**The Sister Who Betrayed First**
“How could you?!” Emily screamed, shaking a crumpled piece of paper in her fist. “How could you sign this rubbish?”
Charlotte winced, set down her teacup, and slowly turned to face her sister. There wasn’t a hint of remorse in her expression—only exhaustion.
“Signed it, so what?” She shrugged. “We have to sell the house anyway. You said it yourself.”
“Said it?!” Emily’s voice trembled with indignation. “I said we should decide *together*, Charlotte! *Together!* Not you sneaking behind my back, making deals with estate agents! And for half the price we agreed on!”
“It’s not half, it’s—” Charlotte started, but Emily cut her off.
“Fine, a third less! Does that make it better? This was *Mum’s* house, Charlotte. Left to *both* of us! And you just decided you could act like it was yours alone!”
The kitchen fell silent. Only the steady ticking of the grandfather clock—the one Mum had brought back from her trip to France—filled the air. Charlotte stood by the window, staring blankly at the garden where they’d once played hopscotch as children.
“Do you even realize what you’ve done?” Emily continued, quieter now. “My son’s starting university—I need every pound. And your daughter’s planning her wedding! We *both* need that money!”
“Exactly,” Charlotte turned sharply. “We *need* it. That’s why I moved fast. Buyers are interested *now*. Wait too long, and no one will want this old place.”
“But we *agreed!*” Emily’s voice cracked. “You *promised* we’d decide together!”
“Agreed, agreed,” Charlotte waved her off. “And then you vanished for a week—no calls, no texts. Buyers won’t wait forever.”
Emily slumped into a chair, burying her face in her hands. The contract lay on the table like a slap in the face.
“I had to go to Aunt Margaret’s in the countryside,” she whispered. “She was sick, all alone. I *told* you that!”
“Told me, didn’t tell me…” Charlotte scoffed. “It’s done now. We’ll get the money in a month, split it, and move on.”
“Move *on*?” Emily’s head snapped up. “You think that’s all there is to it?”
Charlotte poured herself another cup of tea, sitting across from her sister. Her face was calm—unnervingly so.
“What else is there? House sells, we split the profits. Fair’s fair.”
“Fair?” Emily laughed bitterly. “Was it fair to sign without me? Was it fair not to wait?”
“Stop being dramatic,” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “It’s just a house. Neither of us was going to live here.”
“Just a *house*?” Emily’s eyes flashed. “Who came every weekend? Who fixed the roof, tended the garden, checked on the neighbors?”
“So?” Charlotte shrugged. “You like playing caretaker. Meanwhile, *I’ve* been paying the utility bills all these years.”
“Utility bills…” Emily walked to the window. “Charlotte, do you even remember growing up here? Mum raising us? Doing our homework at this very table?”
“I remember,” Charlotte said flatly. “What’s your point?”
“My *point*? This is our *history*. Our *childhood*. And you’ve sold it to some stranger for pennies!”
“Not pennies—market value. And not a stranger—a family with kids. They need a home; we need money. Fair exchange.”
Emily slowly returned to the table and picked up the contract. Her face paled as she read.
“Charlotte… what’s this clause?” She pointed to a line mid-page. “It says the sole seller is *Charlotte Elizabeth Whitmore*. Where am *I*?”
Charlotte hesitated.
“Just… a technicality. Since I’m in London, and you’re in the Midlands. Simplified things for the solicitor.”
“Simplified?!” Emily’s voice rose to a shout. “Charlotte, are you *kidding* me? You’ve made it *yours* on paper—then you’ll *graciously* hand me half?”
“Keep your voice down!” Charlotte hissed. “The neighbors will hear. It’s just paperwork.”
“Paperwork.” Emily exhaled sharply. “Charlotte, we’re *sisters*. Same mother, same blood. How could you do this?”
“I didn’t *do* anything!” Charlotte snapped. “Sell the house, split the money. What’s the issue?”
“The issue is you don’t *trust* me!” Emily slammed her fist on the table. “The issue is you think I’m too stupid to decide for myself!”
“I *don’t* think that!” Charlotte shot back. “I’m just the practical one. Always have been.”
“Practical,” Emily echoed coldly. “Remember when Mum was ill? Who took her to appointments? Who sat by her hospital bed? Who bought her medicine?”
“And who worked *two jobs* to pay for it?” Charlotte snapped. “You were free to play nurse. I was keeping us afloat!”
“*Free*? My *husband* had just *died*, Charlotte! I was a widow with a child! But I still went to Mum every single day!”
“And I *worked my fingers to the bone*!” Charlotte shouted. “While you played saint, I earned the money that kept her alive!”
“Earned it,” Emily whispered. “And where were you when Mum was dying? *Remember*?”
Charlotte fell silent, staring out the window.
“I was on a business trip. An important one.”
“A business trip!” Emily laughed, a hollow, broken sound. “Mum called for you. Begged for you: *‘Where’s Charlotte? Why won’t she come?’*”
“Stop it,” Charlotte said quietly. “Don’t.”
“I *will*!” Emily slapped the table. “She *waited* for you, Charlotte. Eyes on the door till the end!”
“I said *stop*!” Charlotte shouted.
“No!” Emily stood, stepping closer. “You don’t get to rewrite this! Mum died alone, and now you’re selling her house like it’s nothing!”
“It’s *not* nothing!” Tears streaked Charlotte’s face. “But I can’t—I can’t *be* here! Every corner smells like her. Every room *hurts*!”
“And it doesn’t hurt *me*?” Emily’s voice cracked. “You think I don’t cry when I hear her voice in the halls?”
Charlotte wiped her cheek, turning away.
“Then why fight the sale?”
“Because it’s *ours*!” Emily sat beside her. “Because our *life* is in these walls. Because Mum wanted us to decide *together*!”
“And what did Mum want when she wrote the will?” Charlotte whispered. “Remember *that*?”
Emily frowned.
“What are you talking about?”
“The house was left to *both* of us. But the back garden plot? Only to *you*. Ring any bells?”
“The garden?” Emily faltered. “Yes, I remember. So?”
“So that plot’s worth *more* than the house!” Charlotte stood. “Land in this area? Sky-high value. And Mum gave it to *you* alone!”
“Charlotte, what are you saying?” Emily shook her head. “The will doesn’t matter. We’re *sisters*!”
“Sisters, sisters.” Charlotte smirked. “But when we sell, *you* get the garden’s full worth. *I* get scraps!”
Emily went still, absorbing the accusation.
“You think—you think I’d cheat you?”
“I *know* you would!” Charlotte said. “You kept it quiet! Never mentioned the garden’s value. Planned to pocket it all!”
“I didn’t even *know* it was worth more!” Emily cried. “I’m not a bloody estate agent!”
“You didn’t *know*?” Charlotte scoffed. “Could’ve Googled it. Asked a surveyor.”
“Charlotte, what’s *wrong* with you?” Emily stood. “I’d *never* cheat you!”
“Sure, sure.” Charlotte waved her off. “But facts are facts. Mum gave *you* the valuable bit. Because *you* were her favorite.”
“Mum didn’t have favorites!”
“She *trusted* you more,” Charlotte said flatly. “That’s why you got the land.”
“Or maybe she knew *I’d* tend it?” Emily countered. “That *I’d* care for this place?”
“Maybe.” Charlotte shrugged. “Or maybe she knew you were kinder than me.”
“Not kinder.” Emily sighed. “Just different.”
Charlotte rose, stepping closer.
“Emily… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak around. I just—I was scared we’d fight.”
“And now we’re *not* fighting?” Emily smiled weakly.
“We are,” Charlotte admitted. “But at least itAnd as the sisters stood there, the weight of their shared past pressing between them, they realized that some bonds couldn’t be broken—not by money, not by betrayal, not even by time.