The tension in our kitchen hung heavy as evening storm clouds, thick and charged. My husband, Richard, stood at the window, his expression drawn tight as the London sky outside. We had been circling the same disagreement for days now, and neither of us was any closer to giving ground.
Richards late aunt had left him a small flat, right in the heart of Cambridgea snug place, nothing grand, but in a brilliant location. Weve three children: our eldest, Harriet, is nineteen and at university now. Then theres twelve-year-old Daniel and our youngest, five-year-old Freddie. Were lucky enough to have a spacious three-bedroom house, so theres room for everyone, at least for now.
It was I whod broached the subject first, over a pot of tea barely touched on the table. It makes the most sense for Harriet to move into the flat, I had said, trying to keep my voice calm. Shes a grown woman now, shell want her independenceand with her studies, she desperately needs her own space. She might even want to settle down soon.
But Richards jaw had set. No, Victoria. It isnt fair on the boys. If we hand the flat straight to Harriet, were favouring her over her brothers.
He wanted to sell the flat, split the proceeds evenly, and put the money into savings accountsone for each child. I tried to reason with him, pointing out that by the time Freddie is old enough to even touch his share, the money will have lost its value. What would they even do with a couple of thousand pounds each? Buy a second-hand car, perhaps? Meanwhile, Harriet would struggle with rent or scramble through student accommodation.
A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush, I insisted, the old saying ringing in my ears. We could give at least one of our children a real head start. The boys are still young, and by the time theyre in need, perhaps well be in a better position to help.
But Richards gaze was steely. If we let Harriet have the flat, the boys will resent her. Itll stir up ill feeling between them that will never fade. I wont see our children torn apart by jealousy.
To my mind, the boys are still too young to fully grasp whats at stakeand by the time they do, surely well have options. But the air between us is thick with silent arguments.
We havent mentioned any of this to Harriet. The flat is essentially uninhabitablecrumbling plaster, leaky pipes, everything in dire need of repair. And right now, we simply dont have the means to fix it up.
Here I am, asking myself: am I right to push for Harriets immediate needs, or is Richard justified in thinking of long-term fairness? Is there an answer neither of us has thought of, something a fresh pair of eyes might see?
With our marriage balanced on this knife-edge, I can only hope the best path will reveal itselfbefore this inheritance tears us apart more than it brings us together.
