“Get ready, Mum and your brother are coming to claim their share”: You’ve robbed your own brother, you’ve no conscience.
I gave up my part of the inheritance for my father’s sake, yet in return, he left me the whole of his flat. His words still echo in my mind: “You’ll understand in time. Just don’t trust them—they’ll lie.” I didn’t know then who he meant, but now it’s all clear.
My name is Emily. I have an aunt, Margaret, my mother’s younger sister. She and Mum hadn’t spoken in years—rumour had it that Margaret had taken all of our grandmother’s inheritance for herself. I knew I had cousins, Thomas and Victoria. We used to play together as children, but over time, we fell out of touch. Not long ago, Victoria found me online and told me things that chilled my blood.
The past few years had been filled with loss. Three years ago, my mother passed. My father held on just long enough to see me finish university in Manchester before following her. They loved each other dearly—he’d spoiled her, carried her in his arms, brought her flowers. I think he never truly gave up on living without her.
After Mum’s death, Dad inherited half the flat. I signed my share over to him, and to my surprise, he transferred the whole property into my name. “You’ll understand later,” he said. “Don’t trust them—they’ll lie.” I tried pressing him, asking who “they” were and what lies they’d tell, but he wouldn’t say more.
Six months after his funeral, Victoria reached out. She reminded me she was Aunt Margaret’s daughter and said she’d be passing through Manchester soon. “We need to meet,” she wrote. “I’ve got important news.” I saw no harm in it, gave her my address, and asked her to call ahead.
Victoria arrived a week later. I met her at the station—she seemed uneasy. When we reached the flat, she glanced around and said, “Nice place. Shame you’ll have to leave soon.” We sat in the kitchen, and there she laid it all out: Thomas was my half-brother. She didn’t know the details, but she claimed that was why our grandmother left everything to Margaret instead of splitting it between the sisters.
Victoria said my father had courted Margaret first, but when she fell pregnant with Thomas, he abandoned her and married my mother instead. “Mum and Thomas are coming soon to claim their share,” she warned. “Be ready.”
I was stunned. Thomas wouldn’t get a thing—the flat was mine, Dad’s savings had been kept at home (he never trusted banks), and the car was bought with my own money. Everything he’d owned was now mine. The story about Thomas seemed far-fetched—my father adored my mother too much to do such a thing. But life has its surprises.
“Thank you for telling me, Victoria,” I said. “Let them come if they want.”
I made up the spare bed for her and went to sleep. I’ve always been a light sleeper, and that night, a strange rustling woke me. Opening my eyes, I saw Victoria—rifling through my desk, her phone torch casting shaky light.
“Lost something?” I asked.
She jumped, her phone clattering to the floor, the screen shattering.
“I—it’s nothing,” she stammered.
“Victoria, go to bed. And leave in the morning. I don’t want guests who root through my things.”
By dawn, she was gone. The front door was ajar. I checked—nothing seemed missing.
Days later, Aunt Margaret called. She sounded drunk.
“You made your father sign the flat over, didn’t you?” she shrieked. “You’ve robbed your own brother, you heartless girl! He’s married now, stuck renting, and it’s all your mother’s fault! If not for her, your father would’ve married me. She ruined everything!”
I hung up without another word. She didn’t call back. But Victoria kept ringing, demanding I buy her a new phone—blaming me for breaking hers.
Margaret and Thomas never came. Likely, Victoria told them the flat was mine, and there was nothing they could do. After dealing with that lot, I understood why my mother kept her distance. Some family are worse than strangers.
