“Hazel, love, when are you finally going to make up your mind?” Caroline nervously fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth as she sat at the kitchen table. “The estate agents have called me three times this week. The buyers are seriouscash in hand.”
Hazel stirred sugar into her tea without looking up. The teaspoon clinked against the porcelain, monotonous and grating.
“Are you even listening?” Caroline raised her voice. “Or are you going to pretend this has nothing to do with you?”
“It does,” Hazel murmured. “Very much so. But the decision is yours, not mine.”
Caroline sighed, rubbing her temples. Life had turned upside down since her divorce. The maintenance payments came late, she juggled two jobs, and now their mother had left them a two-bedroom flatshared between the two sisters.
“Look, Hazel, I need the money. The car loan, Dylans university fees, tutors… What do you suggest? Sitting in this old flat until retirement?”
Hazel finally lifted her gaze. Her eyes held a weariness so deep it made Caroline flinch.
“And where am I supposed to go, Caroline? At least you have a job, a salary. I was laid off six months ago. Try finding decent work at forty-five.”
“Then look harder! Dont just sit there like a doormat!” Caroline snapped. “Mum loved us both the same. The flats half yours. We sell, split the money, and each of us figures it out.”
Hazel stood and walked to the window. The courtyard shed known since childhood, the park where theyd played hopscotch, the bench their mother used to sit on in the evenings
“Remember,” she said softly, “what Mum told me in hospital before she died? She held my hand and said, ‘Hazel, youre the homebodyyoull need this place more. Carolines strong, shell manage anywhere, but you…'”
“That was the morphine talking!” Caroline cut in. “No will, no special requestsjust half each, legally.”
“I know. Thats why I havent argued.”
Caroline watched her sister and felt something boil inside her. It had always been this wayHazel quiet, passive, while the burdens fell on Carolines shoulders. Bullied at schoolCaroline defended her. Failed to get into universityCaroline pulled strings for a job. Married the wrong manran back to cry on her sisters shoulder.
“Fine,” Caroline said sharply. “Youve got a month. Find a job, rent a placegreat. If not, we sell. I wont wait any longer.”
Hazel nodded without turning around.
The month passed quickly. Hazel went to interviews, answered ads, but everyone wanted youth, energy, computer skills. Her experience was outdatedtwenty years in a design firm that had long since shut down.
“Well?” Caroline asked the moment she stepped inside.
“Nothing yet,” Hazel sighed. “But tomorrow Im going to the librarythey need a…”
“Thats it!” Caroline slammed her hand on the table. “Were signing the sale papers tomorrow. The buyers have already put down a deposit.”
Hazel paled.
“Caroline, just a little longer. Maybe something will…”
“No. Its done.” Caroline pulled papers from her bag. “Ten a.m. at the solicitors. Dont even think of not showing upthey need your signature.”
That night, Hazel didnt sleep. She wandered the flat, touching familiar things, staring at photos of their mother. Her whole life was here, every corner a memory. And tomorrow
In the morning, Caroline left for work, tossing over her shoulder, “Ill be back at nine. Well go together.”
Hazel was sitting with a cold cup of tea when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Wilkins, their elderly neighbour, stood there.
“Hazel, love,” she said, “whys Caroline changing the locks? A locksmith just came, fitted new ones. Said the owner ordered it.”
Hazels heart lurched. She rushed to the doorher key didnt fit. The new lock gleamed, mocking her.
Carolines phone went unanswered. Hazel dialled again and again, hearing only the endless ring.
“Mrs. Wilkins,” she whispered, trembling, “may I use your phone? Maybe shell pick up the landline.”
“Of course, dear.”
Caroline answered on the third ring.
“Yes?” Her voice was brisk, cold.
“Caroline, its me. Whats this about the locks?”
“Oh, Hazel. Yes, I changed them. Youre living in *my* flat now, understand? *Mine.* So I decide who comes and goes.”
“*Yours*? Its ours!”
“Was ours. Now its mine. The papers are signedI forged your signature. Our handwritings similar, remember? You used to do my homework.”
Hazels legs gave way.
“Youyou cant do this! Its fraud! Ill take you to court!”
“Go ahead,” Caroline said flatly. “Youve got no proof. The solicitors a friend, the buyers connected. You werent there, no witnesses. Whod believe Id forge my own sisters signature?”
“But how could you? Were sisters! Same blood!”
“Thats why I put up with you this long. But no more. I need money, not a deadweight.”
“Where am I supposed to live?”
“Figure it out. Youre a grown woman.”
The line went dead. Hazel stood in a strangers hallway, numb. Mrs. Wilkins touched her shoulder gently.
“Dear, whats happened?”
Between sobs, Hazel told her. Mrs. Wilkins shook her head, tutting.
“Lord above, throwing out her own sister… Dont worry, Hazel, stay with me tonight. Well sort something.”
Hazel stayed three days. Caroline never called, never asked how she was. As if shed vanished.
On the fourth day, Mrs. Wilkins bustled in, beaming.
“Hazel! Remember Mrs. Thompson from number ten? Her daughters back from America, taking her to live there. Shes selling the flat, but needs someone to house-sit while the paperworks done. Just pay the bills and keep it tidy. What do you say?”
Salvation. Hazel hugged her tight.
“Dont get too comfortable,” Mrs. Wilkins warned. “Find work, stand on your own feet.”
Hazel nodded eagerly. She wanted to livedesperately.
Mrs. Thompsons flat was spacious, bright. The elderly woman showed her where everything washow to water the plants, feed the cat his medicine.
“I dont know you, dear,” she admitted, “but Mrs. Wilkins vouched for you. And if she trusts you, so do I.”
That evening, Hazel sat in the unfamiliar kitchen, sipping tea. A soap opera played quietly, the cat purred on the windowsill, rain tapped softly outside. For the first time in ages, she felt calm.
The doorbell made her jump. On the doorstep stood Caroline, dishevelled, her coat dripping.
“Can I come in?”
Hazel stepped aside.
Caroline walked to the kitchen, sat down.
“Youve landed nicely,” she said, glancing around. “Better than our old place.”
“Its temporary.”
“I know. Mrs. Wilkins told me.”
Silence. Caroline twisted her handbag strap; Hazel studied the tablecloth.
“Dylans ill,” Caroline blurted. “Pneumonia. Hospitalised.”
Hazel looked up.
“What do the doctors say?”
“Bad. Expensive meds, treatments…” Carolines voice shook. “The money from the flats gone. Sold the car, everything.”
“Why tell me this?”
“I dont know,” Caroline admitted. “Maybe I wanted you to know where it went. Not on clothes or holidays.”
Hazel stood, filled the kettle.
“Tea?”
Caroline nodded.
They drank in silence. Caroline kept glancing at Hazel, as if wrestling with words.
“Hazel,” she finally said, “I know what I did was rotten. I wont make excuses. But I was desperate.”
“You couldve talked to me. Explained. Id have understood.”
“Would you?” Carolines voice was doubtful. “You shut down every time I mentioned selling. Like I was murdering you.”
“Maybe. But forgerys a crime, Caroline.”
“I know. I think about it every night. Especially now, with Dylan…” She turned to the window.
Hazel watched her, the anger draining, leaving only emptiness and pity.
“How is he?”
“A little better. But not out of danger.”
“Tell him Aunt Hazels praying for him.”
Caroline nodded, stood.
“I should go. Thanks for the tea.”
At the door, she turned.
“Hazel… will you ever forgive me?”
“I dont know
