I was standing by the window of my flat, watching the rain blur October into a soft watercolor. Thirtyseven is the age when you stop expecting miracles, yet you still know how they should feel. Emily Clarke worked for a respectable consultancy, earned a decent salary, and rented a spacious flat in a decent part of London. Life was predictable and calm.
The phone buzzed on the table my mothers number. I dimmed the TV, picked up.
Emily, love, are you home? Margarets voice trembled. Dads on his way over. We need to talk.
A knot formed in my stomach. When my parents said they were coming to talk, it always meant fresh trouble for Tom. My younger brother, twentyfive, seemed to have a talent for attracting problems.
Half an hour later they were seated at my kitchen table. My father, David, stared at his hands, while Margaret fidgeted with the strap of her handbag.
Do you know what Toms gotten himself into? Margaret began.
What exactly? I asked, trying not to jump to conclusions.
He hes in a mess. Remember we gave him the money from selling the cottage? He bought a motorbike
Mom, weve already discussed that. I warned you the cash should have stayed in a savings account, not handed straight to Tom.
He promised, dear! Margarets tone slipped into something almost childish. He said hed rent a flat, marry Lucy
Instead he blew the cash in pubs, Lucy left him, and he bought the bike to heal his soul, I finished. Got it?
David finally looked up.
He crashed into a car in the car park. An expensive Porsche.
Did he have insurance?
No, Margaret whispered. You know how he always thinks nothing will ever happen to him.
I poured myself a cup of tea, keeping my irritation in check. Tom always believed he was untouchable because we always bailed him out.
How much are we talking about?
Three thousand pounds, Margaret exhaled. The owner is willing to let Tom pay in instalments, but we need to front half immediately or hell send bailiffs.
I nodded. Everything made sense. This was the part that would get interesting.
Emily, love, Margaret took my hand, weve decided to sell your car.
My car?
Formally its in Dads name, she added hastily. We gave it to you when we sold the cottage. But Toms in trouble and youre walking everywhere. Youre still young, still healthy.
I gently pulled my hand away.
Im not okay with that.
Darling, its family, Margaret raised her voice. Tom is your brother! Hes tormented, cant sleep, has lost weight!
Mom, has he even tried finding work? Maybe gone to the job centre?
What job could he land in a week? Margaret looked at me, bewildered. He cant possibly earn that much straight away!
But I could lose the car in a week?
David finally spoke, his voice low but firm.
Emily, weve already decided. Your opinion doesnt matter right now. The car is in my name; I can sell it whenever. I dont want to argue, but we have no choice.
I stared at my father the man who taught me to ride a bike, read me bedtime stories, cheered my university achievements. Now he calmly told me my view didnt count.
Dad, I said slowly, choosing my words, what happens next time Tom lands in trouble?
There wont be a next time, Margaret replied quickly. He promised hed stop gambling, stop
Hes promised that five times already.
Emily, dear, how could you be so harsh? Margaret began to sob. Hes your brother! How can you be so cruel?
I walked to the window, the rain strengthening. Half a year ago Tom had asked me for money for the essentials, and Id handed over twenty pounds. Hed spent it on new trainers and a night out.
You know what, I turned to my parents, I have news. I transferred the car into my name a month ago.
Silence fell. Margaret stopped crying, David lifted his gaze.
How?
It was simple. I had a power of attorney from Dad when we were selling 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? David looked stunned.
Yes. And I dont regret it. Im tired of rescuing my brother from his own decisions.
Margaret clutched her chest.
Emily, how could you! Were family!
Thats exactly why I did it, I said, sitting back down. You both enable Tom. You turn him into a cripple. At twentyfive he cant solve a single problem on his own because he knows youll always fix things for him.
But hell end up in prison! Margaret shouted. Hell be sent away!
He wont be jailed for debt. At most hell be barred from traveling abroad, and he barely leaves the house anyway. This will finally make him see that actions have consequences.
David kept his eyes on the table, wrestling with his thoughts.
Emily, he finally said quietly, please, sell the car. Well buy you a new one later.
When later? When Tom lands in trouble again?
He wont.
He will, Dad. He cant live any other way. And you cant keep feeding him.
Emily, love, what are you doing? Hes your brother!
Thats why I wont give him any more money. Look at him twentyfive, still living at home, unemployed, gambling away what little he has left. You dont see it.
He just hasnt found himself yet, Margaret whispered.
At twentyfive he should be looking for something, or at least trying.
My parents left, achieving nothing. I stayed alone in the kitchen, sipping cold tea. The phone was silent theyd gone to Tom to deliver the bad news.
An hour later Tom called.
Emily, are you out of your mind? his voice trembled with anger. Do you realise what youre doing?
I understand, Tom. For the first time in ages I do.
They might lock me up!
You cant be locked up for debt.
Emily, please! This guy hes serious! Its money! Where am I supposed to get it?
Where everyone gets money from work.
What work? Who would hire 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 negotiate a longer instalment plan with the car owner. Adults usually give a hand when they see someone trying.
Emily, his voice softened, why are you so angry? Anyone could have ended up like this.
Not anyone, Tom. Only someone irresponsible who never even thought about insurance!
He hung up.
The following months were rough. My parents barely called. Whenever I visited, the house felt heavy, Margaret sighing dramatically, David silent. Toms absence was a constant undercurrent.
From fragmented conversations I learned Tom was hunting for work. He tried courier jobs, then a stint as a warehouse hand, before landing a lowpay job at a garage washing cars and handing out tools. The pay was modest, but it was a start.
Strangely, the owner of the battered Lexus was a decent chap. When he learned Tom was actually working, he agreed to a payment plan. Tom moved into a flat he shared with two mates. My parents helped with the deposit but refused any more cash Id made that clear.
Mom, if you give him money hell quit straight away, I told them during a rare visit. He needs to learn to rely on himself.
Hes barely eating a porridge, Margaret complained. Hes so thin, so pale.
Hell find better work, or a side gig, I replied.
Eventually Tom picked up a side hustle fixing old cars for parts. He discovered a knack for mechanics his hands were steady, his mind quick.
Months later, a knock came at my door. I opened it to Tom, holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums, looking sunkissed and a bit tanned.
Hello, he said. May I come in?
I stepped aside. He set the flowers on the kitchen counter and sat in the chair where my father had sat a year ago.
Beautiful flowers, I remarked. Chrysanthemums.
Thanks. He paused, looking at his calloused hands, now the hands of a worker. Im here to thank you.
For what?
For not giving you money.
I gestured for him to sit.
Tell me.
Ive opened my own little garage in a spare bay. I repair cars, sell parts. Im making a decent living now, and Ive already paid off that guy who held the loan.
Congratulations, I said.
You know, Tom lifted his eyes, I used to hate you. I thought you were greedy, cruel. I didnt understand why you wouldnt help your brother.
Now you see why?
Yes. If youd handed me the cash, Id have stayed at home waiting for us to solve my problems. Instead I had to grow up.
I nodded.
Was it hard?
You have no idea, he said honestly. The first months I thought about quitting every day. Working for pennies, sharing a flat with strangers, skimping on food but then I got into it. I love fixing things, I love understanding how they work.
Did your parents keep interfering?
My mum now tells everyone my son is an entrepreneur, Tom chuckled. Dad drops by the garage sometimes, helps out, says hes proud.
We sat in silence, watching each other. Tom looked older than his twentysix years, in a good way confident, calm.
Emily, he began, I dont deserve forgiveness. Ive been a burden for years
Tom, I interrupted gently, you werent a burden, just a spoiled kid. Those arent the same.
Maybe. But Im not a kid any more.
Not a kid.
He stood, walked to the window, the same rainy October day, only a year later.
Do you know the strangest thing? he said without turning. Im happier now. I earn more, I have responsibilities, but Im happier. When you earn your own money, you spend it differently. When you solve your own problems, they no longer feel insurmountable.
I understand, I replied. When youre the one fixing things, theyre not impossible.
Also, I met someone. Katie. She works at a bank, very proper. Were thinking of moving in together.
Congratulations, I said.
Thanks. Emily, can I still drop by sometimes? Just to talk. I miss you.
Of course.
We embraced, a solid, genuine hug, like the ones we shared as kids before cars, debts, and grudges entered our lives.
By the way, Ive got a car now, Tom added, stepping back. A battered Toyota I repaired myself. Looks brand new.
Good for you, I said. All thanks to you not letting me stay a child forever.
After he left, I lingered at the kitchen table, looking at the chrysanthemums bright yellow, fluffy, scented with that crisp autumn air.
I thought about how love for family can make us hurt them, how hard it is to say no when they ask for help, and how sometimes that no forces them to say yes to themselves.
Outside, the rain kept falling, but now it felt cleansing rather than bleak, washing away old grudges, clearing the way for something new, adult, real.
I placed the flowers in a vase, put the kettle on. Tomorrow would be another day, and today I was simply grateful to have a brother a real, grown brother who now could solve his own problems and even bring flowers.
