**A Stroke of Luck**
“Mum, honestly, how much longer can this go on?” snapped Emily irritably. “James is twenty! Hes a grown man and should be living on his own by now. But you coddle him like hes some precious treasure. Its sickening to watch.”
“If it sickens you, dont watch,” retorted Margaret sharply. “Focus on your own life, not ours. Youve got Oliver to raise, havent you?”
“And I *am* raising him!”
“Barely,” Margaret cut in. “That boys running wild.”
“He is not! Hes just going through a phase! As if James was ever a perfect teenager.”
“He wasnt perfect,” Margaret narrowed her eyes, “but he did well in school, helped around the house, never mouthed off. Oliver only knows how to beg for moneynever a thank you in sight.”
“So what? Youre his grandmother!”
“And that means he doesnt have to show gratitude? Just take and take? Though I shouldnt be surprised Hes just like you!”
“Whats *that* supposed to mean?” Emily shot back.
“That Ive never heard a kind word from youjust complaints and blame.”
“Mum!”
“What? Am I wrong? Youre raising your son to be just as entitled. Everyone owes him something. Even James isnt sparedDont you see I need a new laptop? Ive put up with it so far, but mark my words: my patience wont last forever.”
“And then what?” Emilys eyes flashed with anger.
“Ill cut him off. Not another penny. And Ill tell James to do the same.”
“Oh, *terrifying*,” Emily scoffed. “I thought youd come up with something scarier.”
“I dont need to,” Margaret said darkly. “Hes my grandson, and I love him. But I wont tolerate disrespect. Ill put him in his place so hard hell forget the way here.”
“And how will your precious James cope without his beloved nephew?”
“*My* James?” Margaret spun around, glaring.
“Well*ours*,” Emily faltered. “Whats the difference? He adores him.”
Silence fell. Margaret bit back the words clawing at her throat.
The door creaked open, and James walked intall, lean, his hair slightly ruffled. He glanced wearily between his mother and sister.
“Again?” he sighed. “Will you two ever stop?”
“Stay out of it,” Emily snapped. “This isnt about you!”
“Not about me, but youre shouting at Mum. And I *will* step in. Who else will stand up for her?”
“*Stand up for her?*” Emily sneered. “Your only talent is mooching off her and pretending everythings fine.”
“Im *mooching*?” James stepped closer, voice sharp with outrage. “I work, I help around the house, I dont start fights. *You* waltz in and turn everything into a circus.”
“Mums blind to what youve becomea freeloader!” Emily exploded. “She spoils you rotten! Everything for you, nothing for anyone else!”
“Emily!” Margaret cut in sharply. “Enough. Youre being unfair.”
“*Unfair?*” Emilys voice trembled with bitterness. “I never got half of what he has! All the love, all the careits all his! What did I get? Scraps!”
“Whats this got to do with me?” James asked quietly, stunned. “Youre the one with the grudges, the imagined slights Maybe thats why everyone avoids you?”
“Oh, *really*?” Emilys eyes flashed. “Now its *my* fault?”
James opened his mouth to retort, but Margaret stepped between them.
“Dont,” she said firmly. “Emilys your sister. Show her respect.”
“She respects *no one*!” James shot back. “She storms in, picks fights, insults everyone. Face it, Mumits time someone put her in her place. And Oliver too. Last week, he took cash from my wallet without asking.”
The room fell silent. His words hung like thunder.
Emilys face flushed, her breath raggednot just anger, but something desperate. Margaret braced herself; one more word, and everything would shatter.
But Emily shouted something else entirely:
“Youre *lying*! Oliver would *never* do that! Hes *my* son, and hes *no thief*!”
“Emily,” Margaret said quietly, “I trust James. He doesnt lie. But Olivers behaviour? Thats another matter. You need to talk to him. Gently.”
“Dont you *dare* accuse him!” Emily seethed.
“Then dont accuse *my* son of lying,” Margaret countered.
“*Your* son?” Emilys eyes widened. “*What* son?! Hes *not* your son!”
Margaret froze.
“I dont understand,” James said, stunned. “Mum, whats she talking about?”
“Shes telling the truth,” Margaret whispered, pale. “Im not your mother.”
For a moment, James swayed, as if the ground had vanished. His eyes darted between them, struggling to comprehend.
Emily collapsed onto the sofa, breathless. Shed *waited* for this momentyet now, she couldnt speak.
Memories crashed over her.
Shed been young. Just out of school.
Head over heels in love.
She hadnt realised she was pregnant until it was too late.
The boy had shrugged. “You *sure* its mine?”
Her parents had been furious. Her fatherstill alive thenhad threatened to throw her out. But eventually, theyd softened. Helped her through it.
Then Oliver was born. Her parents doted on him.
But when her father died, money grew tight. Emily left for London to work, leaving Oliver with Margaret.
At first, she visited. Sent money.
Then she vanished.
A new love. A new life. A second sonone Margaret and James knew nothing about for years.
Her new man didnt know about Oliver either.
When he kicked her out, she returned home.
Oliver was ten by then. Her younger son, Thomas, was five. Margaret forgave her but refused to let her stay. Shed seen the truth: Emily felt nothing for Oliver. How could she? Shed last seen him at two. He called Margaret *Mum* now.
So Margaret had proposed a lie: Emily would be his sister, returned after years away.
***
Jamess quiet question shattered the silence.
“Then who *is* my mother?”
Emily shuddered. She couldnt say it.
Her hands shook; tears streamed.
“J-James” she choked out.
Margaret stepped in, wrapping an arm around him.
“Dont panic, love. The truth is Emilys your mother.”
James went rigid.
He stared at Emilycrumpled, weepingand felt only disgust.
“So,” he said slowly, “youre my grandmother?” He turned to Margaret. “Or are you even related?”
“Of *course* we are!” Emily burst out. “Shes my mother! Thomas is your *brother*!”
James laughed coldly. “What a stroke of luck.”
His glare sent Emily recoiling.
“Right. Ive heard enough,” he said tonelessly. “I need time alone.”
He left.
The door clicked shut. Silence swallowed the flat.
***
Emily sat trembling. Her chest ached.
“What have I done?” she whispered. “Ive got my son backand now I dont know what to do. Hell *hate* me. And Thomas? How do I explain Olivers his brother? Hell never understand. Mum, why didnt you *stop* me?”
Margaret said nothing. Emily was grieving the lie shed clung to. Scolding her now was pointless.
She sat beside her, murmuring, “Itll be alright. James is kind. Hell come around.”
“What happens now?” Emily sobbed. “How do we live with this? Ill never forgive myself”
***
James was gone for two days. Neither woman slept.
When he returned, he asked for the full story.
Emily tried to speak, but James stopped her.
“Quiet. Let Mum explain.”
Margaret did, softening every harsh truth.
James listened. No questions.
Then, finally, he spoke.
“I understand. Youre both wondering what happens next. Heres the answer: *nothing changes.* Mum stays my mum.” He looked at Margaret. “Emily stays my sister.” A glance at Emily. “And Thomas stays my nephew.”
Emily opened her mouth
“But if you *ever* hurt my mum again
