“My son, please take care of your sick sister. You mustnt abandon her!” whispered his mother, her voice frail yet urgent.
“My boy, the house will be yours. But I beg you, look after your sister. Do not forsake her!” Her words clawed at his heart.
“Listen to me, son…” she breathed, barely audible.
Each word was agony. The illness had ravaged her without mercy. She lay in bed, withered and pale, a shadow of the strong, vibrant woman she once was. Edward scarcely recognized her.
“Edward, please, dont leave Margaret… Shes delicate. Shes different, but shes ours. Promise me…” His mother gripped his hand with unexpected strength. He wondered where she found such resolve.
Edward grimaced. His gaze drifted to his elder sister, Margaret, who played quietly in the corner of their small flat in Manchester. Though past forty, she still amused herself with dolls, humming tunelessly. She smiled as if unaware of their mothers impending death, lost in her own innocent world.
Edward had built a comfortable lifea thriving construction firm, an expensive Range Rover, a grand house near the River Mersey. But there was no place for Margaret there. His children feared her, and his wife, Victoria, called her “the mad one,” though Margaret was gentle, harmless, and childlike.
“Well… you know… Ive a family to think of… and Margaret… shes…” he stammered, trying to free his hand from her grasp.
“My boy, your fathers house is yours… For Margaret, Ive left a three-bedroom flat. Its all legal.”
“Whered you get the money?” Edward and Victoria exchanged stunned glances, their faces alight with greedy surprise.
“I cared for the old schoolmistress… brought her meals, her medicine… She was kind. Never thought shed leave me the flat. I put it in Margarets name, so shed always have shelter. But you… you must watch over her, please… Later, itll go to your children. Who knows how long shell live…”
That night, his mother died.
Margaret seemed not to understand she was now alone. Edward took her in at once and began renovating the flat.
“Why does Margaret need so much space? Let her stay here. Well rent it out.”
Victoria did not protest at first. Margaret was no troubleshe played and laughed all day. But her oddities unnerved Victoria. “Shes calm today, but what of tomorrow?”
“Just bear with her a while,” Edward pleaded. Yet, within six months, with the help of a solicitor friend, he transferred both the family home and Margarets flat into his name. He tricked her into signing papers without explanation.
Then the torment began.
While Edward was at work, Victoria abused Margaretshouting at her, locking her away, even feeding her scraps meant for the cat. Hed find her weeping, terrified. One day, Victoria struck her. Margaret, in her fright, wet herself.
“Not only a simpleton, but pissing yourself? Out of my house!”
She tossed Margarets things into a sack and shoved her out the gate.
“Wheres Margaret?” Edward asked that evening, settling into bed.
“Gone!” Victoria snapped. “She wet herself, then locked herself in the bedroom. 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 telly. “Found new tenants, by the way.”
The night stretched endlessly. His thoughts turned to Margaret. Where was she? She was like a helpless child. He only slept near dawn, dreaming of his mother:
“I begged you, son…” she said from her coffin, shaking a bony finger at him.
The dream haunted him for weeks. He could bear it no longer. After two months, he called his godmother, Anne.
“What, Edward, conscience pricking you?” she answered coldly. “Lucky I went by your mothers. Found Margaret terrified, so I took her in. Ill keep her. Dont need her flat. You live with your shame!”
“Oh, godmother…” he muttered, hanging up. Relief washed over himMargaret was safe.
But she died two months later, from the same illness as their mother. Edward did not attend the funeralhe had “urgent business.”
Ten years passed. Now Edward lay ill, wracked with pain and regret. Victoria had left him for another man. His children visited rarely, grimacing. “You smell of sickness…”
One day, Victoria entered with papers:
“Sign these. Well settle the firm.”
He signed. Only later did he understandit was the deed to the house. Then the business. Too late. He thought of his mother, of Margaret. Tears rolled down his cheeks.
“Forgive me…” he whispered into the emptiness swallowing him whole.
