A late-night call revealed my daughters voice.
The phone rang well past bedtime. I picked up and heard my daughter, breathless.
Mum, its me, Gemma. Ive got a problem! My husbands kicked me out. Im coming over with Dad tomorrow morningIll stay at yours.
Listen, Gemma, you dont have parents or a home anymore.
What? she cut in. What did you say? How can there be no home? Im your only daughter. I have a right to that flat! Gemma shrieked down the line.
Thats just how it is, I replied calmly. You dont have a flat. We gave it to Emilyshe owns it now. And Dad and I want nothing to do with you. Youre not our daughter. Dont call again. You lost everything.
I ended the call with finality. After what Gemma had done, I had every right.
Staring out the window, I suddenly remembered how our story had also begun with a phone call.
That wretched call came early one morning. I bolted upright and fumbled for the landline.
Hello?
A stifled sob crackled through the receiver.
Yes, hello? Who is this?
Margaret, its me, Claire.
Claire, love, you scared me half to death! Do you know what time it is?
I do. Margaret, Im going into hospital today for an operation, and Im terrified for Emily. Please, you and Robert, dont abandon her. Shes still so little. Dont send her to an orphanage.
My sister Claire had always been eccentricall imagination and wild ideas. But this? This crossed a line.
I twisted the phone cord, my stomach churning. Something was terribly wrong, and I couldnt quite grasp it yet. Fear prickled my skin.
Claire, why didnt you tell me sooner? Whats happening? Where are they taking you?
Claire had been poorly for years but never made a fuss. Last month, the pain worsened. She lost weight, grew gaunt. The diagnosis was grim. She needed urgent surgery but couldnt bring herself to tell me.
Id already been helping constantlysending money, playing mum to her. And now she was dumping her problemsand her little girlon me again.
Margaret, they cant guarantee the outcome. Please, dont abandon Emily.
An hour later, we were at the hospital. The operation hadnt started, but we werent allowed to see Claire. In the hallway, little Emily sat curled up. I knelt and hugged her.
Are they going to hurt Mummy? she whispered, tears shimmering.
No, darling. She wont feel a thingshell be fast asleep.
Four hours later, the doctor emerged. My younger sister was gone.
We took Emily home. I stepped into my daughters room and broke the newsEmily would share her space now. Gemma glared but stayed silent.
Ten days later, Gemma hurled Emilys belongings into the hall and barred her from returning. Reasoning with her was impossible. She vowed to toss Emilys things out every time we tried.
To avoid war, we gave Emily our bedroom and moved to the lounge.
Emily was an orphan. Claire never revealed her father. Now, her fate rested with us. So we never treated her differently. To us, she and Gemma were both our daughters.
Years passed. Gemma graduated, married a wealthy older man, and moved into his London townhouse. Neither the age gap nor the money bothered her.
A month later, she announced her wedding.
Mum, just make sure that little suck-up Emily isnt there. I dont want her near my wedding.
Gemma, shes your sister. Not inviting her insults us.
Shes not coming! Gemma snapped.
Then neither are we.
Fine! Suit yourselves!
I sobbed, then pulled myself together and booked a seaside break in Brighton.
What about Gemmas wedding? Robert frowned.
Were not invited.
Emily, help me find a nice B&B.
Were going on holiday? Emily beamed.
Yes, love. Weve earned it.
Brilliant! She spun around the room, grinning.
The three of us stayed close. Emily aced her A-levels and got into Architecture. Her mother, Claire, had been a brilliant painterlocally famous, even. Emily took after her.
Or her father, Robert mused, suspecting some well-known bloke in town might be the dad.
I ignored that. Emily was ours.
A year later, we celebrated Emilys 18th. That same day, Robert collapsedpale, unconscious. An ambulance rushed him to hospital.
The doctors words chilled me. Robert was critically ill. Only an imported drug could save him. The pharmacy could get it in three days. The catch? The price was eye-watering.
I called Gemma. Her husband had deep pockets.
She picked up. I explained.
Gemma, love, your dads very ill. We need to borrow
A long pause. Just as I opened my mouth again, she spoke.
Alright, Mum. Ill talk to Edward and ring you back.
An hour later, she called.
Mum, thing is Edwards finally buying me that new car. He promised ages ago. But theres a condition. Its either the car or lending you the money.
Gemma, well pay you back
Dont be daft. When? In instalments? Ill never see that car!
Gemma, listen to yourself! Your father could die!
I cant help. Take out a loan.
The phone slipped from my hand. I nearly crumpled.
Aunt Margaret, whats wrong?
Emily caught me before I hit the floor. I wept uncontrollably.
Aunt Margaret, listen. Sell Mums flat. I cant stand being there anyway. Price it lowjust get the deposit to the doctors.
Love, we cant. Its yours. What would your mother say?
Aunt Margaret, be sensible! Uncle Roberts life is at stake. Thats all that matters.
I hugged her, speechless. She was rightit was Roberts only chance.
We sold the flat that day. The buyer paid a deposit, and we covered the medicine.
Two days later, it arrived. The drug worked. Emily saved Robert. Within a month, he was himself again. Our joy was boundless.
Once recovered, we transferred the flat to Emilys name. The solicitor updated the deeds. She was overwhelmed. The leftover money went into savings.
Life was peacefuluntil that late-night call.
Gemma, dumped by Edward, demanded to come home.
I said no.
We only have one daughter: Emily.
I hung up.
Two years later, Emily married James, a farmer with a thriving business and a sprawling country house. They invited us to move in, but we settled for weekly visits.
Our room was always ready. Robert and James bonded over fishing. Emily designed plans for a small preserves factory. We were happya family, even if not always under one roof.
The only time we thought of Gemma was on her wedding daythe same day Robert and I had first gone to Brighton. Emily still books our trips.
Every year, I wonder: how did I raise a daughter who valued a flash car over her parents lives? And Emily, orphaned so young, gave up everything for us.
