So, listen to this wild storyits about two sisters and their parents pulling this ridiculous stunt.
Their mum leaned in, eyes sparkling, all excited: “You know why we bought that three-bed flat? Were renting it out room by room to studentsfive of them already! The incomes brilliant, means well be comfortable in retirement.”
Emily nodded, happy for them. Her parents had worked their fingers to the bone their whole livesthey deserved an easy retirement. But then her dad, Robert, whod been quietly reading his paper at the table, chimed in.
“Course, we know what youre thinkingwhos getting the flat when were gone. Three kids, and all that. Its natural, love. We get it.”
Emily shook her head. The thought hadnt even crossed her mindthey were healthy, why worry about inheritance? But her mum, Margaret, cut in with this snide tone that made her stomach drop.
“Oh, dont play coy! Youre worried about who gets it, arent you?”
Emily opened her mouth to argue, but her mum steamrolled over her.
“Well, your dad and I talked. The flat goes to whoever takes best care of us. Fairs fair, right?”
Silence. Emily just stared, baffled. Was this some kind of twisted competition? Her dad cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact.
“We spent our lives looking after youfed you, clothed you, sacrificed everything. Now its time for a change. Youll have to prove yourselves. And if we dont like what we see” He let the threat hang. “No flat for you.”
Emily sat there, stunned. They were waiting for applause, like theyd just dropped some genius plan. Her throat tightened. She mumbled something about work and bolted.
On the bus home, her mind raced. What even was that? Some auction for their love? She called her older sister, Charlotte.
“Char, you wont believe what Mum and Dad just said”
“About the flat and who gets it?” Charlotte sighed. “They hit me with it yesterday. Im still reeling.”
“What do we do?” Emily pressed the phone closer, straining to hear over the bus noise.
“No clue. Weve always helped themgroceries, bills, running over at the drop of a hat. Meanwhile, our baby brother, James? Always too busy with work or his girlfriend.”
“How are they even judging who cares more?” Emily stepped off at her stop. “Gonna score us like a school project?”
Charlotte laughed darkly.
“Pretty much. But maybe its goodwell see where we really stand. Though, lets be honest, we already know whos winning this little game…”
The next few weeks were torture. The calls started immediatelydemands, guilt trips. Late Wednesday night, first one:
“Emily, love, we need a lift to the clinic tomorrow, and the shops after. Your cars fixed now, right?”
She had a huge meeting at 9 AM.
“Mum, cant you get a cab?”
“Dont be daft! Were not strangersyou cant help your own parents?”
She caved, like always. Took the morning off, drove them around, endured the gushing over golden boy James.
Friday, buried in work reports, her dad rang.
“Love, the new furnitures here. Need help moving it. Bloody movers charge a fortune.”
“Dad, Im at work”
“Since when does work come before family?”
Cue another rushed exit, more side-eye from her boss. Three days of back pain later…
Weekend plans? Scrapped. Mum called”Massive clean-up, curtains down, chandeliers washed. We cant manage alone!”
So Emily spent her day scrubbing their place while they sipped tea, rambling about how wonderful James was.
“James is so thoughtful!” Margaret cooed. “Called for ages last night!”
“When was the last time he actually came over to help?” Emily snapped, wiping sweat off her brow.
Her parents exchanged looks.
“Dont take that tone! James has a proper jobnot like you girls. Youre meant to help. Its your duty!”
Emily bit her tongue. Inside, she was boiling.
A week later, shes back at theirs, jarring pickles and tomatoes while they boss her around.
“Less vinegar! More dill!”
“James adores these pickles,” her dad mused. “Hell be thrilled.”
“Whens he visiting?” Emily asked flatly.
“Dunno hasnt been round in a month,” her mum admitted. “Hes busy.”
Emily put down the jar, wiped her hands, and turned.
“So the flats mine and Charlottes then? Since were the only ones helping?”
Her mum went beetroot, knocking over her tea.
“Selfish girl! Money-grubbing, too! No thought for your brother!” she shrieked. “Hes the man! Hell bring a wife home! He needs it more! The inheritance goes to himhes carrying the family name!”
Something in Emily snapped. Years of running herself raggedfor nothing. She unhooked her apron, turned off the stove.
“Hes the heir? And what are we, chopped liver? Were always here, always helping. But I guess that doesnt count.”
She walked out. They scrambled after her.
“Emily, wait! Youre overreacting!”
“Whos finishing the pickles? You cant just leave a mess!”
She paused at the door, exhausted.
“Im busy. Like James. Find someone else.”
Outside, she called Charlotte.
“Char, Im done.”
“What happened?”
She spilled it all. Charlotte exhaled hard.
“You know what? Lets act like our dear brother. If hes the favourite, let him deal with them. Well be the bad daughters.”
“Exactly what I was thinking.”
From then on? Radio silence. Every call”Sorry, ask James.” Their mum huffed, their dad fumed, but they stuck to it.
“James is getting the flatlet him step up. Hes your pride and joy, after all.”
A month later, Emily strolled through the park, autumn leaves crunching underfoot. She breathed in the crisp air, smiling.
Her phone buzzed. Mum. She glanced at the screen, then pocketed it.
Let James handle it. She was done. Time to live for herself.
