**Diary Entry 15th May**
“You know, George, shes your sister, but Im your wife. And I cant stand by anymore, watching you take from our own children to give everything to Eleanor.”
George understood his wife was right, yet he couldnt bring himself to act differently. Whenever his sister needed help, he was the first to step forwardjust as he had since they were children.
“Georgie, pass me the nail,” seven-year-old Ellie called out, standing on a stool by the old shed.
“What do you need a nail for?” her nine-year-old brother frowned.
“To build a cat house.”
“Again? Last time I helped you make one, the cat wouldnt even go near it, and you sulked for a week.”
“This time itll workIm lining it with fabric.”
They grew up like two shoots from the same root. Their mother worked at the factory; their father was gone early. Young as he was, George took on the mans rolefixing bikes, mending taps, heating dinner.
“Georgie, dyou think Ill grow up to be an actress?”
“You already are. Yesterday, when you fell, started wailing, then grinned while eating jamthat was pure theatre.”
Years passed. George trained as an electrician, settled in London, married Margaret.
Ellie went to teachers college, lived in student digs, visited whenever she could. Margaret often sighed:
“George, your sisters grown. Shouldnt she manage on her own now?”
“Shes not some suitcase I can hand off and forget,” George murmured. “Shes my sister.”
After qualifying, Ellie took a rural teaching posta drafty dorm room, a rusty stove, a pittance for pay. George visited every holiday.
“I told youbuy a heater.”
“Cant afford it. Need books for the kids.”
“Brought you one. And a coat.”
“Margaret wont mind?”
“Oh, shell mind. But you wont freeze.”
Then one day, Ellie called in tears.
“George Im expecting.”
“Congratulations so why the tears?”
“He left. Said he wasnt ready.”
“His loss. Hang on. Im coming.”
“No, reallyIll manage”
“Ellie. Not up for debate.”
He arrived next morninggroceries, cash, a quilt, baby clothes.
“Margarets furious,” he admitted at the kitchen table.
“I dont want to cause trouble”
“Listen. My wifes a good woman. But she wasnt the one who raised me.”
“You realise this isnt just replacing a lost phone, George. Its serious.”
“Exactly why Im here.”
He stood by her that crucial day, cradling his nephew like treasure.
“Whatll you name him?”
“Matthew.”
“Good name. Hell grow up protecting yousame as I did.”
He helped often afterformula money, fixing her flat, a pram. Margaret grew distant. One evening, she said quietly:
“George, I dont mind you helping Ellie. But when its always from our familys pocketthats not support. Its sacrifice.”
“I know. But I cant do otherwise.”
“And I cant live feeling your sister always comes first, and we come second.”
George stayed silent. He loved them both.
In time, Ellie found her footingstarted a childrens club, earned the villages respect. Her son grew quiet, well-mannered. George visited less, but never empty-handed.
“Matt, look what Uncle broughta model train!”
“Mum says you and Aunt Margaret are older now, moneys tight, so we shouldnt take much.”
“Well, Im not as old as your mum thinks.”
At fifty, George fell gravely ill. Ellie came to Londonhomemade jam, pies, Matthew in tow.
“Margaret, mind if I tidy up? Georges desk is chaos,” Ellie smiled.
“Go ahead. And dish the pies. He wont eat for anyone else.”
“Rubbish!” George grumbled from the sofa.
“Of course it is. Thats why youve lost a stone this week”
They laughed like children. And for the first time, Margaret watched Ellienot with jealousy, but understanding.
“You know,” she murmured later, “you were right. Shes good. I just thought you were choosing between us.”
“I never chose. Theres room in my heart for you both.”
A year later, their granddaughter was born.
Matthew went to university. Ellie stayed a village teacher, ringing George every Sunday.
“How are you?”
“Alright. Margarets knitting. Im watching telly. You?”
“Matts homewere mushroom picking.”
“Glad he turned out decent.”
“Had you for an example.”
In their twilight years, sitting under the oak behind her cottage, Ellie said softly:
“George, I think God gave me you as a brother on purpose. Id have drowned without you.”
“And Id be a different man without you. Youve always been theresince we were knee-high. Its not helping. Its just family.”
**Lesson:** Blood runs deeper than pride. A brothers love isnt measured in poundsbut in the weight of a lifetimes loyalty.
