Long ago, in a quiet corner of England, there lived a woman named Eleanor Whitmore. Her parents had always praised her independence, yet secretly gifted a three-bedroom flat in central London to her younger sister.
One afternoon, Eleanor pushed her trolley through a bustling shopping centre when a voice called out, “Ellie! Hello!” She turned to see Marianne, her sisters friend, beaming as she reached for an embrace.
“How are you?” Marianne chirped. “Listen, I wanted to askwhat should we get Lydia for her housewarming? That flat is absolutely stunning! Three bedrooms, right in the heart of the city!”
“What housewarming?” Eleanors trolley halted of its own accord.
“Oh, come now! Shes moving into your grandmothers flat. Your parents gave it to her. Lucky girl, your sister!”
A cold weight settled in Eleanors chest. That flat had been let out for three yearsshe even recognised the tenants by sight.
And deep down, shed hoped it would one day be sold, the proceeds split, allowing her to pay off her mortgage early.
“Has she moved in already?”
“Not yet, but shes hosting the housewarming next week.”
An hour later, Eleanor stood at the door of Lydias cramped one-bedroom flat in a dull suburb. The buzzer was broken, so she knocked.
“Ellie?” Lydia answered in paint-stained overalls, a rag in hand, her forehead glistening. “Why didnt you call?”
“I ran into Marianne. She asked what to get you for your housewarming.”
The rag slipped to the floor. Lydia snatched it up, wiped her hands, and retreated inside.
“Wait a momentI just need to pop to the loo.”
The bathroom door clicked shut, but the thin walls betrayed every word.
“Mum? Ellie knows about the flat. Shes here What do I do?”
Eleanor scanned the room. Boxes everywhere”Kitchenware,” “Books,” “Clothes.” A stack of papers sat on the sofa.
Lydia emerged, tension lining her face.
“Look, dont make a fuss over a flat. Youre a grown womanyouve got your own place.”
“Lydia, you were handed nearly three hundred thousand pounds. Just like that!”
“So what? It was a giftI took it. Would you have refused?”
“Perhaps not. But I wouldnt have lied to my sisters face.”
“I didnt lie! I simply didnt mention it.”
“Is there a difference?”
Lydia slumped onto the sofa, covering her face.
“Ellie, what do you want? The flat back? Ive already booked the renovations, hired a designer.”
“I dont want anything. I just see my place in this family now.”
“Dont be dramatic! Youre strong, independent. Im marriedDaniel lost his job, we needed it more.”
“Daniel lost his job? When?”
“Last year. We told Mum and Dad, and they decided to help.”
Eleanor nodded slowly. So even their parents had been fed lies.
“Did you consider my mortgage when you decided who needed it more?”
“Oh, Ellie, enough! The flats mineend of story. Stop counting other peoples blessings.”
Eleanor turned toward the door.
“Thats it? Youre just going to walk out?”
“Im not angry, Lydia. I just see you for who you are now.”
At home, Eleanor rang her mother.
“Mum, we need to talk.”
“Lydias already told me. Why are you making such a fuss? It was a giftlet it go.”
“You said when Grandmothers flat sold, youd split the money.”
“I did but circumstances changed. Lydias settled, Daniels struggling.”
“And my mortgage isnt a struggle?”
“You manage perfectly on your own. You always have.”
Half an hour later, her father called.
“Love, dont fret. Its awkward, I know.”
“Awkward, Dad? You looked me in the eye for three years and let me hope.”
“Well we thought youd understand. Youve always been so independent.”
Yes. Independent. So she could pay two thousand a month without complaint.
Sunday lunch at her parents was sacred. Eleanor arrived as usual. Her daughter, Sophie, played on a tablet; Lydias husband, Daniel, told jokes; her mother bustled with pots.
All pretended nothing had happened.
“Lydia and I are thinking of buying another flat,” Daniel announced, serving salad. “A new build. Weve got the depositwell rent out Grandmothers.”
Eleanors fork froze mid-air.
“Rent it? What about the housewarming?”
“Plans changed,” Lydia said, slicing meat without meeting her eyes. “The citys too noisy, no parking. Well find something modern.”
The fork clattered onto the plate.
“So you gave her a flat worth nearly three hundred thousand, just so she could buy another?”
Her father choked on his tea. Her mother spun from the stove.
“Whats wrong with that? Young couples need to grow!”
“Mum, am I not young? Ive got a mortgage until Im fifty.”
“You chose to take the loan!”
Eleanor stood.
“Sophie, were leaving.”
“But you havent finished!” her mother protested.
“Weve had enough. A long time ago.”
In the hallway, pulling on her coat, Eleanor noticed the open bedroom door. A stack of documents lay on the dresser. Atop itthe deed of gift.
She glanced at the date: 15 March 2021.
In the car, Sophie asked, “Mum, why did we leave?”
“Because adults sometimes lie. And refuse to admit it.”
At home, Eleanor scrolled to a photo from her own housewarmingone candle, a cheap bottle of wine, the caption: “Finally home!”
15 March 2021.
The same day her family stood in a solicitors office, handing Lydia three hundred thousand.
Now she knew her worth to them.
For a week, her parents called relentlesslyEleanor ignored them. Then her mother texted: “Have you lost your mind? Destroying the family over money!”
“Mum, Im not destroying anything. Ive just stopped pretending.”
“Pretending what?”
“That you have two daughters. Not one beloved, and the other convenient.”
A month later, her parents requested a meeting. A café, solemn faces.
“Ellie, weve talked,” her father began gravely. “Well give you fifty thousand toward your mortgage.”
“Where from?”
“Lydias lending it from the rental income,” her mother said.
Eleanor stirred her coffee slowly. So even these crumbs came by Lydias grace.
“No thank you.”
“What? You wanted help!”
“I wanted honesty. Not handouts.”
The next day, Eleanor left the family group chat, removed her parents from favourites. That evening, Sophie asked, “Mum, why dont we visit Granny anymore?”
“Because they decided we can manage on our own.”
“Can we?”
“Of course, love. Were strong.”
Six months passed. Eleanor refinanced her mortgage, took on extra work. She skipped family gatheringsclaimed she was busy.
Once, in that same shopping centre, she spotted Lydia pushing a trolley laden with luxury groceries.
“Ellie!” Lydia brightened. “How are you? Weve movedseventy square metres, designer finish!”
“Congratulations.”
“The old flat brings in two thousand a month. Seriously, why so cold? Mum and Dad are worried.”
“Worried?”
“Yes! They say you abandoned the family over a flat. Arent you ashamedmoney over family?”
Eleanor studied her sisterthe expensive coat, the handbag worth half her salary.
“Lydia, do you really think this is about money?”
“What else?”
“That for three years, you all lied to my face. But you wouldnt understand.”
“Fine! Sulk over your principles then!”
That night, Eleanor sat at her kitchen table, staring at the housewarming photo. Back then, shed felt alone.
Now she knewshed been alone in that “loving” family, where she was merely convenient. Now, she was simply free.
She opened her banking app. One hundred fifty thousand left on the mortgage. Six more years at two thousand a month.
But every penny was the price of no longer pretending. Of knowing her true worthfar higher than her family had ever reckoned.
God judge them. As they say, you cant force affection
What would you have done? Share your thoughts below.
