The phone rang in the dead of night, shattering the silence. I picked up, and my daughters frantic voice pierced through the line.
“Mum, its me, Emily. Ive got a problem! My husbands thrown me out. Im coming over with Dad tomorrow morningIll stay at the house.”
I took a slow breath before answering. “Listen, Emily. You dont have parents anymore. Or a home.”
“What?” Her voice cracked. “What did you just say? How can there be no house? Im your only daughterI have a right to that flat!” Her shouts trembled through the receiver.
“Its not yours,” I replied, calm but firm. “We gave it to Lucy. She owns it now. And your father and I want nothing more to do with you. Youre not our daughter. Dont call againyouve lost everything.” I hung up, the weight of my words settling in. After what Emily had done, she deserved nothing less.
As I stared out the window, the irony wasnt lost on meour story had also begun with a phone call.
That fateful morning, the shrill ring jolted me awake. I stumbled to the landline.
“Hello?”
A stifled sob echoed down the line.
“Yes? Who is this?”
“Margaret its me, Sarah.”
“Sarah, love, do you know what time it is? You frightened me.”
“I know. Margaret, Im going into hospital todayfor an operation. Im terrified for Lucy. Please, you and Robert, dont abandon her. Shes still so little. Dont send her to an orphanage.”
My sister Sarah had always been eccentricwildly imaginative, unpredictable. But this was beyond even her. My fingers tightened around the receiver. Something was terribly wrong.
“Sarah, why tell me now? Whats happening? Where are they taking you?”
Shed been ill for years but brushed it off. Lately, though, the pain had worsened. Shed grown gaunt, frail. The diagnosis was grim. Surgery was urgent, yet shed hesitated to burden me. Id already supported her endlesslymoney, care, raising Lucy like my own. And now, another crisis.
“Margaret, they cant guarantee Ill survive. Please dont let Lucy end up alone.”
An hour later, we were at the hospital. The surgery hadnt started, but we werent allowed to see her. In the corridor, little Lucy sat curled into a ball. I knelt and pulled her close.
“Are they going to hurt Mummy?” she whispered, tears glistening.
“No, darling. She wont feel a thingshell be asleep.”
Four hours later, the surgeon emerged. My younger sister was gone.
We took Lucy home. That evening, I walked into my daughters room. “Emily, Lucys mother has passed. Shell be sharing your room now.” Emily glared but stayed silent.
Ten days later, she hurled Lucys belongings into the hall and barred her from returning. Reasoning with her was impossibleshe swore shed do it every time we tried. To keep peace, we gave Lucy our bedroom and moved to the lounge.
Lucy was an orphan. Sarah had never revealed who her father was. Now, her future rested with us. So we loved her as our ownno different from Emily.
Years passed. Emily graduated, married a wealthy older manneither his age nor his money bothered her. She packed her things and moved in with Richard.
A month later, she announced the wedding.
“Mum, just promise me your precious Lucy wont be there. I refuse to see her.”
“Emily, shes family. Excluding her insults us.”
“Then dont come!”
“Fine. Consider it done.”
I weptthen booked a seaside retreat in Brighton.
“What about the wedding?” Robert asked, stunned.
“Were not invited.”
“Lucy, help me find a nice getaway.”
“A holiday?” Lucys face lit up.
“Yes, love. We deserve it.”
She twirled, laughing. “Brilliant!”
The three of us stayed close. Lucy aced her A-levels, studied Architecture. Her mother had been a renowned painterLucy inherited her talent.
“Or her fathers,” Robert mused, suspecting a local figure might be the man in question. I ignored it. Lucy was ours.
At her eighteenth birthday party, Robert collapsedpale, unconscious. The ambulance rushed him to hospital.
The doctors words were grim. Only an imported drug could save him. It would arrive in three daysbut the cost was astronomical.
Desperate, I called Emily. Richard was wealthythey could lend the money.
She listened silently. Then: “Mum, Ill talk to Richard and call back.”
An hour later, her tone was icy. “Richards buying me a new carhes finally keeping his promise. But its conditional. The car or helping you.”
“Emily, well repay every penny!”
“Dont be daft. When? In instalments? Ill never see that car!”
“Your father could die!”
“Get a loan.” The line went dead.
The receiver slipped from my hand. Lucy caught me as my legs buckled.
“Aunt Margaret, whats wrong?”
Between sobs, I told her.
“Sell Mums flat,” she said firmly. “Well list it below marketget the deposit to the doctors now.”
“Love, we cant! Its yourswhat would your mother think?”
“Who cares? Uncle Roberts life matters more!”
I hugged her, overwhelmed.
We sold the flat that day. The deposit covered the drug. It worked. Lucy saved Robert.
A month later, fully recovered, we transferred the flat to Lucys name. The leftover money went into savings.
Life was peacefuluntil that midnight call.
Emily, abandoned by Richard, demanded to come home.
“No. We have one daughterLucy.” I hung up.
Years later, Lucy married James, a successful farmer. They had a sprawling country home, plans for a preserves factory. They invited us to move in, but we preferred visiting.
Our room was always ready. Robert and James fished together; Lucy designed the factory. We were happy.
Only on the anniversary of Emilys weddingthe day Robert and I had fled to Brightondid I wonder: How had I raised a daughter who valued a car over her fathers life?
And Lucy, whod lost everything, gave us everything.
