“Family Betrayal”
“Emma, what on earth have you done?!” Charlotte’s voice trembled with anger. “How could you do this to me? I’m your own sister!”
“And what did you expect?” Emma snapped, not looking up from the papers spread across the kitchen table. “Was I supposed to sit back and watch you run this house into the ground?”
“Run it into the ground?” Charlotte gripped the chair behind her. “I’ve kept this place standing for thirty years! After Mum and Dad passed! Where were you all that time?”
“Oh, don’t start,” Emma mocked, finally raising cold eyes to her sister. “I was working, actually. Earning a living. Not leeching off our parents well into my forties.”
Charlotte felt the floor drop beneath her. She sank into the chair, staring at the papers in front of Emma.
“Is that… the will?” she whispered.
“It is,” Emma replied flatly. “Mum left the house to me. Entirely. You’ll need to find somewhere else to live.”
“But how…? When did she even do this? She was ill, barely coherent those last few months—”
“Which is exactly why I came. Someone had to handle her affairs while you were busy playing nurse.”
Charlotte studied Emma, hardly recognising her. Emma had always been tough, practical—but this cruelty was unexpected. Especially now, barely a month after their mother’s funeral.
“Em, let’s talk about this properly,” Charlotte tried, softening her tone. “I understand you deserve a share, but kicking me out—”
“I’m not kicking you out,” Emma said, stacking the papers neatly. “You can rent a room. At a fair price, of course.”
“Rent a room in our parents’ house?” Charlotte let out a disbelieving laugh. “You’re serious?”
“Perfectly. Property is property.”
Charlotte stood, pacing the kitchen. Every corner held memories. Their mother’s favourite fern by the window—watered every morning for fifteen years. The jars of homemade jam they’d put up together every autumn.
“Remember what Mum always said?” Charlotte asked quietly. “That this house should stay in the family? That we were to keep it for the grandchildren?”
“You don’t have any grandchildren,” Emma said sharply. “I’ve got Oliver and Sophie. It’ll go to them.”
Charlotte turned. “Your children didn’t even come to the funeral. Meanwhile, I cared for Mum every single day when she was ill!”
“Oh, yes, ‘cared for her,’” Emma waved a hand. “And look how that turned out. She still died in hospital.”
The words struck like a blow. Charlotte already blamed herself—for not seeing the stroke coming, for missing the signs.
“You know I did everything I could,” she whispered.
“And it wasn’t enough.”
The doorbell rang. Emma went to answer it, leaving Charlotte standing hollowly in the kitchen.
“Oh, Charlotte, love—you’re here?” Auntie Margaret bustled in, clutching a pint of milk. “How are you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” Charlotte lied, wiping her eyes.
“I heard Emma was back,” Margaret said, eyeing the papers. “Sorting the inheritance, then?”
“Settling it,” Emma corrected, returning.
“Your mum always said you were her devoted girl,” Margaret prattled, oblivious to the tension. “Never left her side, unlike some…”
Emma’s lips thinned.
“Margaret, we’re in the middle of something,” she said firmly.
“Oh! Of course. Just brought this milk—bought too much yesterday. Here, take it.”
Once she left, silence fell. Emma pulled more documents from her bag.
“Here’s a tenancy agreement. You can keep the master bedroom. Rent’s £800 a month.”
“£800?!” Charlotte gasped. “My pension’s barely £900! How am I supposed to live?”
“Get a job. Or downsize.”
“Emma, what’s happened to you?” Charlotte sat opposite her. “We used to be close. Yes, you left for London after uni, started your own family—but we never fought.”
“We didn’t fight because I stayed quiet,” Emma said, meeting her gaze. “Quiet when you drained Mum and Dad. Quiet when they bought you that flat while telling me they couldn’t help. Quiet when you moved back here after divorcing James and lived off them again.”
“I worked!” Charlotte protested. “Teaching, the library—”
“For pennies. And they still supported you.”
“And you were struggling? With Oliver’s salary? The kids—”
“The kids needed uni fees! Did I get any help? No. I did it all myself.”
For the first time, Charlotte saw more than coldness—years of buried resentment.
“If you felt this way, you should’ve said something sooner.”
“To who? Mum, who worshipped you? Dad, who thought you were the perfect daughter?”
“They loved us both—”
“They loved me when I was convenient. Good grades, good degree, good marriage. The moment I lived for myself, I became an outsider.” Emma clenched her hands. “Then you divorced James and came back. Suddenly, it was all ‘Charlotte this, Charlotte that.’ ‘So caring, such a homemaker.’”
“I *did* care for them,” Charlotte said softly.
“I know. That’s what made it worse.”
Charlotte stood, walking to the window. The old apple tree swayed in the garden—planted by their grandfather. Beneath it, the bench where they’d played as children.
“When did Mum change the will?” she asked quietly.
“In May. When you were in hospital with pneumonia.”
Charlotte remembered. She’d been bedridden for two weeks. Mum had been alone—or so she’d thought.
“You planned this.”
“No. I was on leave. Came to help while you were ill.”
“And convinced her to rewrite it.”
“I didn’t *convince* her,” Emma snapped. “I just told her how hard it’s been—Oliver and Sophie needing uni, money stretched thin. Mum offered.”
“She wasn’t well, Emma.”
“She was well enough to sign.”
Charlotte studied her—posture rigid, hands folded. Only her eyes betrayed strain.
“And the solicitor didn’t question it? Leaving everything to the daughter who never visited?”
“His job isn’t family mediation.”
“Doesn’t this bother you?”
Emma hesitated, then stood to boil the kettle.
“Yes,” she admitted quietly. “But fairness matters more.”
“Fairness? You’ve got a home, a career, a family! What do I have? A pittance of a pension, no life—and now you’re taking the house?”
“I’m claiming what’s mine.”
“Yours? You lived here until you were eighteen. I’ve been here over forty years!”
Emma poured tea. “Sister who’s named in the will, wins.”
Charlotte sat reluctantly.
“Look,” Emma sighed, “I don’t want to hurt you. But Mum and Dad spent so much on you and nothing on me.”
“You *chose* to leave.”
“And that means I forfeit inheritance?”
“No—just decency. If you’d suggested splitting it, I’d have agreed.”
“Why would I want half a countryside house?”
“Rent it out. Sell it.”
Emma shook her head. “A full sale is worth more.”
Realisation struck.
“You’re selling it?” Charlotte whispered.
“Considering it.”
“Sell our family home? Where we grew up?”
“Charlotte, it’s just bricks and mortar.”
“Just—?” She stood abruptly, knocking over her cup. “This is *our* childhood! Where Mum and Dad died! Every inch—”
“Sentimentality,” Emma dismissed. “Won’t pay the bills.”
“So dishonesty will?”
“I’m not dishonest. I’m practical.”
Charlotte wiped the spilled tea, numb.
“Fine. Say you sell it. Where do I go?”
“Rent a flat. Find work.”
“With what money?”
“Get a better job. Or remarry.”
“I’m fifty-seven!”
“And? People start over.”
Charlotte stared, unable to reconcile this stranger with the sister she’d shared secrets with.
“What if I contest it?”
“Go ahead. The will’s ironclad.”
“Mum was vulnerable—”
“Prove it. Find a doctor’s note declaring her incompetent.”
Charlotte knew there wasn’t one. Officially, Mum had been sound of mind.
“Look,” she said stiffly, “I need time to think.”
“Fine. But don’t dawdle. I’ve got a buyer lined up.”
“Already?!”
“The Wilsons next door want the land. Good offer.”
“You’ve spoken to them?”
“Preliminarily. They’re waiting on probate.”
Wordlessly, Charlotte left. Upstairs, she sank onto her bed, head spinning.
She pulled out an old photo album. Pictures of sandcastles in the garden. First days at school, arms linked. Emma’s graduation, the family beaming with pride.
When had it**Original Sentence:**
*”She turned to the last page—a faded photo of their family, all smiling under the apple tree—and whispered, “I’ll fight for us, even if you won’t.”*
**Adapted Sentence:**
She traced the edges of the final photo—their whole family, grinning beneath the old apple tree—and murmured, “I’ll fight for us, even if you’ve given up.”
