“Sister Kicked Me Out and Changed the Locks”
“Grace, love, when are you finally going to make up your mind?” Marion nervously fiddled with the edge of the tablecloth as they sat in the kitchen. “The estate agents have rung me three times this week. Serious buyers, cash in hand.”
Grace stirred sugar into her tea in silence, not looking up. The teaspoon clinked against the glass, monotonous, grating.
“Are you even listening?” Marion raised her voice. “Or are you going to pretend this doesnt concern you, like usual?”
“It does,” Grace replied quietly. “Very much so. But its your decision, not mine.”
Marion sighed, rubbing her temples. Since the divorce, life had turned upside down. Child support payments were erratic, she was juggling two jobs, and now their mum had left them the flatone flat, between two sisters.
“Grace, I need the money. The car loan, Tims uni tutors Whats your plan? Sit in this old place till were pensioners?”
Grace finally looked up. The exhaustion in her eyes was so deep it made Marion flinch.
“And where am I supposed to go, Marion? Youve got a job, a salary. I was made redundant six months ago. Try finding decent work at forty-five.”
“Well, keep looking! Dont just sit there like a wet weekend!” Marion snapped. “Mum loved us both the same. We sell, split the money, and sort ourselves out.”
Grace stood and walked to the window. The familiar courtyard, the park where theyd played hopscotch as kids, the bench their mum used to sit on in the evenings
“Remember,” she said softly, “what Mum said in hospital before she died? She held my hand and said, Grace, youre the homebodyyou need the flat more. Marions strong, shell land on her feet.”
“That was the painkillers talking!” Marion cut in. “Morphine messes with your head. There was no willeverythings split legally.”
“I know. Thats why Im not arguing,” Grace said wearily.
Marion watched her sister and felt something boil inside her. Always the sameGrace quiet, passive, while Marion shouldered everything. Bullied at school? Marion fought her battles. Failed uni? Marion pulled strings for a job. Messy divorce? Back to Marion for comfort.
“Right,” Marion said sharply. “Youve got a month. Find a job, rent a placefine. Otherwise, we sell. Im done waiting.”
Grace nodded without turning around.
The month flew by. Grace went to interviews, answered ads, but everywhere wanted younger, tech-savvy candidates. Her experience? Twenty years at a defunct engineering firm.
“Well?” Marion demanded the second she walked in.
“Nothing yet,” Grace sighed. “But Ive got an interview at the library”
“Enough!” Marion slammed her hand on the table. “Were signing the sale papers tomorrow. Buyers have already paid the deposit.”
Grace went pale.
“Marion, just a bit longer. Maybe somethingll come up”
“No. Its done.” Marion pulled papers from her bag. “Ten a.m., the solicitors. Dont even think of skippingyour signatures needed.”
Grace didnt sleep that night. She wandered the flat, touching familiar things, staring at photos. This was her whole life. And tomorrow
Marion left for work in the morning, tossing over her shoulder, “Ill be back at nine. Well go together.”
Grace was sipping cold tea when Mrs. Wilkins from next door knocked.
“Grace, love,” the older woman said, “whys Marion changing the locks? A locksmith came, fitted new ones. Said the owner ordered it.”
Graces stomach dropped. She rushed to the doorher key didnt fit. The new lock gleamed, mocking her.
Marions phone went straight to voicemail. Grace dialled again and againnothing.
“Mrs. Wilkins,” she asked shakily, “can I use your phone? Maybe shell answer a landline.”
“Of course, love.”
Marion picked up on the third ring.
“Yes?” Her voice was brisk, cold.
“Marion, its me. Whats with the locks?”
“Oh, Grace. Yes, I changed them. Youre living in *my* flat now. *Mine*. So I decide who stays.”
“*Yours*? Its half mine!”
“Was. Not anymore. The sales doneI forged your signature. Our handwritings similar, remember? You used to do my homework.”
Graces legs gave way.
“Youyou cant! Thats fraud! Ill take you to court!”
“Go ahead,” Marion said flatly. “Youve no proof. The solicitors a friend, the buyers connected. You werent even there. Whod believe Id forge my own sisters signature?”
“But how, Marion? Were family!”
“Which is why I put up with you this long. But I need money, not a deadweight.”
“Where am I supposed to go?”
“Not my problem. Youll figure it out.”
The line went dead. Grace stood in a strangers hallway, numb. Mrs. Wilkins touched her shoulder gently.
“Love, whats happened?”
Between sobs, Grace explained. Mrs. Wilkins tutted, shaking her head.
“Good grief, throwing out your own sister Never mind, youll stay with me tonight. Well sort something.”
Grace stayed three days. Marion never called. As if shed erased her sister entirely.
On the fourth day, Mrs. Wilkins bustled in, beaming.
“Grace! Remember Mrs. Thompson from number ten? Her daughters back from Canada, taking her over there. The flats up for sale, but they need someone to house-sit. Pay the utilities, keep it tidy. Fancy it?”
It was a lifeline. Grace hugged her.
“Dont get too comfy, though,” Mrs. Wilkins warned. “Find a job, stand on your own feet.”
Grace nodded fiercely. She wanted to livebadly.
Mrs. Thompsons flat was bright and airy. The elderly woman showed her aroundwater the plants, feed the cat, where the spare keys were.
“I dont know you, dear,” Mrs. Thompson admitted, “but if Mrs. Wilkins vouches for you, thats good enough.”
That evening, Grace sipped tea in her new kitchen. A sitcom played quietly, the cat purred on the windowsill, rain tapped softly outside. For the first time in ages, she felt calm.
Then the doorbell rang.
Marion stood there, dishevelled, rain dripping off her coat.
“Can I come in?”
Grace stepped aside silently.
Marion walked in, scanning the room.
“Nice place. Better than our old dump.”
“Its temporary,” Grace said quietly.
“I know. Mrs. Wilkins told me.”
They sat in silence. Marion twisted her handbag strap; Grace studied the tablecloth.
“Tims ill,” Marion blurted. “Pneumonia. Hospitalised.”
Grace looked up.
“What do the doctors say?”
“Bad. Needs expensive meds, treatments” Marions voice shook. “The flat moneys gone. Sold the car, everything.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I dont know,” Marion admitted. “Maybe I wanted you to know where the money went. Not on handbags or holidays.”
Grace stood, filled the kettle.
“Tea?”
Marion nodded.
They drank in silence. Marion kept glancing at Grace, as if weighing words.
“Grace,” she finally said, “I know what I did was rotten. No excuses. But I was desperate.”
“You couldve talked to me. Id have understood.”
“Would you?” Marion scoffed. “You acted like I was murdering you every time I mentioned selling.”
“Maybe. But forgerys a crime, Marion.”
“I know. I think about it every night. Especially now, with Tim” She turned to the window.
Grace watched her, the anger ebbing away. Only hollowness remained.
“How is he?”
“Stable. But its not over.”
“Tell him Auntie Grace is praying for him.”
Marion nodded, stood.
“I should go. Thanks for the tea.”
At the door, she hesitated.
“Grace will you ever forgive me?”
“I dont know,” Grace said honestly. “Not yet.”
Marion left. Grace sat for hours, listening to the clock tick, the cat purr. Life went on, somehow.
A week later, Mrs. Wilkins called.
“Grace! Tims back in hospital! Marions beside herself. Says the treatments too costly.”
Grace stayed silent.
“Have you abandoned her completely? Shes still your flesh and blood.”
“Mrs. Wilkins, what can I do
