**Two Ungrateful Daughters**
Mum leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You know why we bought that three-bed flat? Were renting it out by the room to students. Five of them live there now! The income means well be comfortable in retirement.”
Emma nodded, happy for them. Her parents had worked tirelessly all their livesthey deserved this. But then Dad, William Parker, whod been silently reading the paper at the table, finally spoke.
“Of course, youre wondering wholl inherit it. With three children, its natural to think about these things.” He folded the paper deliberately.
Emma shook her head. The thought hadnt even crossed her mind. But Mum, Margaret, cut in with a smirk that made Emmas stomach drop.
“Oh, dont pretend! Youre fretting over who gets it, arent you? Admit it, love.”
Emma opened her mouth to protest, but Mum steamrolled on.
“Your father and I have decided. The flat will go to whoever cares for us best. Fair, isnt it?”
Silence fell in the kitchen. Emma stared, stunned. Was this some kind of competition? Dad cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze.
“Weve spent our lives providing for you. Now its time for you to prove yourselves. If were not satisfied” He paused meaningfully. “Youll get nothing.”
Emma sat frozen. They watched her expectantly, as if waiting for applause. A lump formed in her throat. She mumbled something about an appointment and hurried out.
On the bus home, her thoughts raced. What was that? A bidding war for their affection? She called her older sister, Rebecca.
“Bec, you wont believe what they just said.”
“The flat and inheritance?” Rebecca sighed. “They told me yesterday. Im still reeling.”
“What do we do? Weve always looked after them!” Emma pressed the phone to her ear, straining to hear over the bus noise.
“No idea. Weve done everythinggroceries, bills, dropping everything when they call. And our little brother, James? Always too busy with work or his girlfriend.”
“How are they even judging who cares more?” Emma stepped off at her stop. “Keeping score?”
Rebecca laughed bitterly.
“Pretty much. But maybe its for the best. Well finally see where we stand though I think we already know wholl win.”
The next few weeks were hell. The calls came constantly. Late one Wednesday:
“Emma, darling,” Mums voice was sharp. “Weve a doctors appointment tomorrow, and we need groceries. Could you drive us? Your cars fixed, yes?”
Emma had a major meeting at nine.
“Mum, what about a taxi?”
“Dont be ridiculous! Are we strangers to you?” Mum huffed. “Is it too much to ask your own daughter?”
She caved, as always. Next morning, she skipped work, ferried them around, and listened to them gush about James.
On Friday, while buried in reports, Dad called.
“Love, the new furnitures arrived. We need help carrying it in. Cant afford movers.”
“Dad, Im at work”
“Since when does work come before family?”
Again, she went, earning disapproving looks from her boss. Her back ached for days.
On her day off, mid-facial appointment, Mum rang.
“Emma, we need a deep clean. Curtains down, chandeliers washed. We cant manage alone.”
The facial was cancelled. She spent the day scrubbing, listening to more praise for James.
“Hes so thoughtful,” Mum mused, sipping tea while Emma scoured the oven. “Called us for ages yesterday!”
“When did he last actually help?” Emma snapped.
They exchanged glances. Mum pursed her lips.
“Dont take that tone. James is busyimportant job, not like you girls. Youre meant to care for us. Hes a manhis roles different.”
Emma bit her tongue, seething.
A week later, she was back, jarring pickles. Mum micromanaged while Dad sighed, “James loves these. Hell be thrilled.”
“Whens he visiting?” Emma asked.
“Not sure hasnt been by in a month,” Mum admitted.
Emma set down the jar. The injustice boiled over.
“So Bec and I get the flat, right? Since were the only ones helping?”
Mum shot up, knocking over her tea.
“How selfish! James needs it morehell bring a wife home! The inheritance should go to himhes the heir! The family name!”
Something in Emma shattered. Years of sacrificemeaningless. She untied her apron.
“An heir? What are we, then? Weve been here for everything. But that doesnt count, does it?”
She walked out. They chased her, yelling
“Emma, stop! Youre overreacting!”
“Finish the pickles! Wholl clean this up?”
She turned at the door, exhausted.
“Im busy. Just like James. Find someone else.”
Outside, she called Rebecca.
“Bec, Im done.”
“What happened?”
Emma relayed the conversation. Rebecca exhaled.
“Lets act like James. If hes the heir, let him care for them.”
“Exactly.”
From then on, they ignored the calls. “Call Jameshes your heir,” became their mantra. Mum sulked; Dad fumed. No matter.
A month later, Emma strolled through the park, crunching autumn leaves underfoot. Her phone buzzedMum. She silenced it.
Let them call James. Shed care for herself now.
