You should be grateful we even put up with you, the sisterinlaw rasped across the holiday table.
Its that it? Samantha snatched the corner of a modest gift bag with two fingers, her expression sour. Seriously? A set of kitchen towels? Mother, look at this generosity.
Emily, stop, said Eleanor, the birthday woman, pressing her lips together, a thin flash of cold approval glinting in her eyes. Your sisterinlaw tried.
Tried? Samantha laughed, throwing the bag onto a chair. Three pounds from the nearest corner shop? She could have been a little more generousshe lives here on everyone elses comforts and pays not a penny for the roof.
Miriam felt heat flood her cheeks. She stood by the table shed been setting since dawn, feeling like a guilty schoolgirl caught cheating. Her tenyearold son, Arthur, sitting beside her, shrank into his plate, eyes downcast. He understood everything.
I thought it was practical, Miriam whispered, not lifting her head. The old ones were completely worn out
Practical? Samantha persisted, slumping back in her chair. She was the younger sister of Miriams late husband, Andrewbright, selfassured, forever wearing a mask of superiority. You know what would be practical? If you found a proper job and moved out. Thered be more space in the house.
The only sound that broke the heavy silence was the clatter of a fork as Arthur dropped it. He leapt up without a word and fled the room. Miriams heart jolted; she reached to follow, but the commanding voice of her motherinlaw stopped her.
Where are you going? Sit down. Youve ruined the boy; at the slightest thing hell burst into tears. Men grow, but you behave like a child.
Miriam sank into the chair, feeling the air inside turn to ice. She stared at the empty seat where Andrew had sat five years ago. He would never have spoken to her that way; a single glance from him would have put Samantha in her place. But Andrew was gone. She was alone in that vast, unfamiliar house, where every slice of bread seemed to demand a portion of humiliation.
The celebration fell apart hopelessly. Distant relatives and neighbours pretended nothing had happened, yet their voices softened and their glances toward Miriam were tinged with awkward sympathy. She forced a smile, topped glasses with juice, cleared empty plates, wishing the day would end.
When the last guests left, Samantha, already gathering her things with her husband, lingered in the doorway.
I hope you understand Im not being cruel, she said, her tone leaving no room for protest. I say what I think. You should be grateful we even tolerate you after everything. For Andrews memory, and for Mother.
The door slammed. Miriam was left alone in the kitchen, piled with dirty dishes. Eleanor slipped silently into her own bedroom without a word. Fatigue settled on Miriam like a lead weight. She dropped onto a stool and wept silently, her head in her handsnot from anger, which she had almost grown accustomed to, but from helplessness.
Late that night, after the kitchen was finally cleared, she slipped into Arthurs room. He lay awake, face turned to the wall.
Arthur, are you sleeping? she whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Mum, why doesnt Aunt Samantha like us? he asked without turning.
Miriam ran her fingers through his hair, searching for words to untangle the suffocating web of family relations.
She isnt cruel, just complicated. She misses your father a lot, as do we.
Father would have told her off, Arthur said confidently. He wouldnt let her hurt you.
Yes, he wouldnt, Miriam agreed, a fresh knot tightening in her throat. Sleep, my love. School tomorrow.
She kissed his forehead and left. She had no room of her own. After Andrews death, she and Arthur lived in his former childrens bedroom, cramped and narrow. Their spacious master bedroom now lay emptyEleanor had turned it into a memory room, preserving everything exactly as it had been when her son lived. Only she was allowed inside.
The house, once warm and welcoming, had become Miriams gilded cage. It belonged to Andrews parents. When Andrew died, Eleanor became the sole owner. Miriam, Andrew, and little Arthur had lived there from the start; Andrew never wanted his ageing mother alone. He worked hard, earned well, and his income covered everyone. When he was gone, the modest savings ran out quickly. Miriam, a qualified accountant who hadnt worked in years, managed only a parttime callcentre job to collect Arthur from school. Her pay was tiny, almost all spent on his clothes, school fees, and petty expenses. They survived on Eleanors allowance, which was the main weapon Samantha wielded.
The next morning Eleanor behaved as if yesterdays argument had never existed. She sat at the kitchen table, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper.
Good morning, Miriam said quietly, putting a pot of porridge on the stove for Arthur.
Eleanor nodded without looking up.
Im off to my friends cottage for a couple of days. The fridge is stocked, look after the house, and dont forget to water the flowers in the sittingroom.
Of course, Eleanor.
When the door shut behind Eleanor, Miriam inhaled a breath she hadnt taken in ages. Two days of silence. Two days without sharp looks and poisonous remarks.
She walked Arthur to school and returned to the empty house. With a watering can, she tended the multitude of plants Eleanor adored. In the sittingroom, on an old dresser, photographs stood like mute witnesses. A smiling young Andrew, a cheerful man; a tiny picture of Andrew and Samantha as children; a wedding photo of Andrew and Miriam, hopeful and bright.
Her gaze fell on a closed doorthe former master bedroom, the memory room. She was forbidden to enter, but curiosity, stronger than any rule, tugged at her. The door was unlocked. Miriam slipped inside, listening for any creak. The air was stale, scented with dust and mothballs. Everything was exactly as left: the double bed draped in a silk coverlet, a dressing table with untouched bottles of perfume, Andrews bookcase.
She ran her fingers over the spines of classic novels, history volumes, and fantasy epics. Between the Tolstoy tomes, a thick folder caught her eyesomething she hadnt seen before. She pulled it out, set it on the bedside table. The cover simply read: Documents.
Her heart quickened. Inside were old papers, receipts, Andrews birth certificate, and, astonishingly, a will. It had been drawn up by her late fatherinlaw, Igor Nikolayevich, half a year before his death.
She read, and the words swam before her eyes. In stark black ink it declared that the house they lived in was bequeathed not to his wife but to his son, Andrew Nikolayevich, with one condition: his wife Eleanor would retain a lifelong right to reside there. No mention of Samantha.
Miriam sank onto the edge of the bed, trembling hands. The will meant that after Andrews death the sole heir was their son, Arthur. As his legal guardian until he turned eighteen, she was, in effect, the defacto owner. Eleanor had known this all along and had hidden it for years.
She carefully replaced the folder, closed the door, and stood in the hallway, a fog clouding her thoughts. What now? Hand the will to Eleanor? Spark a scandal? Reveal the truth to Samantha, who believed she owned the house? The idea made her feel sick. She wanted no warjust a quiet life for herself and her son.
For two days she drifted in a mist, turning the revelation over and over. She could claim her rights, hire a solicitor, force the truth into the light. But what then? Live under the same roof with people who would hate her even more? Or evict the old lady, the mother of her late husband, from the home? Andrew would never have approved.
When Eleanor returned, Miriam greeted her with a calm veneer. She helped carry bags, poured tea. Eleanor chatted about her friends cottage, about seedlings. Miriam listened, nodding, while internally rehearsing her own performance.
That evening, the kitchen became a stage for two.
Eleanor, we need to talk, Miriam said, voice steadier than she felt.
Eleanor raised an eyebrow.
About what?
The house, Miriam replied, trying not to let her voice shake. I know about Igors will.
A long, ringing silence followed. Eleanor set her cup down slowly, her face hardening into something unbreakable.
Youve been rummaging through my things? she asked, voice icy.
I found the folder in Andrews old roomthe memory room.
Dont you dare speak like that! Eleanor snapped. Thats my sons room!
Our sons, Miriam corrected. My things are still there. It was our bedroom.
They stared at each other, and for the first time Miriam did not look away.
What do you want? Eleanor finally asked, metal in her tone. To drive me out? Sell the house and leave?
No. I dont want to sell. This is Arthurs house. My husbands and his fathers. I just want the humiliations to stop. I want Samantha to stop treating me and my boy as if were strangers. By law this house is ours.
Eleanor breathed heavily, shoulders slumping.
I did this for the family, she whispered. I never wanted Samantha to end up with nothing after Im gone. I thought wed all live together as one family.
We never became a family, Eleanor, Miriam replied. It turned into a boarding house where my son and I are tenants with birdrights. Andrew would not have liked this. He loved his sister, but he would never have let her behave like this.
Eleanor turned toward the window, eyes distant.
What will you do?
Nothing, Miriam said softly. The will will stay where it is. I wont start lawsuits. I just want you to speak to Samantha, to change how you treat us. Arthur is your only grandchild. He shouldnt grow up feeling he doesnt belong.
The next day was Saturday. By lunchtime, as usual, Samantha arrived with her husband and their little daughter. Miriam set the table, feeling the tension thickening the air. Eleanor sat, pale and silent.
Mum, why are you so sour today? Samantha asked brightly, plopping onto a chair. Did your tenant again ruin the mood?
Samantha, shut up, Eleanor snapped, sharper than ever before.
Samantha stared, stunned.
Whats that supposed to mean?
I want you to apologise to Miriamfor yesterday and for everything before.
Samanthas face stretched.
Apologise? To her? Are you out of your mind? For what? For telling the truth?
Its not the truth, Eleanors voice trembled. Miriam and Arthur are not guests. This house belongs to them.
Samantha turned slowly toward Miriam, then back at her mother, bewilderment turning to fury.
What are you saying? This is your house! Your fathers!
My father left it to Andrew, Eleanor said quietly but firmly. And after Andrew, it passed to Arthur.
The kitchen fell into a dead silence. Samanthas husband froze, fork midair. Samantha stared at her mother as if seeing her for the first time.
You you knew all this? she hissed. You kept it hidden? You let us think she was nobody?
It was for the family, Eleanor whispered, tears breaking free.
For the family?! Samantha shrieked, standing up. All these years of lies! And you she jabbed a finger toward Miriamyou knew and stayed quiet? Pretending to be the poor relative?
I only found out two days ago, Miriam said calmly.
Lying! You two conspired against me! Samantha shouted, grabbing her bag. My feet wont be in this house any longer!
She stormed out, her husband trailing behind, slamming the front door.
Eleanor sank, covering her face with her hands, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. Arthur, who had been watching from the corner, walked over and took Miriams hand.
Miriam placed a hand on Eleanors shoulder.
Dont cry, Eleanor. It will be okay.
The old woman lifted tearfilled, bewildered eyes.
Shell never forgive me.
She will, Miriam said firmly. Shes your daughter. She just needs time. We all need time.
Miriam didnt know if she was speaking the truth or simply hoping. She didnt know what the next day would bring. But looking at her sons clenched fist around her hand, and at the broken woman who had deceived everyone, she felt, for the first time in five years, not a victim but the keeper of her own home and destiny. Challenges lay ahead, yet she finally recognized her right to fight for her place in the sunlight for herself and for her son.
