**The Grand Prize**
Mary Whitmore became a widow at thirty-two, left with two children: a son named Edward and a daughter named Charlotte. She forbade herself from even considering another romance, pouring all her unspent love into her eldest, Eddie. In her quiet, obedient boy, she saw her future security.
Charlotte, however, took after her fatherdreamy, impulsive, with a stubborn spark in her eyes. The girl refused to bend to her mother’s rigid expectations. Their conversations often turned into skirmishes.
*”You need to think about your future, not those silly poems!”* Mary would snap, snatching the notebook from her daughters hands.
*”And whats left in that future? Working at the factory like you? Just surviving?”* Charlotte would retort.
Eddie, meanwhile, thrived under his mothers adoration. His mistakes were excused, his small victories treated like triumphs. He learned quickly: as long as he kept her happy, she would give him everything. He wasnt crueljust accustomed to taking.
Charlotte, worn down by years of cold war with her mother, left home at eighteen. She enrolled in teacher training college, moved into a dorm, and rarely visited. When she did, it always ended in shouting. Then, one day, she vanished completely.
Neighbours would ask after her, and Mary would frown, avoiding their gaze. Eddie, if his mother mentioned his sister, merely shrugged. *”She hated it here. Let her sort out her own life.”* Hed married by then but still visited every Sundayto enjoy a plate of his favourite roast, take home leftovers, and borrow a bit of cash *”for odds and ends.”*
Five years passed.
Then one evening, Charlotte appeared on her mothers doorstep. A little girl clung to her skirt, wide-eyed. Charlotte herself was bone-thin, coughing violently, as if her chest might split open.
*”And whats this?”* Mary asked icily, eyeing the child.
Turned out, Charlotte hadnt disappeared without reason. Shed hidden her pregnancy, knowing her mother would never approve. Shed worked two jobs, barely scraping by, until her health gave out. Doctors offered no hope, only time. Now, she had nowhere else to leave little Emily.
So the circle closed. Charlotte returned to the doorstep shed once been so desperate to leave.
Mary took them innot out of love, but duty. *”What will people say if I turn away my sick daughter and her child?”* That was her real concern.
They settled in the smallest room. Charlotte faded slowly. But Emily, like a weed pushing through concrete, began softening her grandmothers stony heart. Mary found herself startledthis tiny girl didnt fear her. She trusted her. Loved her.
Emily brought her scribbled *”drawings for Granny Mary,”* hugged her in the mornings, and even tried to cheer her when she scowled. When nightmares came, she didnt run to her mothershe crawled into Marys stiff, wide bed.
Charlotte died quietly, as if shed never lived at all.
And in that flat, two women remainedone with everything behind her, the other with everything ahead.
That was when the ice cracked.
Mary, whod spent a lifetime fearing weakness, found it in herself at last. She taught Emily to bake shortbread, told sanitised family stories (omitting the fights with her own mother), and cried into her pillow at night, realising how cold shed been. Her love for Emily was painful, belatedpart redemption.
Eddie hated it.
*”Mum, youll spoil her rotten!”* he grumbled, watching her buy the girl a new dress. *”Were not made of money.”*
*”Its mine to spend!”* Mary snappedthe first steel in her voice ever directed at him.
Years passed. Emily grew into the one person Mary couldnt imagine life without. Eddies visits became scarce, just formalities. Yet he remained certain the flat and the countryside cottage were his by righthis niece was *”no proper heir.”*
Mary noticed. She saw the way his eyes roamed the flat. How, after a drink, hed hint about *”getting the paperwork sorted.”* Her heart achednot for herself, but for him. For the boy whod never grown up.
Her decision came quietly. No will to spark a feud after her death. Something subtler.
She took Emily to the bank and transferred her savings. Not a fortune, just a lifetimes careful pennies, saved for a rainy day that never came.
*”Gran, why? I dont need it!”* Emily protested.
*”Hush,”* Mary said firmly. *”This isnt for you. Its for me. So I know youll always have your own bread. So youll never depend on them when Im gone.”*
She suspected Eddie would bully Emily over the flat and cottage. But with money of her own, Emily wouldnt be left with nothing.
Eddie lived in a cramped ex-council flat on the citys outskirtshis wife Lydias inheritance. Theyd never managed a proper renovation. The place felt trapped in the nineties.
His obsession was his mothers three-bedroom flat in a solid Victorian terracehigh ceilings, ornate mouldings. To him, it wasnt just bricks. It was justice. His reward.
After all, hed never upset her. Never left her. It was his right. Hed waited for it like his grand prizehis ticket to a better life. Selling it would clear his debts, maybe even leave a little extra.
When the solicitor explained Emily had equal claim, Eddie was stunned. Hed assumed he and his late sister were the only heirs (her share long absorbed into his plans). Splitting the flat with Emily meant his dream crumbledhalf wouldnt solve his problems. The cottage wouldnt fetch much.
So when inheritance was mentioned, Eddie transformed. His usual sullenness became aggressive energy.
*”Shes got no right!”* hed shout, pacing. *”Its my flat! Mums flat! Who does she think she is?”*
Lydia knitted silently. Shed heard this record for yearshow Charlotte had poisoned their lives, then crawled back with her *”bastard kid.”*
Eddie measured everything in money. Yes, Emily helped Mary. But so had he! Hed brought groceries monthly, called the plumber, given up his Sundays!
What had Emily done? Just lived there. She couldve been in care.
For six months, Eddie schemed to fight for *his* flat. He threatened lawsuits, *”calling in favours”* to leave Emily with nothing.
Then, after another round of cruel arguments, Emily surprised him.
She invited Eddie and Lydia for lunch. Set the table with Marys favouritesthat same shortbread, that same leek-and-potato soup.
*”Uncle Eddie, Aunt Lydia,”* she said softly. *”Ill give you my share of the flat. Its yours. And Ive found a buyer for the cottage. If you agree, Ill take that money, leave, and never trouble you again.”*
Silence. Lydia stopped chewing. Eddie stared as if she were mad.
*”Youre joking. Thats a fraction ofand why should I let you have the cottage?”*
*”Gran wanted me to have a start. The cottage isnt worth much, and you dont need it. Take the deal. I wont waste time on court battles.”*
She stood and left. Eddie sat frozen. His whole battle was unnecessary. Hed won without firing a shot.
The solicitor, braced for a feud, was pleasantly surprised when they came to sign the papers.
As for Emily? With Marys savings and the cottage sale, she bought a small studioenough left for a nest egg. She often thought of that day in the bank. How her gran had given her freedomfrom dependence, and from *family* like this.
