**Everything That’s Yours Will Always Be Yours**
In a quiet little town nestled between gloomy hills and grey fields, where autumn carried the scent of dampness and melancholy, life drifted at a slow pace, like a lazy river winding through the valley. At the edge of town stood a house, half-hidden beneath the shade of ancient linden trees, where Emily lived. On the surface, her life seemed like a fairy tale—wealthy parents, a grand manor, and her devoted aunt Margaret, who had become like a second mother to her. But beneath that idyllic surface, shadows lurked, waiting to shatter it all.
“You’ve barely touched your food for weeks. Got yourself a crush, Em?” Margaret asked, drying her hands on her apron.
“There’s this boy,” Emily admitted, cheeks flushing. “He’s in a different course—handsome, but he doesn’t seem to notice me. I don’t know how to talk to him.”
“A lady never chases a man first,” Margaret frowned. “In my day—”
“Oh, Aunt Maggie, not the ‘in my day’ speech again!” Emily laughed, finishing her toast. “I’d better go—can’t be late today. The lecturer’s strict—he’ll kick me out.”
“Off you go, then.” Margaret crossed her gently before shutting the door behind her, sighing uneasily.
Emily had grown up wanting for nothing. Her parents, too wrapped up in their careers, had left her upbringing to Aunt Margaret, her mother’s elder sister. To everyone else, she was Margaret Whitmore, but to Emily—just Aunt Maggie. Kind yet firm, she taught Emily the ways of the world, as if sensing fate wouldn’t always be gentle.
Margaret had suffered her own heartbreak. In her youth, back in the countryside, she’d married a forester named Gregory. Their love was fleeting—within a year, he vanished. Some said he drowned in the marshes. They searched, but never found him. Margaret was left alone, neither wife nor mother. She nearly joined a convent, then laughed at herself: “What sort of nun would I make? Still young, and my tongue’s too sharp.” She stayed in the village till her sister Lydia called her to the city.
“Come live with us, Maggie,” Lydia had urged. “Arthur and I work late—Emily needs looking after, and the house could use your touch.”
“Oh, Lyd, I’d love to!” Margaret had replied. “Greg was a good man—I wept every tear for him. I can’t rot away here. No more marrying for me. I’ll go—take all the housework off your hands.”
And so Margaret became part of their household, though she still called herself the housekeeper. She cooked with love, tended the garden, planted flowers. Emily was like a daughter to her—walking her to school, sewing her dresses, spoiling her with toys. The house was full of warmth, but Margaret warned her, “Learn to work, Em. Today, you have everything—tomorrow, who knows? A woman who can cook holds a trump card. Cook with love, and men will come running.”
“Got any secret recipes?” Emily teased.
“Of course! Every proper housewife does,” Margaret winked.
Emily fell for Daniel, a lanky lad from the neighbouring faculty. She thought he never noticed her—but she was wrong. Everyone at uni knew Emily came from money. Daniel, raised by a single mother, was charming but rough-edged. Margaret sensed trouble the moment Emily floated home, glowing.
“Aunt Maggie, he spoke to me!” she gushed. “We walked after lectures—he bought me ice cream.”
“Sly one, knows girls love sweets,” Margaret muttered. “Bring him round—let me see him.”
A month later, Daniel visited. Margaret served dinner, watching sharp-eyed. The moment he left, Emily bounced over. “So? Isn’t he brilliant?”
“Pretty face,” Margaret said flatly. “Not for you. Eyes like a magpie—took in every bit of this house the second he stepped in. That’s envy, Em. He’s no match for you.”
“Honestly, Aunt Maggie, you’re imagining things!” Emily huffed. “Who I date is my business!”
Margaret sighed, knowing some lessons had to be learned the hard way.
She was right. Four months later, Emily’s gold ring went missing. No one else had been in the house but Daniel. Emily kept it from her parents but told Margaret.
“I warned you—he took it,” Margaret said. “We must report it.”
“No!” Emily begged. “Don’t tell them—I can’t bear them being upset. It’s our secret. Daniel’s done.”
She confronted him: “I know you took it. No one else could have.” Daniel turned red. “You’re mad! What would I want with your rotten ring?” They fought—and it was over. Margaret held Emily as she cried, relieved the worst hadn’t happened.
In her final year, Emily met Oliver at her friend Sophie’s birthday. They hit it off instantly. Sophie warned her, “Don’t bring him home yet—make sure he likes *you*, not your money. Meet at mine.” Emily listened. Oliver, already working, took her to the theatre, brought flowers, doted on her. She was smitten—so much that even Margaret asked to meet him.
Oliver arrived with bouquets for Emily and her mother. Her parents welcomed him warmly, but Margaret’s verdict was firm: “Shifty. Feet never still, eyes everywhere. Too quick to temper.”
“Aunt Maggie, you’re being unfair!” Emily protested. “We’ve never fought—he’s sweet!”
Then fate struck. Emily’s parents died in a car crash returning from a nearby town. Margaret, shattered, barely held herself together. Emily was inconsolable—her world had crumbled. The funeral was arranged by her father’s firm. After, she and Margaret sat in silence, sipping tea laced with something stronger.
“I’m here, Em. Always,” Margaret whispered. “Everything that’s yours will stay yours.”
“I’m not worried about the house, Aunt Maggie,” Emily replied. “This is your home too.”
One day in a café, Emily overheard Oliver on the phone: “You should see the place! Just her and that old aunt now. I’d better marry quick—get my hands on it all.” Emily fled, heart pounding. Oliver chased, but she caught a bus home. Margaret held her as she sobbed. “The right one will love you—just you.”
After graduation, Emily started at her father’s old friend Mr. Harrison’s firm. He’d promised at the grave to watch over her. There, she met Nathan—quiet, clever, reliable. Mr. Harrison praised him: “Sharp mind, never misses a deadline. Soon-to-be department head.”
Nathan took weeks to ask her out. Finally, he stammered, “If I—if I asked you to dinner, what would you say?”
“I’d say yes,” Emily smiled, charmed by his nerves.
They dated. Nathan knew only that her parents had passed and she lived with her aunt. “Come meet my mum,” he said. His mother, Helen, was kind like him. “Darling, we keep things simple,” she said warmly.
Later, Emily invited him home. Nathan froze at the manor but said nothing. Over dinner, he was polite, gave Margaret flowers, spoke to her like family. “He’s the one, Em,” Margaret whispered later. “Good heart—no envy in him.”
They married. Mr. Harrison arranged the wedding, happy to honour his friend. Now, Emily and Nathan have twin boys. Margaret, though older, still fusses over the house. Nathan’s risen to CFO, Mr. Harrison’s chosen successor. Emily knows—all that’s hers—love, family, this home—will always remain hers.
