The Story:
My Sister Locked Me Out and Changed the Locks
“Emma, love, when are you finally going to make up your mind?” Sarah fidgeted 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.”
Emma stirred sugar into her tea silently, not lifting her eyes. The teaspoon clinked against the mug, monotonous and grating.
“Do you even hear me?” Sarah raised her voice. “Or are you going to pretend this has nothing to do with you again?”
“It does,” Emma replied quietly. “It does, actually. But its your decision, not mine.”
Sarah sighed, rubbing her temples. Since the divorce, life had been turned upside down. The alimony payments were irregular, she was juggling two jobs, and now their mother had left them the two-bed flatshared between the two sisters.
“Look, Emma, I need the moneyurgently. The car loan, Jamies university fees, tutors And what are you suggesting? Stay holed up in this old flat until retirement?”
Emma finally looked up. Her eyes were heavy with exhaustionso deep that Sarah actually flinched.
“And where do I go, Sarah? At least you have a job, a salary. I was made redundant six months ago. Try finding decent work at forty-five.”
“Well, look harder! Dont just sit at home like a wet weekend!” Sarah snapped. “Mum loved us both equally, the flats half ours. We sell, split the money, and each of us sorts herself out.”
Emma stood and walked to the window. The courtyard she’d known since childhood, the little park where theyd once played hopscotch, the old bench where Mum used to sit in the evenings
“Remember,” she said softly, “when Mum was in hospital before she died? She held my hand and said, Emma, youre the homely one, you need this place more. Sarahs strongshell manage anywhere. But you”
“She was on morphine!” Sarah cut in sharply. “Painkillers mess with your head. She left no willits split legally.”
“I know. Thats why Im not arguing,” Emma said wearily.
Sarah watched her sister and felt something boil inside her. It had always been like thisEmma, quiet and passive, while all the problems landed on Sarahs shoulders. At school, bullies picked on EmmaSarah defended her. When she didnt get into uni, Sarah pulled strings to get her a job. When her marriage fell apart, it was Sarah she ran to for comfort.
“Fine,” Sarah said sharply. “Youve got a month. Find a job, rent a placegood. If not, we sell. I cant wait any longer.”
Emma nodded without turning around.
The month flew by. Emma went to interviews, answered adverts, but everywhere wanted young, energetic people with computer skills. Her experience was outdatedtwenty years at a design firm that had long since shut down.
“Well?” Sarah asked the moment she stepped through the door.
“Nothing yet,” Emma sighed. “But Ive got an interview at the library tomorrow”
“Thats it. Enough.” Sarah slammed her hand on the table. “Were signing the sale papers tomorrow. The buyers have already put down a deposit.”
Emma went pale.
“Sarah, just wait a little longer. Maybe something will”
“No. Its decided.” Sarah pulled documents from her bag. “Here they areten tomorrow at the solicitors. And dont even think of not showing up. Nothing happens without your signature.”
That night, Emma didnt sleep. She wandered the flat, touching familiar things, staring at photos of Mum. This was her whole lifeevery corner was home. And tomorrow
In the morning, Sarah left for work with a curt, “Ill be back at ninewell go together.”
Emma was sitting in the kitchen with a cold cup of tea when the doorbell rang. Their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Wilkins, stood there.
“Emma, love,” she said, “whys Sarah changing the locks? A locksmith camenew ones fitted. Said the owner ordered it.”
Emmas heart lurched. She rushed to the doorher key didnt work. The new lock gleamed mockingly.
Sarahs phone went unanswered. Emma dialled again and againonly endless ringing.
“Mrs. Wilkins,” she asked, voice trembling, “can I use your phone? Maybe shell pick up a landline.”
“Of course, love, of course.”
Sarah answered on the third ring.
“Yes?” Her voice was clipped, cold.
“Sarah, its me. Whats with the locks?”
“Oh, Emma. Yes, I changed them. Youre living in *my* flat now, understand? *Mine.* And I decide who stays.”
“How is it yours? Its half mine!”
“*Was* half yours. Not anymore. The papers are signedI forged your signature. Our handwritings similar, remember? You used to write my school essays.”
Emmas legs gave way.
“Y-you cant do this! Its fraud! Ill take you to court!”
“Go ahead,” Sarah said flatly. “Youll prove nothing. The solicitors a friend. The buyers no stranger either. And you werent thereno witnesses. Whod believe Id forge my own sisters signature?”
“But how could you? Were *sisters.* Same blood!”
“Thats why I put up with you all these years. But enough. I need money, not a deadweight.”
“Where will I go? What am I supposed to do?”
“No idea. Youll figure it out. Youre a grown woman.”
The line went dead. Emma stood in a strangers hallway, unable to believe it. Mrs. Wilkins touched her shoulder gently.
“Love, whats happened?”
Sobbing, Emma told her. Mrs. Wilkins shook her head, tutting.
“Good Lord, whats the world coming to? Throwing out her own sister Never mind, Emma, youll stay with me for now. Well sort something.”
Emma stayed three days. Sarah never called, never asked how she wasas if shed vanished.
On the fourth day, Mrs. Wilkins bustled in, beaming.
“Emma! Remember Mrs. Thompson from flat ten? Her daughters back from Canadataking her to live there. The flats going up for sale, but till the paperworks done, someone needs to mind it. Just pay the bills and keep it tidy. What dyou say?”
It was a lifeline. Emma hugged her tightly.
“Dont get too comfortable, mind,” Mrs. Wilkins warned. “Find work, stand on your own feet. No slacking.”
Emma nodded fervently. She wanted to livedesperately.
Mrs. Thompsons flat was bright and spacious. The old lady showed her where everything washow to water the plants, feed the cat his medicine.
“I dont know you, dear,” she admitted, “but if Mrs. Wilkins vouches for you, thats good enough for me.”
That evening, Emma sat in the new kitchen, sipping tea. A soap opera played quietly on the telly, the cat purred on the windowsill, and rain tapped softly outside. For the first time in ages, she felt at peace.
A knock at the door made her jump. Sarah stood there, dishevelled, her coat dripping.
“Can I come in?” she asked hesitantly.
Emma stepped aside silently.
Sarah walked to the kitchen, sitting at the table.
“Youve landed nicely,” she said, glancing around. “Better than our old place.”
“Its temporary,” Emma replied softly.
“I know. Mrs. Wilkins told me.”
They sat in silence. Sarah twisted her handbag strap; Emma studied the tablecloth.
“Jamies ill,” Sarah blurted. “Pneumonia. In hospital.”
Emma looked up.
“What do the doctors say?”
“Bad case. Expensive meds, treatments” Sarahs voice shook. “The flat moneys gone. Sold the car, everything.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I dont know,” Sarah admitted. “Maybe I wanted you to know where the money went. Not on clothes or holidays.”
Emma stood, filling the kettle.
“Tea?”
Sarah nodded.
They drank in silence. Sarah kept glancing at Emma, as if weighing words.
“Emma,” she finally said, “I know what I did was rotten. I wont make excuses. But I didnt know what else to do. I was backed into a corner.”
“You couldve talked. Explained. Id have understood.”
“Would you?” Sarah asked doubtfully. “Remember how you reacted every time I mentioned selling? Like I was trying to kill you.”
“Maybe. But forgerys a crime, Sarah.”
“I know. And I think about it every night. Especially now, with Jamie”
