The Unwanted Guest
“Wheres my gift? Or am I not a woman anymore?”
“Honestly? Youre an uninvited guest. Let your daughter give you presents.”
Emmas chest tightened with nerves, but for the first time, she spoke her mind to her aunt. A shame it had to happen on such a cheerful occasion.
Her mother stood in the hallway with an armful of crimson roses and a box of expensive perfumeauthentic, high-quality. Aunt Margaret, meanwhile, loomed in the kitchen doorway, her expression stormy. She was as broad as she was bitter.
“Margaret…” Her mother cast a helpless glance at her sister. “Shes only here to visit Grandma, to wish her well.”
“And what am I, then? Invisible?” Margaret narrowed her eyes at Emma as if she were an enemy.
“Youre stretching it. Even invisibility would be betterquieter and without the demands,” Emma shot back.
“Such manners! What a rude girl youve raised, Sarah!” Margaret snapped, brushing past with a scornful glare. “Ill be wiserno need to indulge this farce.”
Her mother pressed lightly on Emmas foot, shooting her a warning look. Sarah had always been the peacekeeper, endlessly patient with her sisters oddities. Emma and her father, however, had no such tolerance.
Margaret had never been part of Emmas lifenot meaningfully. Worse, she was notoriously stingy, a proper Scrooge from *A Christmas Carol*. Emma had learned early: expecting gifts from Aunt Margaret was like believing in Father Christmas past the age of thirty.
Oh, sometimes shed bring somethingbut only what she didnt want herself.
At four, Emma received a tacky lip-shaped lamp. At six, a chipped money frog statue with a broken leg. Mens socks, expired bath sets, a half-opened box of garish cartoon-chicken bedsheetsshed seen it all.
Once, Margaret even brought a mangy, half-bald kitten, clearly plucked from the streets. Her parents wouldve tossed it out if not for Emmas tearful pleas. Days later, they claimed theyd given it to friendsonly for Emma to need treatment for ringworm. A decade on, her father confessed the truth: the kitten had been too ill to save.
The memory still stung.
Even Emmas friends knew of Margarets miserliness. One Halloween, they went trick-or-treating to her aunts. After ten minutes of rummaging, Margaret handed them a handful of stale sweets.
“Ugh, these are vile,” one friend gagged outside. “Your aunts trying to poison us.”
The sweets were coated in white dust, years old, with bitter coffee beans insideclearly long-forgotten rejects.
Emma burned with shame. Why should she care? But she did.
Time didnt soften Margaret. If she visitedwhich she always didshe arrived with bags and Tupperware.
“Oh, pack me some of that pie, wont you?” shed say. “For Victor and Alicethey couldnt come. And some meat, if theres extra. We havent had any in months. The prices these days!”
Sarah happily obliged.
“Like it?” shed smile, heaping portions. “Bring them next weekendI havent seen Alice in ages.”
At restaurants, Margaret packed leftovers herself, even asking other diners if theyd finished their meals. Family gatherings were a litany of complaints: prices, wages, taxes. So imagine their shock when she bragged about buying a second flatin a pricier city, no less.
“Rents higher there,” she explained breezily. “Ive got friends keeping an eye on it.”
Meanwhile, Emmas parents had spent five years saving for home repairsfruitlessly. Their “poor” relative was far wealthier.
At fifteen, Emma rejoiced when Margaret moved to that very flat, following Alice to university. The relief was palpable.
But Sarah mourned. “Shes still family,” she sighed.
Seven years later, Margaret reappearedempty-handed, as usual. No cake, no flowers, not even a cheap supermarket dessert. Yet she sat at the table like royalty, expecting service.
Timing, as ever, was strategic: early March, just before Womens Day. Margaret always sniffed out gift-giving occasions.
But Emma had changed. No longer the hopeful child, she resolved not to indulge her aunteven if it meant a row. Her father grinned approval; her mother sighed and called them to dinner.
Margaret soon slunk in, drawn by the roast turkeys scent, her expression sour.
Emma decided to twist the knifeand lay groundwork. Her birthday loomed, and she refused to endure Margarets miserly rants.
“Mum, about my birthday…”
Margaret perked up instantly. Where there was a party, there was free food.
“Oh, its your birthday? When?” she cooed.
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Really? Id forgotten! Well, well celebrate properly, wont we? Then Ill head home.”
Her voice dripped with greedalready envisioning packed containers.
“Cant. Im celebrating with friends this year. You dont mind, Mum?”
Margarets smile froze. The spark in her eyes died. She saw no profit hereonly loss.
“Youth these days,” Sarah lamented. “Forgetting their elders. Of course I dont mind. But visit us, at least. Ill cook something.”
“Thats the thingcould you come help me clean and cook? Im swamped with work. Four handsll make light work. Then Ill visit Sunday.”
Margarets gaze darted between them. Emma bit back a smirk.
“Of course, love. Well help. Though Dads hurt his back…”
Her father, suspicious, pulled Emma aside later.
“Youre serious about this?”
“No. But they dont need to know,” she whispered, winking.
Emma expected Margaret to fake illness. She knew her aunt would never work for free. But the outcome was better: the next day, her father called.
“Thank you. Youve saved us.”
Margaret had fledjust before the party. Shed packed in a flurry, barely saying goodbye. Sarah shed a tear but admitted: even shed tired of her sisters endless complaints.
In the end, everyone got what they deserved. Margaret kept her greed. Emma kept her self-respectand the love of those who truly mattered. She hoped Margarets next visit would be long in coming. And if it wasnt? Well, thered always be chores to spare.
The lesson was clear: sometimes, setting boundaries is the kindest thing you can dofor yourself and others.
