“Youre so independent!” her parents said, then secretly gifted their youngest daughter a three-bedroom flat.
Emily was pushing a trolley through the shopping centre when someone called out,
“Em! Hello!”
She turned to see Sarah, her sisters friend, beaming and reaching for a hug.
“How are you? Listen, I wanted to askwhat should I get Lizzie for her housewarming? The flats gorgeous, three bedrooms right in the city centre!”
“What housewarming?”
The trolley stopped on its own.
“Come off itshes moving into Grans flat! Said your parents gave it to her. Lucky girl, your little sister!”
Emily felt everything inside her tighten. That flat had been rented out for three yearsshe even recognised the tenants by sight.
Deep down, shed hoped theyd sell it one day, split the money, and she could pay off her mortgage early.
“Has she moved in already?”
“Not yet, but shes planning to next week. Throwing a housewarming and everything.”
An hour later, Emily stood at the door of Lizzies tiny one-bed flat in the suburbs. The buzzer didnt work, so she knocked.
“Em?” Lizzie opened the door in paint-splattered overalls, face damp with sweat, a rag in her hand. “Why didnt you call?”
“Oh, I ran into Sarah. She asked what to get you for your housewarming.”
The rag hit the floor. Lizzie snatched it up, wiped her hands, and stepped back inside.
“Wait a sec, I justneed the loo.”
The bathroom door shut, but the walls in these old flats were paper-thin. Emily heard every word:
“Mum? Em knows About the flat Shes here What do I do?”
Emily scanned the room. Boxes everywhere: *Crockery. Books. Clothes.* A stack of papers on the sofa.
Lizzie came out, face tense.
“Look, dont make a drama over a flat. Youre a grown womanyouve got your own place.”
“Liz, you just got handed nearly half a million quid. Just like that!”
“So what? It was a giftI took it. Would you have said no?”
“Maybe not. But I wouldnt have lied to my sisters face.”
“I didnt lie! I just didnt mention it.”
“Whats the difference?”
Lizzie flopped onto the sofa, covering her face.
“Em, what do you want? The flat back? Ive already booked renovations, hired a designer.”
“I dont want anything. I just finally see where I stand in this family.”
“Oh, stop it! Youre independent, strong. Im marriedJames lost his job, we needed it more.”
“James lost his job? When?”
“Last year. We told Mum and Dad, and they decided to help.”
Emily nodded slowly. So theyd even lied to their parents about the reason.
“Did you all factor in my mortgage running till Im fifty when you decided who needed it more?”
“God, Em, drop it! The flats mine, end of. Stop counting other peoples money.”
Emily turned and walked to the door.
“Thats it? Youre just going to storm off?”
“Not storming off, Liz. Just finally seeing you for who you are.”
At home, Emily called her mother.
“Mum, we need to talk.”
“Lizzie already told me everything. Why are you making such a fuss? It was a gift, thats all.”
“Remember when you said youd split the money if you ever sold Grans flat?”
“I said that but things changed. Lizzies marriedJames has work troubles.”
“And my mortgage isnt trouble?”
“You manage just fine on your own. Youre so capable.”
Half an hour later, her dad rang.
“Love, dont fret. Its awkward, sure.”
“Awkward, Dad? You looked me in the eye for three years and let me hope.”
“Well we thought youd understand. Youre so independent.”
Right. Independent. So she could pay two grand a month and not complain.
Sunday lunch at her parents was sacred. Emily arrived as usual. Her daughter, Sophie, played on her tablet; Lizzies husband, James, cracked jokes; her mum flitted between saucepans.
Everyone pretended nothing had happened.
“Liz and I are thinking of buying another place,” James said, serving salad. “New build. Got the deposit sortedwell rent Grans out.”
Emily froze, fork mid-air.
“Rent it? What about the housewarming?”
“Plans changed,” Lizzie said, slicing meat without looking up. “City centres too noisy, no parking. Well get something modern.”
The fork clattered onto the plate.
“So you gave her a flat worth half a million so she could buy another one?”
Her dad choked on his tea. Her mum 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!”
Emily stood.
“Sophie, were leaving.”
“But you havent finished!” her mum protested.
“Weve had enough. Years ago, actually.”
In the hallway, pulling on her coat, Emily noticed the open bedroom door. A stack of papers on the dresser. On topa deed of gift.
She checked the date: 15th March 2021.
In the car, Sophie asked, “Mum, why did we leave?”
“Because grown-ups sometimes lie. And dont want to admit it.”
At home, Emily scrolled to a photo from her own housewarming. One candle on the table, a ten-quid bottle of wine, caption: *Finally home!*
15th March 2021.
The same day her family stood in a solicitors office, handing Lizzie half a million.
Now she knew her exact worth to them.
For a week, her parents called non-stopEmily ignored them. Then a text from her mum: *Have you lost your mind? Breaking the family over money!*
“Mum, Im not breaking 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 asked to meet. A café, solemn faces.
“Em, weve talked,” her dad began gravely. “Well give you £50,000 towards your mortgage.”
“Where from?”
“Lizzie will lend it from the rent,” her mum said.
Emily stirred her coffee slowly. So even this pittance was Lizzies mercy.
“No thanks.”
“What do you mean? You wanted help!”
“I wanted honesty! Not scraps!”
The next day, Emily left the family group chat, un-saved her parents numbers. That evening, Sophie asked,
“Mum, why dont we see Grandma anymore?”
“Because they decided we can manage on our own.”
“Can we?”
“Of course, love. Were strong.”
Six months passed. Emily refinanced her mortgage, picked up extra work. Skipped family eventsalways busy.
Once, in the same shopping centre, she bumped into Lizzie, trolley piled with posh groceries.
“Em!” Lizzie lit up. “How are you? Weve movedthe new place is stunning, seventy square metres, designer finish.”
“Lovely.”
“The old ones rented out£2,500 a month, pure profit. Why are you so cold? Mum and Dad are worried sick.”
“Worried?”
“Yes! They say you abandoned the family over a flat. Isnt it shamefulmoney over family?”
Emily studied her sisters designer coat, bag worth half her salary.
“Liz, do you really think its about the money?”
“What else?”
“That for three years, you all lied to my face. But youd never get that.”
“Fine! Be stubborn then!”
That night, Emily stared at her housewarming photo. Back then, she thought she was alone.
Now she knewshed been alone in that “loving” family all along.
She opened her banking app. £150,000 left on the mortgage. Six more years at £2,000 a month.
But every penny was payment for no longer pretending. For knowing her true worthfar higher than her family ever valued it.
God help them. You cant force affection, as they say.
What would you have done?
