Emma, you know how Marks business keeps him tied up in meetings for days on end, and Lucy lives out on the other side of the city it takes her two hours just to get through the traffic, cooed his motherinlaw, Margaret Collins, her voice dripping with a honeyed pity that made Emmas jaw clench. You work from home, your schedule is flexible, you sit at a computer all day. It wont be a bother to pop over to Aunt Bettys, heat up a soup, check her blood pressure, wont it?
Emma set her tea cup down with a careful clink, trying not to make a sound. What had started as a harmless exchange of family news over Sunday lunch was rapidly turning into a wellorchestrated siege. At the table sat James, her husband, Margaret, Mark the brotherinlaw and his sister Lucy. All eyes were on Emma, their expressions a mix of affectionate demand, as if she were the only lifeboat in a stormy sea of their problems.
Aunt Betty, Margarets sister, had suffered a stroke a week earlier. Doctors had stabilised her, the crisis was over, and tomorrow she was to be discharged. She still couldnt get up; total rest and constant care were required.
Mrs. Collins, Emma began, trying to keep her tone even while a wave of irritation rose inside her, my schedule isnt free. Im the senior accountant, working remotely. Its the end of the quarter, Im glued to the screen for fivehour stretches, even just to get a drink. What do you mean pop over? Aunt Betty lives three bus stops away an hour roundtrip plus the time spent caring for her.
Ah, stop that whining, Lucy waved a fork, tossing a salad onto her plate. Your accounting wont disappear. You could just take your laptop with you. Sit with Aunt Betty, do a bit of work, then pour her a drink. At least shell have family watching over her. Were one family, after all.
Emma turned her gaze to Lucy, immaculate nails glinting, her job as a salon receptionist split two days on, two days off.
Lucy, you work a twoontwooff schedule, Emma reminded her. That means youre completely free for fifteen days a month. Why not take half the shifts?
Lucy choked on a leaf of lettuce and widened her eyes.
Are you serious? I need my weekends for a social life! And Im squeamish about blood and the smell of medicine. The thought of lying next to Aunt Betty makes me want to hurl. No, I cant Im delicate.
Mark, fidgeting with the keys of his pricey SUV, interjected, Emma, honestly. I could put money towards groceries. You know my business is in full swing, I barely see my family, I only crawl home to sleep. If I quit now, well all be out on the street.
All eyes snapped back to Emma. James sat with his head bowed, stabbing his meat with a fork, perpetually caught between his motherinlaws demands and the rest of the clan.
Hold on, Emma sat up straight. Lets get this straight. Aunt Betty has two adult children Mark and Lucy. Its their direct responsibility to look after their mother. I have my own job, my own home, and, mind you, my own mother who also needs my attention. I can come on weekends, bring groceries, help with cleaning once a week, but I will not become her fulltime carer.
A heavy silence fell over the room. Margaret pursed her lips, her face turning a shade like a baked apple.
So thats how youve turned this, she snapped. Just as Mark helped his dad with building supplies at a discount, as Lucy gave you a discount at the salon, now you thanks us with nothing. Aunt Betty, by the way, looked after little James when I was doing double shifts at the factory shes practically his second mother!
James finally lifted his head, his expression guilty.
Emma, honestly Aunt Betty helped me a lot. Maybe we could sort something out? I could drop by in the evenings
James, Emma said, looking him straight in the eye, you get home at eight at night. Whos going to be with her from eight in the morning? Mark got a cement discount seven years ago and we paid for it without a markup. Lucys salon discount is five percent, I spend more on petrol getting to her than anything else. Dont start handing me a bill for family duties now.
Mark sprang up, dragging his chair with a screech.
Fine, I get it. No help from you. Well sort it ourselves. Well hire a carer, since the relatives seem heartless. Just remember, Emma, the worlds round dont be surprised if the glass of water you reach for is empty.
He flamboyantly tossed a £5 note for fruit on the table and stormed out. Lucy followed, casting a cutting glance over her shoulder. Margaret clutched her chest, rummaging in her purse for some painkiller.
The evening passed in oppressive quiet. James paced the flat, sighing, never starting a conversation. Emma knew he thought she was cruel, but she also knew that giving in now would mean months, perhaps years, spent changing nappies and tolerating Aunt Bettys whims while the loving children built their businesses and lives.
The next day her phone rang incessantly first Margaret, then a distant aunt from Norwich whod suddenly decided to give unsolicited advice, then Margaret again. Emma let it ring. She was busy; the numbers in her reports demanded focus, and emotions required a tight leash.
That night James returned, looking as gloomy as a thundercloud.
Mother called, he said without removing his shoes. Bettys crying, says no one wants her, that theyll send her to a care home and forget about her. Mark hired a woman, but she can only come two hours a day to heat food. What about the rest of the time?
Mark has two teenage kids, his wife doesnt work, shes a housewife. Lucy has no children. Why cant they set up a rota? Emma asked, weary.
Marks wife says she cant deal with it, that its not her mother. And Lucy you know Lucy she threw a tantrum, saying shed go into depression at the sight of ducks and IV drips. So Aunt Betty is left alone. Emma, could you maybe do at least half a day until we find a proper carer?
Emma looked at James. She loved him; he was kind and considerate, but his softheartedness sometimes killed her.
Alright, she said suddenly. Ill go. Tomorrow Ill go. But I have one condition.
Whats that? Jamess face lit up.
Youll see.
The following morning Emma, laptop in tow, drove to Aunt Bettys. The door was opened by the twohouraday carer, a weary woman with a tired face.
Thank heavens someones here, the carer sighed. Bettys being fussy, refuses porridge, wants chicken broth, and Ive got two old men to run to.
Emma entered the flat. The air smelled of old medication and stale laundry. Aunt Betty lay on a high bed, surrounded by pillows, watching TV. She pursed her lips on seeing Emma.
Oh, youre finally here. I thought Mark or Lucy would show up. Instead you bring seventhwater jelly.
Good afternoon, Aunt Betty, Emma said calmly. Mark is at work, Lucy is busy. Im here to help. What do you need?
Broth! Fresh with croutons! And the bedding needs changing the crumbs are stabbing my back. And pull the curtains back, the sunlights blinding. Cant you see?
Emma sighed, set her laptop on the table, and headed to the kitchen. The fridge held a lonely slice of cheese and a jar of sour milk. No chicken for broth.
Aunt Betty, theres no food. Did Mark promise to bring anything?
He promised, he promised must have forgotten. Go to the shop, love, theres a Tesco nearby. Buy a whole chicken, cottage cheese, decent fruit, nothing mouldy.
Wheres the money? Emma asked briskly.
What money? the aunt replied, bewildered. My pension only comes on the fifth. Youll buy it, Mark will pay later. Or you think were scraping pennies off a sick old woman?
Emma quietly fished out her wallet, went to the shop, and spent £30 on supplies. She cooked the broth, fed Aunt Betty, changed the bedding. Throughout, Aunt Betty babbled nonstop.
Dont mash the pillow! Too hard! Whos cutting the bread? Too big, Ill choke! Oh, watch the leg, youll rip it off! Lucy would do it gently, her hands are soft
Wheres Lucy? Emma snapped.
Dont mention Lucy! Shes got her own life, needs a man, not to haul ducks for a granny. Youre married, youve got nothing to do but sit and look after her.
By evening Emma was exhausted, as if shed unloaded a coal wagon. She managed to open her laptop for a fifteenminute spell before the aunt dozed, then a barrage of commands: Turn the water on, change the channel, close the window, read the paper, why are you typing so loudly?
When James arrived to take over the night shift, Emma sat at the kitchen table staring at the wall.
How did it go? James asked cheerfully.
James, she said quietly, I bought the groceries with my own money, I cleaned, I cooked, I washed your aunt. I heard not a single thank you, only complaints and comparisons to Lucy, whos supposedly an angel but never shows up. Your aunt thinks Im obligated to care for her just because I married you and supposedly need nothing.
Shes ill, her tempers, James began.
No, shes always had that temper, shes just hit a snag now. Listen up. Im not coming back. Not tomorrow, not the day after, never as a carer again.
What? Who will look after her? I have work
Thats Mark and Lucys problem.
Emma left for home, fighting back tears of frustration and helplessness, but she forced herself to stay steady. She needed a plan.
The next morning, at ten, Mark called.
Emma, hi. I spoke to my mum, she said you did a great job, the broth was tasty. When can you come back? The carer fell ill, she can only do two hours a day. She needs injections at noon.
I wont come, Mark, Emma replied evenly.
What do you mean? We agreed. You were here yesterday, everything was fine.
I was there to assess the workload, to understand the situation. Heres the reality: your mother needs a professional, roundtheclock carer. Im an accountant, not a nurse. My workday is paid work. Yesterday I lost four working hours and £30 on groceries.
Youre charging me? Youre billing the family?
Im billing reality, Mark. If you cant look after her yourself and Lucy cant, you need to hire a livein professional. That costs at least £600 a month plus meals.
I dont have spare cash! Everythings tied up, the economys in a slump!
Then sell the SUV and buy a cheaper car. Or have Lucy sell her fur coat. Or rotate shifts every other day. I wont lift a finger until I see you actually contributing, not just empty promises.
She hung up, added Marks number to her block list, then did the same with Lucys and Margarets. She knew a storm was coming and she was taking shelter in a bunker of silence.
James returned that night pale and shaking.
What have you done? Mom called, she was screaming so loud the phone vibrated. She says you left a helpless woman to die. Mark called you a mercenary. They all argued.
Whos with Aunt Betty now? Emma asked, still chopping salad.
Mrs. Collins went away. My mothers blood pressure is through the roof, but she went anyway. She said, If the young are so cruel, Ill lie down and die.
See? No one died. Emma, sit down, have dinner.
I cant eat! You dont get it? They now see us as enemies! How do we talk?
We wont talk until they apologise. James, understand this: whoever is being carried, the carrier bears the weight. Ive dropped the reins. Your mother will sit there a day, realise health is priceless, and press Mark. When Mark finally sees the freebies are over, hell find the money he bragged last week about buying a new warehouse.
James stared at his wife, half terrified, half admiring. Hed always gone with the flow, but Emma was now building a dam.
Three days passed. During that time Margaret, the matriarch, heroically tended to her sister, calling James every two hours with dramatics: My back is killing me my heart aches Bettys screaming Ill die on that carpet. James wanted to help, but Emma stopped him.
Youll go only when Mark pays for a carer. Otherwise youll just replace your own mother and let Mark relax again.
On the fourth day the climax hit unexpectedly. Margaret, trying to lift her heavy sister, actually snapped her back, unable to straighten. An ambulance was called for her.
Mark had to drive, Lucy had to drive.
That evening, a knock sounded at Emma and Jamess door. Mark stood there, looking dishevelled, the businessmans shine stripped away.
May I come in? he grumbled.
Emma stepped aside, letting him in. James tensed, ready to defend, but Mark seemed exhausted rather than aggressive.
He shuffled to the kitchen, sat on a stool, and asked for water, his hands trembling.
This is hell, he said, gulping a glass. My mother shes impossible. Shes hot one minute, cold the next, blames me for wanting her dead so she can inherit the flat. She accused me of wanting her gone. Im at my wits end.
Emma smiled to herself. Welcome to reality, cousin.
Wheres Lucy? James asked.
Lucy bolted an hour ago, said she had a migraine. Aunt Margaret is in hospital with a slipped disc. Im alone. My shipments are burning, my clients are screaming. I cant sit there, Emma! I need you to help. Ill pay. How much? You said sixty? Ill give a hundred. Just find someone decent who can handle her.
Emma sat opposite him.
Fine, Mark. Ill find a carer through an agency, with a proper contract and medical qualifications. Itll cost about £800 a month, plus food. Transfer the money now for the first month and the agency deposit, and give me the £30 I spent on groceries.
Deal! Mark fumbled for his phone. Even five hundred if you need it. Just get me out of this.
Emma stopped his hand. One more thing call your mother and tell her to stop smearing my name in front of the family. Make it clear that the carer is your responsibility, not because Emma is bad.
Agreed. Ill do everything.
Within two hours the money hit her account. Emma, using her network of accountants, quickly sourced a reputable homecare agency. By evening a professional carer a sturdy woman with steel nerves and psychiatric experience arrived at Aunt Bettys, unfazed by complaints about tasteless broth.
Margaret was discharged a week later. She still used a brace and winced, but never again accused Emma of ingratitude. At the occasional family gathering, which Emma now attended only when she felt like it, Margaret finally admitted,
Poppy was right. Its hard to look after someone bedridden. A professional was needed. Mark did well, paid for it, didnt skimp.
Lucy never showed up at her mothers side, limiting herself to phone calls. Mark, oddly enough, began to treat Emma with newfound respect, even asking her for financial advice. He stopped the patronising tone and seemed to finally see her as an equal, not just a wifes accessory.
And James James learned the biggest lesson. One evening, while watching a film, he pulled Emma close and whispered, Thank you.
For what? Emma asked.
For saving us all from a mad house and easing my guilt. I saw Mark go pale in that flat; Id have cracked in a day. Youre strong, Emma. Ill learn from you.
Emma smiled, rested her head on his shoulder, and felt the borders shed built were finally firm, the keys to the gate firmly in her hand. Aunt Betty, according to the carer, had become much calmer, having realised that tantrums in front of a stranger achieved nothing there was no audience, no drama to perform.
And thats how this tale of a family duty, repeatedly shifted onto others, finally returned to those who truly owned it. If you enjoyed the story, do like and subscribe for more reallife accounts. Your comments are welcome.
