**The Grand Prize**
Mary Wilson became a widow at thirty-two, left with two children: her son Victor and daughter Laura.
She forbade herself from even thinking about romance, pouring all her unspent love into Victor, her eldest. He was steady and easygoingthe kind of son she could rely on in her old age.
Laura, however, took after her fatherdreamy, impulsive, with a stubborn spark in her eyes. The girl had no interest in bending to her mothers rigid expectations. Their conversations often turned into skirmishes.
*”You need to think about your future, not these silly poems!”* Mary would snap, snatching the notebook from Lauras hands.
*”And whats in this future? Working at the factory like you? Just surviving?”* Laura shot back.
Meanwhile, Victor basked in adoration. His mistakes were brushed aside, his small victories treated like grand triumphs. He learned quickly: his mother was always on his side. Shed do anything for himas long as he kept her happy. He wasnt cruel, just convenient.
Laura, worn down by the cold war with her mother, left home at eighteen. She scraped by, studying to become a teacher, living in a cramped dorm room. She rarely called, visited even less, and every visit ended in a row.
Then she vanished completely.
When neighbours asked about her, Mary would frown and look away. If she ever mentioned Laura, Victor just shrugged. *”She hated it here. Let her sort herself out.”* Hed married by then but still dropped by every Sundayfor roast dinners, a packed lunch to take home, and the odd twenty-pound note *”for little expenses.”*
Five years passed.
Then one day, Laura reappeared on Marys doorstep. She wasnt alone. Clinging to her skirt was a little girl with wide eyes. Laura herself was thin as a ghost, coughing like her lungs might give out at any moment.
*”And whats this?”* Mary asked icily, eyeing the child.
Turns out, Laura hadnt disappeared for nothing. Shed hidden her pregnancy, then the babyknowing full well her mother wouldnt be pleased. She worked two jobs, barely scraped by, until her health gave out. Doctors offered no promises, just a little more time. Someone had to take care of little Molly
And so the circle closed. Laura returned to the doorstep shed once been so desperate to leave.
Mary let them in without a word. Not out of love, but duty. *”What will people say if I turn away a sick woman and a child?”* Thats what drove her, more than anything.
They settled in the smallest room. Laura faded quietly, while Molly, like a stubborn weed breaking through concrete, somehow took root in Marys stony heart.
Mary realised, to her shock, that this tiny creature wasnt afraid of her. Trusted her. Loved her. Molly brought her scribbled *”drawings for Granny Mary,”* hugged her in the mornings, and solemnly tried to cheer her up when she scowled. When nightmares struck, Molly didnt run to her mothershe crawled into Marys bed and stayed till morning.
Laura died as quietly as shed lived.
And the flat held two women nowone with everything behind her, one with everything ahead.
Thats when the ice cracked.
Mary, whod spent a lifetime fearing weakness, found it in herself at last. She taught Molly to bake pies, told her sanitised family stories (omitting the rows with her own mother), and cried into her pillow at night, realising how cold shed been to Laura. Loving Molly was painfultoo late, partly penance.
Victor hated it.
*”Mum, youre spoiling her rotten!”* he grumbled when she bought Molly a new dress. *”Were not made of money, you know.”*
*”Its my money!”* Mary snappedthe first steel in her voice ever aimed at him.
Years rolled on. Molly grew into the person Mary couldnt imagine life without. Victors visits grew fewer, just formalities. Yet he was certain his mothers flat and the cottage were rightfully hisafter all, his niece was *”not real family,”* not a direct heir.
Mary noticed. The way his eyes skimmed the flat, assessing. The way, after a pint, hed hint about *”getting the paperwork sorted.”* Her heartfinally learning to love properlyached for him. For the boy whod never grown up.
Her decision came quietly. No dramatic will to spark a feud after her death. Just a smarter move.
She took Molly to the bank and transferred her savings into her name. Not a fortune, just a lifetime of careful pennies saved for a rainy day that never came.
*”Gran, you dont have to! I dont need anything!”* Molly protested.
*”Hush,”* Mary said firmly. *”This isnt for you. Its for me. So I know youll be alright when Im gone. So youll never depend on them.”*
She suspected Victor would bully Molly over the flat and cottage. With this money, even if he won, Molly wouldnt walk away empty-handed.
Victor lived in a shabby two-bed on the outskirts of town, a hand-me-down from his wife Sarah. Money was tight; the place never got the makeover theyd planned. It felt frozen in time, like the 90s never ended.
His obsession was his mothers three-bed in the city centrehigh ceilings, original mouldings. To him, it wasnt just bricks and mortar. It was justice. A reward hed earned.
First, hed never upset her. Second, it was his right. The dutiful son, waiting for his grand prizehis ticket to a better life. Selling it would clear his debts, maybe even leave a little extra.
When the solicitor explained Molly had equal claim, Victor was stunned. Hed assumed heirs meant him and his late sister (whose share hed mentally pocketed years ago). Splitting the flat meant his dream was halved. Not enough to fix everything. The cottage wouldnt fetch much.
So whenever inheritance came up, Victor transformed. His usual sulk gave way to furious energy.
*”Shes got no right!”* hed rant, pacing the lounge. *”Its my flat! Mums flat! Who does she think she is?”*
Sarah knitted silently. Shed heard this record for yearshow Laura had made everyone miserable, then slunk back with a kid in tow.
Victor measured everything in money. Sure, Molly helped Gran. But so did he! Bringing groceries once a month, calling the plumber, sacrificing his Sundays!
What had Molly done? Lived there. She couldve been in care!
For six months, Victor plotted to fight for *his* share. Calls to solicitors, *”friendly”* reminders to Molly about *”vacating the premises,”* threats of lawsuits.
Then, after another round of threats*”Ive got contacts, youll end up with nothing!”*Molly surprised him.
She invited him and Sarah for lunch. Set the table, cooked Grans recipesthat pie, that soup.
*”Uncle Vic, Aunt Sarah,”* she said quietly. *”Ill give you my share of the flat. Its yours. And Ive found a buyer for the cottage. If you agree, Ill take that money, leave, and never bother you again.”*
Silence. Sarah stopped chewing. Victor gaped like shed lost her mind.
*”Youre joking. Thatsthats a fraction ofwhy would I let you have the cottage?”*
*”Gran wanted me to have a start. The cottages worth far less, isnt it? And you dont need it. Take the deal. I wont waste time on court.”*
She stood and left. Victor stared at the table. His whole battlegone. Hed won without lifting a finger.
The solicitor, braced for a feud, was pleasantly shocked when they signed the papers.
As for Molly? With Grans savings and the cottage money, she bought a little studioeven had some left to tuck away. Shed think often of that day at the bank, grateful Gran had given her the one thing that mattered: freedom. From him. From all of it.
