You’re on your own, you should let your sister have the house. It’s so much harder for her right now, my mum declared, making it sound like Id just been gifted a family-sized pack of guilt with my tea. Its easier for you, while your sisters got all those children to look afteryou must understand.
Why are you so grumpy?
My sister plopped down next to me on the sofa, clutching a glass of squash. The kids were shrieking at the table, her husband was grandly retelling some tale to his mother-in-law, waving a fork with a bit of trifle.
Im fine, I replied, avoiding her gaze. Just tired. Work today was a nightmare.
She gave me the patented hair-flick and a knowing smile.
Ive been meaning to have a chat, she whispered conspiratorially. About Dads house.
Go on then, I said, bracing myself.
She leaned in, lowering her voice, as the clamour of children crescendoed.
Weve been thinking What do you and Tom need with a house like that? Theres just the two of you, and youve got your lovely little flat. Meanwhile, were shoved in that cramped two-bed rental with three kids. Imagine us moving therefresh country air, garden, room for everyone.
I sat quietly, watching my niece blow out the candles on her cake. Six already. The eldest of the three.
I mean, you dont really need that house, my sister pressed on. Its just an expense for you. The roof leaks, the fence is falling down, never-ending repairs
I wanted to askAnd how exactly will you fix all that?but I bit my tongue.
Mum agrees, you know. Were not asking you for a present, just give up your half. Well sort the rest out later.
I nodded, though something knotted unpleasantly inside.
On the drive home, Tom navigated in silence.
What was all that about?
They want me to give up my share of Dads house.
As in, just hand it over?
Yep. Apparently, they need it more than us because we already have everything.
Have everything? Tom let out a hollow chuckle. You mean our mortgaged matchbox of a flat?
The next day, Mum rang.
Have you thought about it?
Not much to think about, Mum. Half the house is mine.
Youre always on about your rights, she sighed. But what about family? Theyve got three children. Youre by yourself.
Our flat is mortgaged for another ten years.
They havent even got that.
I was the one running round with Dad at the end, I reminded her. Hospitals. Chemists. Paying for all his prescriptions. My sister only showed up twice.
Youre the eldest. You ought to understand. Youre free.
Free. The word felt like a slap.
That night, I stared morosely into my tea.
So your mums pushing for it too? Tom asked.
Yeah.
The next day, I met up with a friend.
When was the last time your sister actually helped you out? she asked.
I was stumped.
Do they even know how much youve spent on IVF?
No.
Nearly a hundred thousand quid. Not a single pregnancy. But apparently, youve got it easy.
I decided I needed to see the old house.
I went alone.
The once-loved garden was a jungle, the gate groaned, and the air smelled like dust and memories.
Inside, I discovered Dads old notebook, scribbled full of repair plans. Hopeful, as always. Unrealised, as always.
The little apple tree wed planted together when I was a child was still clinging to life.
This house wasnt just bricks and mortarit was a memory.
So when my mum arrived, and calmly repeated, Youve got no family of your own, so its easier for you
I didnt swallow it this time.
Three rounds of IVF, Mum. Three.
And for the first time, I managed:
The house is mine. Im not giving it up.
The silence that followed was thick, but no longer empty. It finally set me free.
Spring arrived early.
Our neighbour stuck her head over the fence. He was always waiting for you, you know.
I sat on the porch, holding a cup of tea, my dads old jumper draped over my shoulders, the apple tree in bloom before me.
This was my home.
Not because I gave in,
but because I finally claimed my right to stay.
