Sisters, or The Price of a Mother’s Love…
Mum adored the actress Alice Eve, which is why she named her daughter after her.
Dad left when Alice was eight. Life grew harder, but at least the daily shouting stopped. Alice was old enough to understand now—why they fought.
Mum would scream that Dad couldn’t resist a pretty skirt. What Alice never understood was how those young, beautiful women could want him, knowing he had a wife and child.
“I’ve had enough of your baseless accusations. I’d rather spend time with my mates than listen to this,” Dad would snap before slamming the door behind him.
Alice was relieved when he was gone. No tears, no shouting. Besides, Dad was never around for her. Always working, coming home when she was already asleep. Weekends, he’d be off with his friends.
One day, the arguing was worse than ever—shattered crockery, voices like thunder.
“You don’t care about us, about your daughter! You abandon her just like me—”
“Fine, I’ll take her then,” Dad cut in.
“And your new wife won’t mind? She’s already got a son running wild—a proper little delinquent!”
Alice sat in her room, hands clamped over her ears. She was terrified. Then—silence. She lowered her hands, too afraid to move. Later, Mum came in, eyes swollen.
“Scared? Don’t be.” She pulled Alice into a hug. They stayed like that for a while.
“Where’s Dad? Did he leave us? For another auntie?”
“You heard? Oh, love, I’m sorry. We’ll manage, won’t we? Fancy some tea? Biscuits?”
“Please.”
“Stay here. I’ll tidy up, then fetch you.”
After a minute, Alice crept out. Mum was sweeping up broken plates, crying quietly. Alice slipped back unseen.
That summer, Mum sent Alice to Nan’s—Dad’s mum. Nan was kind to them, always scolding her son. Alice missed Mum, but Nan said she needed time—to find Alice a proper dad.
“I don’t want anyone but Mum,” Alice insisted.
Mum collected her in late August, just before school. They clung to each other, laughing. Alice wouldn’t leave her side.
“Go pack your things,” Nan said.
Alice didn’t listen to the grown-ups at first.
“When will you tell her?” Nan’s voice was sharp.
“I will. Thank you for everything.” Mum’s reply was vague.
“No need. It wasn’t your fault. Visit anytime—bring her, or leave her if you like—”
“I don’t want to stay! I’m going with Mum!” Alice burst in, panicked at the thought of being left behind.
They went home. Now, Mum often smiled to herself. It made Alice happy too.
Then one evening, Mum brought a man home. He handed Alice a box of chocolates. “Uncle Henry’s moving in,” Mum said.
Some girls at school had stepdads—some bought them everything, some were strict. “Better than my real dad!” bragged Ellie. Nadia just scowled. Hers was cold, never gave her gifts. Alice feared Henry would be the same. But he brought her sweets, and Mum glowed beside him. Alice relaxed, though she kept her distance.
Life barely changed. No more shouting, but fewer bedtime stories.
“You’re big now—read to yourself.” The light clicked off. She’d lie awake, listening to their murmurs downstairs.
One day, Mum asked if she wanted a brother or sister.
“Neither.”
Six months later, baby sister Amelia arrived—squalling, always in Mum’s arms. Alice burned with jealousy.
“Mum loves you, but Amelia’s tiny. She’ll grow, and you’ll play together,” Henry said.
Alice watched her sister squirm in her cot. Still a stranger, like Henry. She only needed Mum—but no one asked children what they wanted.
As Amelia grew, Mum asked Alice to mind her, play with her. Something primal stirred—Alice became protective. She liked feeling grown, as if Amelia were a living doll.
Then Henry died in his sleep. A clot, the doctors said. Mum shut down, lost in grief.
One day, Alice took Amelia to the park. A boy shoved her off the slide. Amelia wailed, blood dripping from her forehead. Alice sprinted home with her. Mum snapped awake, fussing over the cut.
“It wasn’t me—the boy pushed her—!”
But Amelia wailed, “Alice did it!”
Mum turned on her, screaming, shoving her away. Alice locked herself in her room, choking on tears.
After that, Mum barely saw her. Alice understood—Henry was gone, but Amelia was his. Her own father had betrayed them, and Mum’s anger leaked onto her too.
She felt invisible. When she confronted Mum, the reply was sharp.
“You’re older. Your dad’s alive—Amelia’s an orphan!”
“Mum, what dad? I haven’t seen him since he left! He sends money, nothing else!”
Useless. Mum poured all her love into Amelia, leaving none for Alice.
So Alice pulled away. Met a boy, moved out without looking back. Mum didn’t seem to mind.
Roman worked while studying remotely. They rented a flat. Alice visited sometimes—toys for Amelia, sweets. Mum asked hollow questions but only wanted to gush about her youngest. Alice still felt like a ghost.
She married Roman when pregnant with twins. They bought a flat. Life was too busy for visits, and Mum never asked.
Only once did she call—about Amelia skipping school, staying out late, ruining her GCSEs…
Amelia barely scraped into college, nothing like the medical degree Mum dreamed of.
“Teaching’s good too. Useful, when she has kids,” Alice said.
“What kind of teacher smokes and parties? If her father were alive—”
“If Dad hadn’t left, it’d be even better. No Amelia. You’d have loved me,” Alice blurted.
Mum called her a heartless brat and hung up.
Then Mum got sick. Cancer, found by chance. Alice started visiting, helping. Chemo didn’t work. Amelia was never home.
“She’s studying, has placements… She’s young—why sit with an old woman? She’ll miss out on lads,” Mum excused.
“Lads won’t vanish! She could’ve waited for me—what if you needed something?”
Alice juggled the trips with her boys, her own home. Taking Mum in would mean cramming them all into one room. Impossible.
When she offered anyway, Mum refused. “What about Amelia?”
“She’s grown! She should look after you, not party!”
Amelia had a hundred excuses not to stay. Once, she wrinkled her nose. “Smells like medicine and piss in here.”
Mum could barely walk. Sometimes she didn’t make it to the loo.
“Take her if you like cleaning up piss,” Amelia sneered.
“She’s your mother! You owe her this!”
Alice arranged hospice care but visited daily. Mum only asked for Amelia.
They sent her home to die. Alice moved in, leaving Roman and the boys. No choice.
Once, Mum gave her a folder—”important documents.” Alice forgot about it.
“Come say goodbye. She loves you,” Alice begged Amelia.
“I’ll pop by when I’m free.”
Calls went unanswered.
After the funeral—Amelia did show—Alice opened the folder. The will left the house and everything to her. She reread it, stunned. Her name, clear as day.
Amelia stormed in with some bloke, wrinkling her nose.
“Can’t breathe in here. I’ll sell it in six months.”
“You’re selling nothing. It’s mine. Here’s the will.”
“Liar! You pressured her—she was out of her mind! She loved me!”
“Where were you when she was dying? Not once at the hospice! She asked for you every day!”
They screamed. Amelia threatened court, accused forgery.
“See the date? Three months before she died. Doctor’s note—”
“Bribed the doctor, didn’t you?”
But eventually, Amelia switched tactics. Sobbed about rented flats, regrets, her stupidity…
“Don’t give her the house. Your mum spoiled her. She didn’t even cry at the grave. Think of our boys,” Roman said.
“But she’s my sister.”
“Fine—sell it and split the money. Place needs work anyway. She won’t drop this.”
Alice agreed. Her conscience wouldn’t let Amelia have nothing.
Once the house sold, Amelia whined about the money.
“You’ve got a flat—help me out!”
“Besides a mortgage, I’ve two kids. Get your bloke to work or take a loan.”
Alice had thought Henry and Amelia the strangers. Turns out, it was her. Amelia stopped taking her calls.
Divorced parents don’t think of their children’s hearts. But childrenAnd years later, when Alice stood at her own daughter’s graduation, watching the pride in her husband’s eyes, she wondered if any love, withheld or given, ever truly balanced out in the end.
