The phone rang at exactly seven in the morning, just as Lydia had stepped into the kitchen to put the kettle on. She glanced at the screen and winced—it was her younger sister, Olivia.
“Liv, what’s wrong? You know I’m barely awake yet.”
“Lyd, you need to come to Mum’s—right now!” Olivia’s voice was tense. “I’ve sorted everything. We’re selling her flat and moving her to a lovely care home.”
Lydia nearly dropped the phone.
“What? What care home? What on earth are you talking about?”
“Don’t play dumb! Mum’s losing it. Yesterday she left the gas on, and the day before, the neighbour found her on the landing—she’d forgotten which floor she lives on! We can’t go on like this!”
“Liv, slow down. What documents have you signed?”
“Power of attorney for the flat sale. Mum signed it herself. I explained it was for her own good.”
Lydia felt herself boiling inside.
“Have you lost your mind? How could you do this without me? She’s got two daughters, in case you’ve forgotten!”
“And where exactly have you been all this time?” Olivia snapped. “Popping in once a week for a cuppa doesn’t count as looking after her! I’m the one doing the shopping, checking her meds, coming over every single day after work!”
“I’ve got a job, Liv! And I don’t live just round the corner like you!”
“Exactly! So I’m making the hard decisions for Mum. The estate agent’s coming tomorrow to value the flat—come say goodbye if you want.”
She hung up. Lydia stood frozen in the middle of the kitchen, phone in hand, unable to process what had just happened. Her little sister—the one she still thought of as a moody teenager—had just unilaterally decided the fate of their seventy-five-year-old mother.
Lydia threw on her coat and raced over. On the way, she thought about how, after Dad died, she’d been the one managing everything—helping with bills, fixing things, taking Mum to doctor’s appointments. Olivia had still been at uni back then, carefree and oblivious.
Mum’s flat was on the fourth floor of an ageing red-brick building. Lydia took the familiar stairs and rang the bell. The door opened to reveal Margaret “Maggie” Harris—petite, sharp-eyed, and always glad to see her.
“Luv! What a nice surprise! Bit early for a visit, isn’t it?”
“Mum, we need to talk. Seriously.”
They settled in the kitchen. Mum put the kettle on and dug out a tin of custard creams.
“Mum, tell me about yesterday. What did you do?”
Maggie frowned, thinking.
“Had breakfast. Then Liv came over… she brought some papers, said I needed to sign them. For my own good.”
“And you signed?”
“Course I did. Liv knows about these things—she works in finance!”
Lydia clenched her fists. Yes, Mum was getting forgetful—but that didn’t mean she’d lost the right to decide her own life.
“Mum, what else did Liv say?”
“Something about a care home. Said it’d be nice, that they’d look after me. But I don’t want to leave, Luv. This is my home.”
Her eyes welled up. Lydia hugged her.
“You’re not going anywhere. I won’t let it happen.”
The doorbell rang. Olivia strode in—forty-three, sharp bob, all business in her navy trouser suit.
“Oh, you’re here already,” she said, spotting Lydia. “Good. Now we can talk like adults.”
“Adults?” Lydia stood up. “You call tricking a vulnerable woman adult behaviour?”
“I didn’t trick anyone! Mum signed the papers willingly!”
“Mum didn’t understand what she was signing!”
“I’m right here, you know!” Maggie cut in. “And I won’t have shouting in my flat!”
The sisters fell silent. When Mum raised her voice, they listened.
“Liv, explain those papers to me again.”
Olivia sat beside her, taking her hand.
“Mum, I got power of attorney so we can sell the flat. There’s a gorgeous care home waiting—doctor on-site, home-cooked meals. You’ll have your own room, and we’ll visit whenever you like.”
“But I don’t want to sell,” Mum whispered. “My whole life’s here. Your dad lived here.”
“Mum, it’s not safe anymore. You could leave the hob on, take a fall—”
“The neighbours check on me! And so do you two!”
“Neighbours aren’t family. And we’ve got jobs. Lydia’s clear across town—I can’t be here every second!”
Lydia couldn’t take it anymore.
“Liv, we could hire a carer! Or Mum could move in with me!”
“Carers cost a fortune. And you live in a shoebox—where would she sleep? On the sofa?”
“We’d make it work!”
“Oh, brilliant plan! Mum crammed into your studio flat while I keep juggling work, my kids, and running over here every day?”
“I never asked you to!”
“Then who should’ve?! Did you think Mum would just sort herself out?”
Maggie stood abruptly.
“Girls, go home. I need to think.”
“Mum—” Olivia started.
“Go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Outside, the sisters faced off in the courtyard.
“This isn’t about being cruel,” Olivia said finally. “I’m terrified something will happen to her.”
“Then why not discuss it with me?”
“What difference would it make? You’d argue, we’d stall, and Mum could burn the place down by then!”
“You had no right to decide alone!”
“I had every right! I’m the one actually looking after her! You swan in for tea like it’s a day trip!”
“That’s not true!”
“Really? Who sat with her in hospital last year? Who sorts her pills? Who does her shopping? Me!”
Lydia opened her mouth—then shut it. Olivia wasn’t wrong.
“Fine,” Lydia said. “You’ve done more lately. But that doesn’t mean you get to choose where she lives!”
“So what’s your genius idea? Wait till she sets the flat on fire?”
“I propose we find a proper solution. Together.”
Olivia sighed.
“It’s done, Lyd. Estate agent’s coming tomorrow. The care home needs a deposit next week.”
“Cancel it!”
“No. Enough stalling.”
Olivia turned toward her car. Lydia called after her:
“What if Mum refuses to go?”
“She won’t. She’ll see it’s for the best.”
“What if I contest the power of attorney?”
Olivia turned.
“Go ahead. But while we’re in court, Mum could get hurt. And that’ll be on you.”
She drove off. Lydia went back upstairs.
“Mum, do you actually want to move?”
Maggie sat by the window, watching the street.
“I dunno, Luv. Liv says it’s best. Maybe she’s right.”
“But what do you want?”
“Does it matter? I’m just an old biddy now. Liv makes the calls, you’ve got work… I’m in the way.”
“You’re not in the way!”
“Aren’t I? Liv’s exhausted, you’re worried—”
Lydia knelt beside her.
“Are you scared living alone?”
Maggie hesitated.
“…Yeah. Sometimes I wake up and can’t remember if I turned the oven off. Last week, I got lost on my own street.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t want to be a bother.”
Lydia took her hand.
“If you’re scared, we’ll fix it. Maybe a carer. Or I’ll visit more.”
“Luv, you’re kind. But carers cost the earth. And trekking here daily’s too much.”
“It’s not!”
“It is. You work all hours. And now me, with my daft head—”
“Mum, you’re not daft. You’re my mum.”
Maggie smiled weakly.
“Y’know… maybe Liv’s right. At a home, I wouldn’t be scared. There’d be people around. And you two could stop worrying.”
“But you said you don’t want to leave.”
“Wanting’s one thing. What’s needed’s another.”
Next morning, Lydia took leave and arrived early—hoping to calmly discuss alternatives.
But outside the building, a car with “Estate Agent” on the side was parked. Voices carried from Mum’s flat.
Lydia stormed in. Olivia opened the door.
“Oh, you’re here. Meet the agent. We’re all sorted.”
A man in his forties sat with a clipboard.
“David Wright. Your mumLydia took a deep breath, stepped forward, and said, “There won’t be any sale today—because we’ve decided Mum’s staying right here with her family, where she belongs.”
