Darling, weve decided to sell your car brothers in trouble and youll have to walk, the parents said, never expecting what their daughter would answer.
Emma stood at the window of her flat, watching the rain turn the November evening into a smeared watercolor. Thirty years old an age when you stop expecting miracles yet still remember how they should feel. She worked for a consultancy, earned a respectable salary, and rented a spacious apartment in a decent part of Manchester. Life was predictable and calm.
Her phone vibrated on the kitchen counter. Moms number. Emma sighed, turned the volume down on the television and answered.
Emma, love, are you home? her mothers voice trembled with worry.
Yes, Mum. Whats wrong?
Were coming over. We need to talk.
A knot tightened in Emmas stomach. Whenever the parents said they wanted to talk, it always meant fresh trouble with Tom, the younger brother, twentyfive, who seemed to collect mishaps on purpose.
Half an hour later they were seated at her kitchen table. Her father stared at his hands, her mother fidgeted with the strap of her handbag.
Do you know about Tom? her mother began.
What about him? Emma tried not to finish their sentences for them.
He hes gotten himself into a mess. Remember we gave him the money from selling the cottage? He bought a motorbike
Mum, weve already talked about this. I warned you the money should have been put into a deposit, not handed to Tom straight away.
Honey, he promised! her mothers voice softened to a childlike note. He was going to rent a flat, marry Lily
But instead he blew the cash in pubs, Lily left him, and he bought that bike to heal his soul, Emma continued. You see?
Her father finally lifted his gaze.
He crashed into a car in the car park. An expensive car. A Porsche.
No insurance?
No, her mother said quietly. You know he always thinks nothing bad will ever happen to him.
Emma poured herself a cup of tea, trying not to show irritation. Tom always believed he was untouchable because his parents always bailed him out.
How much?
Three thousand pounds, her mother exhaled. The owner agreed to a payment plan, but we need to hand over half right away, or hell send bailiffs.
Emma nodded. Everything made sense. Now the most interesting part would begin.
Emma, love, her mother took her hand, weve decided to sell your car.
My car?
Well, its technically in Dads name, her mother added hastily. We gave it to you when we sold the cottage. But Toms in a bind and youll be walking. Youre still young, still fit.
Emma gently withdrew her hand.
I dont agree.
Dear, its family, her mother raised her voice. Tom is your brother! Hes miserable, cant sleep, has lost weight!
Mum, has he ever tried to get a job? Or at least gone to the job centre?
Emma, what job could he find in a week? her mother looked at her in bewilderment. He cant possibly earn that much instantly!
But I could lose the car in a week?
Her father finally spoke, his tone soft but firm.
Emma, weve already decided. Your opinion doesnt matter now. The car is in my name, Ill sell it whenever I like. I dont want to fight with you, but theres no other choice.
Emma stared at her father. He had taught her to ride a bike, read her bedtime stories, bragged about her university achievements. Now he calmly told her her voice meant nothing.
Dad, she said slowly, choosing her words, what will happen next time Tom lands in trouble?
There wont be a next time, her mother replied quickly. He promised he wont gamble again, wont
Mum, hes made that promise at least five times already.
Oh, Emma, stop it! her mother began to sob. Hes your brother! How can you be so cruel?
Emma rose, walked to the window. The rain intensified. She recalled how, six months ago, Tom had begged her for cash for the essentials and shed handed him twenty pounds. Hed spent it on new trainers and a night out with friends.
You know what, she turned to her parents, I have news. I transferred the car into my name a month ago.
Silence fell. Her mother stopped crying, her father lifted his eyes.
How?
It was simple. I had a power of attorney from Dad when we sold the cottage. I forged a deed of gift and reregistered the car in my name. I knew it would eventually have to be sold for Toms sake.
You you forged documents? her father stared, astonished.
Yes. And you know what? I dont regret it. Im tired of rescuing my brother from the fallout of his choices.
Her mother clutched her chest.
Emma, how could you! Were a family!
Thats exactly why Im doing this, Emma said, sitting back down. Mum, Dad, you dont help Tom. You turn him into a cripple. At twentyfive he cant solve any problem because he knows youll always bail him out.
But hell disappear! her mother shrieked. Hell go to prison!
He wont go to jail for debts. At most theyll bar him from leaving the country, and he never leaves anyway. At least hell finally realise actions have consequences.
Her father remained silent, staring at the table. Emma could see him wrestling with himself.
Emma, he whispered finally, please, sell the car. Well buy you a new one later.
When later? When Tom lands in another mess?
He wont.
He will, Dad. He cant live any other way. And you wont refuse him.
Darling, what are you doing? Hes your brother!
Thats why I wont give him money. Look at him twentyfive, still living at home, unemployed, gambling his last pounds. You dont see it.
He just hasnt found himself yet, her mother said, bewildered.
At twentyfive he should be looking. Or at least starting to look.
The parents left, achieving nothing. Emma stayed alone, sipping lukewarm tea. The phone was silent they had clearly driven to Toms flat to deliver bad news.
An hour later Tom called.
Emma, are you out of your mind? his voice trembled with anger. Do you know what youre doing?
I understand, Tom. For the first time in ages I understand.
They might lock me up!
They wont. Debts dont send you to prison.
Emma, please! Its a serious man, the moneywhere do I get it?
Where everyone gets money a job.
What job? Who needs me?
Tom, you can drive, you can talk to people. You have hands, a head. Youll find something.
In a week?
Maybe. Or you could ask the car owner for a longer payment plan. Grownups usually bend if they see someone trying.
Emma, why are you so hard on me? It could happen to anyone!
Not to anyone, Tom. Only to someone who never learned to drive properly and never bothered with insurance!
He hung up.
The following months were tough. The parents hardly called. When Emma visited, the house always felt heavy. Her mother sighed dramatically, her father was mute. Tom was never mentioned, yet his absence lingered in every sentence.
From fragmented chats Emma learned Tom was indeed jobhunting. He tried courier work, driving, loading jobs, then landed a role at a garage washing cars and handing out tools. The pay was modest, but it was work.
Strangely, the owner of the wrecked Lexus turned out to be sympathetic. When he learned Tom was employed, he agreed to a payment plan. Tom moved into a flat he shared with two other lads. The parents helped with the deposit but refused further cash Emma had forced the issue.
Mum, if you give him money hell quit straight away, she told them during a rare visit. Let him learn to rely on himself.
But he barely eats a bowl of porridge, her mother complained. Hes so thin, so pale.
Then hell find a better job. Or a side gig.
And indeed, after a few months Tom found a side hustle. In the evenings he stripped old cars for parts; on weekends he helped friends with minor repairs. He discovered a knack for mechanics his hands grew skilled, his mind sharp enough for new challenges.
Emma heard about it in bits, from parents who were slowly thawing. Her mother still called her cruel, but her father occasionally spoke with quiet pride about Tom fixing a neighbours car or helping a friend with wiring.
About a year after that kitchen showdown, there was a knock at Emmas door. She opened it to find Tom, sunkissed and holding a bunch of chrysanthemums.
Hi, he said. May I come in?
Emma stepped aside. Tom entered, set the flowers on the table, and sat in the same chair where her father had been a year before.
Beautiful flowers, Emma noted. Chrysanthemums.
Thanks. He stared at his hands, now workworn, calloused, dirt under the nails. Im here to thank you.
For what?
For not giving you money.
Emma gestured for him to sit.
Tell me.
I started my own garage. Small, in a garage box, but its mine. I fix cars, sell parts. Im making a decent living. I even paid back that loan to the bloke who owned the Porsche.
Congratulations.
You know, Tom lifted his gaze, I used to hate you. I thought you were just greedy and cruel. I didnt get why you couldnt help your brother.
Now you understand?
Now I get it. If youd given me cash, Id still be sitting at home waiting for you to solve my problems. Instead I had to grow up.
Emma nodded.
Was it hard?
You have no idea, Tom admitted. The first months I thought about quitting every day. Working for pennies, living with strangers, skimping on food Then I got into it. I realised I liked working with my hands, figuring out how things work.
Did your parents step back?
Mum now tells everyone my sons an entrepreneur. He smirked. Dad pops into the garage sometimes, helps out. Says hes proud.
They sat in quiet, watching each other. Tom looked older than his twentysix years, but in a good way. Confidence steadied his movements, calm rested in his eyes.
Emma, he said finally, I know I dont deserve forgiveness. Ive been a burden for years
Tom, Emma interrupted, you werent a burden. You were a spoiled kid. Different things.
Maybe. But Im not a kid any more.
Not a kid any more.
Tom stood, walked to the window the same rainsoaked November evening, only a year later.
The strangest thing? he said without turning. Im happier now. I have more money, more responsibilities, but Im happier. When you earn your own money you spend it differently. When you solve your own problems they dont feel impossible.
I get it. When youre the one fixing things, they stop looking like insurmountable walls.
Exactly. And Ive met someone. Kate works at a bank, solid, grownup. Were thinking of moving in together.
Good for you.
Thanks. He faced her. Emma, can I still drop by sometimes? Just to chat. I miss you.
Of course.
They embraced, tightly, like children before cars and debts ever entered their lives.
By the way, Ive got a car now, Tom added, stepping back. A battered Toyota I fixed myself. Looks brand new.
Well done.
Its thanks to you, for not letting me stay a child forever.
After Tom left, Emma lingered at the kitchen table, staring at the chrysanthemums bright yellow, fluffy, with an autumnal scent. She thought about how love for family can make you hurt the ones you love, how hard it is to say no when asked for help, and how sometimes a firm no forces someone to say yes to themselves.
Outside the rain still fell, but now it felt cleansing, washing away old grudges, old fears, childish fantasies. It prepared the ground for something new, grown, real.
Emma placed the flowers in a vase, turned the kettle on. Tomorrow would be another day, but tonight she was simply grateful for a brother a real, adult brother who could now solve his own problems and bring flowers.
