**The Grand Prize**
I became a widow at thirty-two, left with two children: a son, Victor, and a daughter, Lorraine. I swore off any thought of romance, pouring all my unspent love into my eldest, Victor. He was quiet, obedientthe kind of son I imagined would be my comfort in old age.
Lorraine, though, took after her fatherdreamy, impulsive, with a stubborn glint in her eyes. She refused to bend to the rigid rules of my world. Our conversations often turned into clashes.
“You should think about your future, not these silly poems!” Id snap, snatching the notebook from her hands.
“And what future? Working at the factory like you? Just surviving?” shed fire back.
Meanwhile, Victor thrived in an atmosphere of adoration. His mistakes were forgiven, his small victories treated as grand triumphs. He quickly learned that Id always side with him, that Id give him everythingso long as he kept me happy. He wasnt cruel. Just convenient.
Lorraine, worn down by our cold war, left at eighteen. She enrolled in teachers college, moved into a dorm, and rarely called. Every visit ended in an argument.
Then she vanished entirely.
When neighbours asked after her, Id frown and look away. If I ever brought her up, Victor just shrugged. “She was miserable here. Let her sort out her own life.” Hed married by then but still visited every Sundayfor his favourite roast dinner, a container of leftovers, and a bit of cash “for expenses.”
Five years passed.
Then one day, Lorraine appeared on my doorstep. Not alone. Clinging to her skirt was a little girl with enormous eyes. Lorraine herself was gaunt, coughing like her lungs might tear apart.
“Whats this?” I asked icily, staring at the child.
Turned out, Lorraine had hidden her pregnancy, then her daughters birth, knowing Id never approve. Shed worked two jobs, barely scraped by, until her health gave out. The doctors offered no hopejust a little more time. She needed someone to take care of little Margaret
And so the circle closed. Lorraine returned to the doorstep shed once been so desperate to leave.
I let them in. Not out of love, but duty. “What will people say if I turn away my sick daughter and her child?” Thats what drove me.
They settled in the smallest room. Lorraine faded quietly, while Margaret, like a weed breaking through concrete, unexpectedly took root in my hardened heart.
I realised this child wasnt afraid of me. She trusted me. Loved me. She brought me scribbled drawings”for Granny Mary”hugged me in the mornings, and solemnly tried to cheer me when I frowned. If she had nightmares, she didnt run to her mothershe climbed into my stiff, wide bed.
Lorraine died as quietly as shed lived.
Now the flat held two women: one with everything behind her, and one with everything ahead.
Thats when the ice began to crack.
I, whod spent a lifetime fearing weakness, found it in myself. I taught Margaret to bake pies, told her family stories (omitting the quarrels, of course), and cried into my pillow, realising how cold Id been to my own daughter. Loving Margaret was painfultoo late, in part a penance.
Victor hated it.
“Mum, youll spoil her!” he grumbled when I bought her a new dress. “Were not made of money.”
“Im using my own!” I shot backthe first steel in my voice ever directed at him.
Years passed. Margaret grew into someone I couldnt imagine life without. Victors visits grew sparse, reduced to formalities. Yet he was certain my flat and the cottage were his by rightMargaret was “no blood relation.”
I saw it allthe assessing glances at the flat, the hints after a drink that “we should sort the paperwork.” My heart ached for him. For the boy whod never grown up.
My decision came quietly. No will to spark a feud after my death. Something subtler.
I took Margaret to the bank and transferred my savings to her. Not a fortunejust a lifetime of pennies saved for a rainy day that, thankfully, never came.
“Granny, why? I dont need anything!” she protested.
“Hush,” I said firmly. “This isnt for you. Its for me. For peace of mind. So I know youll always have a roof, no matter what. Especially from them.”
I suspected Victor would pressure her over the flat and cottage. With this, shed never be left with nothing.
Victor lived in a cramped prefab flat on the citys edge, inherited by his wife, Linda. They scraped by, the flat stuck in the nineties, thick with stagnation.
His obsession was my three-bedroom in the city centrehigh ceilings, ornate mouldings. To him, it wasnt just property. It was justice. His reward.
First, hed never upset me. Second, it was his right. He, the loyal son, saw it as his grand prizehis ticket to a better life. Pay off debts, maybe save a little.
When the solicitor said Margaret had equal claim, he was stunned. Hed assumed heirs were just him and his late sister (whose share hed long mentally absorbed). Splitting the flat meant his dream crumbledhalf wasnt enough. The cottage wouldnt fetch much.
So whenever inheritance came up, Victor transformedsullenness gave way to aggression.
“She has no right!” hed roar, pacing. “Its my flat! Mums flat! What share? Who even is she?”
Linda knitted in silence. Shed heard it for yearshow Lorraine had made everyone miserable, then slunk back with a brat in tow.
Victor measured everything in money. Yes, Margaret helped me. But hadnt he? He brought groceries monthly, called the plumber, gave up Sundays!
What had Margaret done? Lived with me. She couldve been in care.
For six months, he schemed to fight for his “rights”calls, consultations, threats to “drag her through court.”
After another round of humiliation, Margaret surprised him.
She invited Victor and Linda for lunchset the table, made my recipes. That same pie, that same soup.
“Uncle Vic, Aunt Linda,” she said softly, “Ill give you my share of the flat. Its yours. And Ive found a buyer for the cottage. If you agree, Ill take that money, leave, and never bother you again.”
Silence. Linda stopped chewing. Victor stared as if she were mad.
“Youre joking. Its worth a fractionand why would I give you anything from the cottage?”
“Granny wanted me to have a start. The cottages worth far less, isnt it? And you dont need it. Take the deal. I wont waste time on lawsuits.”
She left the room. Victor sat frozen. His battle was over before it began. Hed won.
The solicitor, expecting a feud, was pleasantly shocked when they came to sign.
As for Margaret? With Grannys savings and the cottages sale, she bought a small studioeven had enough left to save. She often thought of that day at the bank, grateful for the gift of independence and freedom from such family.
