“My son, please look after your ailing sister. You mustnt abandon her!” Mother whispered weakly.
“My boy, the house will be yours. But I beg you, care for your sister. Never forsake her!” Her words clawed at his heart.
“Listen to me, son” she breathed, barely audible.
Each word was agony. The sickness had ravaged her without mercy. She lay in bed, frail as parchment, a ghost of the strong, cheerful woman she had once been. Edward scarcely recognised her now.
“Edward, please do not leave Marigold She is delicate. She is different, but she is ours. Promise me” Her grip tightened with unexpected strengthwhere did she find such resolve?
Edward winced. His gaze slid toward his elder sister, Marigold, who sat playing with dolls in the corner of their small flat in Manchester. Though past forty, she still hummed tunelessly, lost in her own world. She smiled as if at a celebration, not at their mothers deathbed.
Edward had built a comfortable lifea thriving construction firm, a sleek car, a grand house by the river. But there was no place for Marigold there. His children feared her, and his wife, Elizabeth, called her “mad.” Yet Marigold was harmless, gentle as a lamb.
“Well you know I have my family and Marigold, shes” he stammered, trying to free his hand from her grasp.
“Son, your fathers house is yours For Marigold, Ive left a three-bedroom flat. Its all in order.”
“But how?” Edward and Elizabeth exchanged stunned glances, their faces alight with greedy curiosity.
“I cared for the old schoolmistress Brought her meals, medicine She was kind. Never thought shed leave me the flat. Its in Marigolds name, so shell always have shelter. But youyou must watch over her. In time, it will pass to your children. Who knows how long she has”
That night, their mother passed.
Marigold seemed not to understand she was orphaned. Edward took her in at once and began renovating the flat.
“Why does Marigold need so much space? She can stay with us. Well rent it out.”
Elizabeth did not protest at first. Marigold was no troubleshe played quietly, laughing to herself. But her oddities unnerved Elizabeth. “Shes calm today, but what of tomorrow?”
“Have patience,” Edward pleaded. Yet, within six months, with the help of a solicitor friend, he transferred both the family home and Marigolds flat into his own name. He tricked her into signing papers without explanation.
Then came the torment.
While Edward was at work, Elizabeth began abusing Marigoldshouting, locking her away, even feeding her scraps like a stray cat. He would find her weeping, terrified. One day, Elizabeth struck her. Marigold, in fright, wet herself.
“Not just a simpleton, but pissing yourself like a child? Out of my house!”
She stuffed Marigolds things into a sack and shoved her out the door.
“Wheres Marigold?” Edward asked that evening, settling into bed.
“She left!” Elizabeth snapped. “Soiled herself, then locked herself away. When I opened the door, she ran off with her bag. I wont chase after a lunatic!”
Edward said nothing. Then, softly: “Well, if shes gone” He turned on the television. “By the way, Ive found tenants.”
The night stretched long. His thoughts turned to Marigold. Where was she? Helpless as a child. He barely slept, dreaming of his mother by dawn:
“I begged you, my son” she whispered from her coffin, shaking a bony finger.
The dream haunted him for weeks. At last, after two months, he called his godmother, Agnes.
“What, Edward? Conscience gnawing at you?” she answered coldly. “Lucky I visited your mothers grave. Found Marigold trembling, took her in myself. Ill keep her. I dont want her flat. You live with your guilt!”
“Oh, Godmother” he muttered, hanging up. Relief washed over himMarigold was safe.
But she died two months later, of the same sickness as their mother. Edward did not attend the funeralhe had “urgent business.”
Ten years passed. Now Edward lay ill, wracked with pain and regret. Elizabeth had left him for another man. His children visited seldom, wrinkling their noses: “You smell of sickness”
One day, Elizabeth strode in with papers.
“Sign these. We must settle the firm.”
He signed. Too late, he realisedit was the deed to the house. Then the business. He thought of his mother, of Marigold. Tears spilled down his cheeks.
“Forgive me” he whispered into the emptiness swallowing him whole.
