.”
“But you havent finished!” her mother protested.
“Were done. Weve *been* done for years.”
In the hall, putting on her coat, Anna noticed her parents bedroom door ajar. A stack of papers sat on the dresser. On top a deed of gift.
She checked the date: 15th March 2021.
In the car, Sophie asked:
“Mum, why did we leave?”
“Because adults sometimes lie. And refuse to admit it.”
At home, Anna scrolled to a photo from her own housewarming. One candle, a cheap bottle of wine, caption: *”Home at last!”*
15th March 2021.
The same day her family stood in a solicitors office, handing Lydia three hundred grand.
Now she knew her exact worth to them.
For a week, her parents blew up her phone. Anna ignored it until her mother texted: *”Have you lost your mind? Youre tearing this family apart over money!”*
“Mum, Im not tearing anything. Ive just stopped pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“That you have two daughters. Not one you love, and one whos just convenient.”
A month later, her parents requested a meeting. A café, solemn faces.
“Annie, weve talked,” her father began. “Well give you fifty grand towards your mortgage.”
“Where from?”
“Lydia will loan it from the rental income,” her mother said.
Anna stirred her coffee. So even this crumb came by Lydias grace.
“No thanks.”
“What do you mean?” her mother flustered. “You wanted help!”
“I wanted honesty. Not handouts.”
The next day, Anna left the family group chat and removed her parents from her favourites. That evening, Sophie asked:
“Mum, why dont we see Granny anymore?”
“Because they decided we can manage on our own.”
“Can we?”
“Of course, love. Were strong.”
Six months passed. Anna refinanced her mortgage, picked up extra work. She skipped family events too busy, she said.
Then, in the same shopping centre, she bumped into Lydia, her trolley piled with luxury groceries.
“Annie!” Lydia beamed. “How are you? Weve moved the new place is *stunning*, seventy square metres, designer finish!”
“Congrats.”
“The old ones rented twenty-five hundred a month, pure profit. Why so cold? Mum and Dad are really upset.”
“Upset?”
“Well, yes. They say you abandoned the family over a *flat*. How can money matter more than blood?”
Anna studied her sisters designer coat, the handbag worth half her salary.
“Lyd, do you really think this is about money?”
“What else?”
“That for three years, you all lied to my face. But youd never get that.”
“Fine! Sulk over your principles!”
That night, Anna stared at her housewarming photo. Back then, shed thought she was alone.
Now she knew: shed been alone all along in that “close” family who saw her as convenient. Now, she was just free.
She opened her banking app. One hundred fifty grand left on the mortgage. Six more years at two grand a month.
But every penny was payment for the right to stop pretending. To know her own worth. And that worth was far higher than her
