“You’ve been in my way since we were children,” said my sister, turning her back to the coffin at our mother’s funeral.
Emily stood by the wall of the funeral home, watching as her sister walked toward the exit. The black dress, the heelseven now, Olivia had dressed as though she were heading to a business meeting rather than saying goodbye to their mother.
“Liv, wait,” Emily called, but her sister didnt turn around.
“Let her go,” whispered Aunt Grace, stepping closer. “Thats just how shes always been.”
Emily nodded, her eyes fixed on the door where Olivia had disappeared. Forty-five years of life, and theyd never managed to see eye to eye.
About thirty people had gatheredneighbours, Mums colleagues, distant relatives. They approached Emily one by one, shaking her hand, murmuring kind words about the deceased. And where was Olivia? Where was the daughter who should have stood beside her, accepting condolences?
“Emily, love, stay strong,” whispered Mrs. Thompson from next door. “Your mum was a wonderful woman. God rest her soul.”
“Thank you,” Emily managed, swallowing the lump in her throat.
When the mourners had left, Emily stayed behind with the coffin. Her mother lay peaceful, a faint smile on her lips, hands folded over a small crossthe one shed always carried in her pocket.
“Mum,” Emily whispered, “why did it have to be like this? Why does Liv hate us so much?”
There was no answer, of course. She sat beside the coffin and closed her eyes. Memories of their childhood surfaced.
Olivia had been born when Emily was twelvea late surprise for parents who hadnt planned on more children. Mum called her a blessing, but from the start, Olivia was… different. Demanding, never satisfied. Mum doted on her, Dad adored her, and Emily? She had to help. Babysit. Put her own life on hold.
“Em, can you watch Liv? I need to pop to the shops.”
“Emily, love, play with your sister. Shes crying again.”
So Emily played. Read stories. Took her for walks. And Olivia grew up believing the world revolved around her.
“Mum, Emilys being mean to me!” shed wail over nothing.
“Emily, how could you? Shes just a child!”
What had Emily done? Refused to share sweets she didnt have? Asked her to tidy her toys?
“Excuse me.” A man in a dark suit approached. “Are you the deceaseds next of kin?”
“Her daughter,” Emily said.
“From the funeral home. We need to discuss arrangements. Your sister left?”
“Yes.”
“Right. Then well settle everything with you.”
They stepped into the hall. The man pulled out paperwork.
“About the wakewill you be holding one?”
“Of course.”
“At home or a restaurant?”
Emily hesitated. Their house was small, and cooking alone would be difficult. A restaurant was pricey, and her pension wasnt much.
“At home,” she decided.
“Very well. Well need to confirm the menu, guest count…”
They spoke for another ten minutes, but Emilys thoughts were elsewhere. Why was this all on her? Why had Oliviawho earned three times as muchjust walked away?
That evening, the house felt hollow without her mothers presence. On the kitchen table was a note:
*Em, staying at Jesss. Back tomorrow. Liv*
So she *had* come home. Just couldnt be bothered to wait.
Emily walked into her mothers room. The bed was neatly made, a half-empty glass of water and a pill packet on the nightstand. Mum had passed quietly in her sleep, just as shed always wanted.
On the dresser were framed photos. Emily in her school uniform, holding flowers on her first day. Olivia in a frilly dress at her nursery graduation. A family portraitMum, Dad, and their two girls by the Christmas tree.
Emily picked it up. She mustve been eighteen there. Olivia, just a toddler, laughing in Dads arms. Mum stood between them, one hand on Emilys shoulder.
*”My little helper,”* Mum had said. *”Id never manage without you.”*
But now, that helper wasnt needed anymore. Olivia had grown up, gone to university, married a successful businessman. Had two children, a big house, a luxury car.
And forgotten the sister whod given up half her childhood for her.
The next morning, a knock at the door. Emily thought it might be Olivia, but a stranger stood therea woman in her forties with a large bag.
“Hello, are you Emily Whitmore?”
“Yes.”
“Im Sarah Bennett, a social worker. Your sister contacted us about arranging the wake.”
Emily blinked. “I dont understand. What help?”
“Olivia mentioned you might struggle financially. We can provide groceries, help with catering”
“Wait.” Emilys face burned. “Who said I couldnt afford it?”
“Your sister. Shes concernedbusiness troubles, apparently.”
*Business troubles.* From a woman who drove a car worth fifty grand.
“That wont be necessary,” Emily said tightly.
“Are you sure? Olivia insisted”
“Quite sure. Goodbye.”
She shut the door and leaned against it. So now Olivia was painting her as some penniless charity case?
The phone rang. Olivias name flashed on the screen.
“Hello.”
“Em, did the social worker come?”
“She did. Thanks for that, *sis*.”
“Dont mention it. I just thoughtwell, funerals are expensive.”
“Did you think to ask *me* first?”
Olivia sighed. “Where are you now?”
“Jesss. Its easier there.”
*Easier than home.* Than the house theyd grown up in.
“When are you coming? We need to sort the wake.”
“Just handle it. Youre the organised one.”
“Its your mother too, Liv.”
“Dont tell me how to grieve,” Olivia snapped. “Ill come tomorrow.”
“And your way of grieving is running off and dumping everything on me?”
“Not now, Em. Ill transfer money for the wake. After that, lets just… go our separate ways.”
“Meaning?”
“Sell the house. Split the profit. Clean break.”
Emilys stomach dropped. “This is *Mums* home.”
“*Your* home. Mines elsewhere.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then buy me out. Got two hundred thousand?”
Emily didnt have half that.
“Didnt think so,” Olivia said. “Youve got a month. Then Ill take legal action.”
“You *cant*”
“I can. And I will. Im done being everyones doormat.”
Olivia started to leave but paused.
“You know what I hated most growing up?”
“What?”
“That you were always *right*. Always perfect. And I just felt… worthless next to you.”
“I was *twelve years older*!”
“Doesnt matter. Im not sorry I was born.”
The door slammed.
The wake was quiet. Fifteen people, simple food, fond memories shared. Olivia showed up for half an hour, dropped off a shop-bought cake, and vanished again.
“Wheres your sister?” guests asked.
“Not well,” Emily lied.
After everyone left, she cleared up, replaying Olivias words. Had she really been that overbearing? Had her help smothered her sister?
But shed only ever tried to do right by her.
The next day, she visited an estate agent.
“Two-bed in this area? Easily three hundred thousand. Maybe more.”
Half to Olivia, half to her. Enough for a small flat elsewhere.
“Shall we list it?”
Emily nodded.
That evening, she called Olivia.
“Liv, Ive put the house up for sale.”
“Good. See? Simple.”
“*Simple*? Were losing our *home*!”
“*You* are. I lost mine years ago.”
“What does that mean?”
A pause. Then Olivia exhaled.
“Em, I never felt like I belonged there. Everything was *yours*. Your room, your books, your friends. I was just… an afterthought.”
Emilys breath caught.
“Liv, you *had* your own”
“Did I? Every decision was about you. Holidays? *What does Emily want?* Even when I applied for uni, Mum asked *your* opinion!”
“Because Id *been through it*!”
“Exactly. You had experience. Knowledge. And I had *nothing* but the hope someone might finally *listen*.”
Emily sank into the chair. Had Olivia really felt that way all along?
“Liv, I didnt know”
“Of course not. You were too busy *raising* me.”
“I was *helping Mum*!”
