The relatives mocked me for looking after “poor old Aunt Liz.” Their faces fell when the will was read, leaving me her entire estatethree houses and all her savings.
“Off to see your rich aunt again?”
My cousin Sophies voice dripped venom as I buttoned my coat in the hallway. I stayed silent. There was no point engaging. This was their morning ritual.
“Leave her be, Soph,” Aunt Margaret called lazily from the living room. “Shes busy playing the saint. Charity work, isnt it?”
Their laughter was sharp, rehearsed.
“I promised Aunt Liz Id help her winter-proof the windows,” I said.
“Those windows were last done in ’47,” Sophie sneered, stepping into the hall. “Wasting your youth on an old woman who wont even leave you her threadbare stockings. Thats a special kind of talent.”
She raked her eyes over my plain coat and scuffed shoes.
“Not everyone has their eye on an inheritance, Soph.”
“Oh, please. Whats *your* goal, then? Spiritual enlightenment from scrubbing floors in a council flat?”
I picked up my baggroceries for Elizabeth Mary and the book shed asked for.
“My goal is helping someone I care about.”
“Care about?” Aunt Margaret gasped, appearing in the doorway, her face twisted with old resentment. “That dear woman sold Grandads cottageour familys retreatto buy herself a posh flat in town! Shes never given a penny to anyone!”
There it wasthe root of their bitterness. The cottage in the Lake District, built by Grandad for the whole family. Elizabeth, as the eldest, inherited it and sold it after his death. To them, it was betrayal.
I studied their faces, contorted with greed and spite. They had never tried to understand her reasons.
They didnt care about the bond I shared with my great-aunther stories, her sharp wit, her dry humour.
They saw only an old woman in a faded housecoat.
I saw the woman who taught me to read, who showed me constellations and how to distinguish birds by their song.
“Youll see,” Sophie hissed as I left. “Shell leave her flat to some cult. And youll be left with nothing but your precious sainthood.”
The door slammed behind me, cutting off their voices.
Elizabeths flat welcomed me with the scent of dried lavender and old books. Simple, immaculate.
She sat at the table, bent over a map of the Cornish coast, a tablet with spreadsheets beside her.
“Ah, Emily, youre here.” She looked up, eyes bright. “Just sorting out some old paperwork.”
I nodded at the documents. “Whats all this?”
“Oh, tidying up loose ends,” she said with a sly smile, tucking the papers away. But I caught the words *lease agreement* and *land registry*.
“Family giving you trouble again?” she asked, reading my mood effortlessly.
I shrugged.
“They count every penny, Emily. But they miss what matters. Ah, well.”
She took the book Id brought, her face lighting up.
“Thank you, dear. Youre the only one who knows what I really need.”
Weeks later, Aunt Margarets syrupy voice oozed through the phone.
“Emily, darling. Hows our dear Elizabeth?”
I stiffened. “Shes fine, Aunt Marg. Thanks.”
“I was thinking Sophies friend, an estate agent, was asking about properties in her area. We should help Liz, shouldnt we? Make sure her affairs are in order. He could advise herfree of charge. Wouldnt want her getting swindled.”
“I dont think she needs help.”
“But shes elderly! You could ask about the will, for instance. Family should look out for each other.”
Nausea rose in my throat.
“I wont ask. Goodbye.”
The next time I visited, Elizabeth was unsettled.
“A man camesaid he was from an insurance firm. Claimed the wiring here was unsafe. But his questions He asked about ownership, accounts, family. Who visits, how often. Kept hinting that the elderly get exploited.”
My hands froze around the dishes. Margarets schememore cunning than Id thought.
Elizabeth answered a call, her tone brisk.
“No, Mr. Harrington, we wont raise the rent mid-season. Reputation matters more than quick profit.”
Hanging up, she caught my surprised look and winked. “Business, Emily. Small ventures.”
She offered no details, and I didnt pry.
The breaking point came on my birthday. Elizabeth greeted me with trembling hands, an untouched teacup on the table.
“Sophie visited,” she whispered. “She brought greetings. For you.”
Her gaze avoided mine.
“What did she say?”
“That you complain about me. That youre tired of waiting for for it to be over.” Her voice cracked. “She said you mock me behind my back.”
They had struck at our trust.
Something inside me snapped. All the kindness, the patiencegone. Only cold clarity remained.
I took her icy hand.
“Its all lies. You know that.”
Tears glistened in her eyes. “I do, Emily. But it still After what happened with your grandfather”
For the first time, she spoke of it.
“When he died, your uncleMargarets husbanddemanded his share. Immediately. My money was tied up in land near St. Ives. I begged for a year. He refused. The cottage or nothing. So I gave it to him. And Margaret told everyone I stole it.”
Now I understood. Their hatred thrived on the lie theyd crafted.
“They dont deserve your tears,” I said firmly. “And I wont let them hurt you again.”
That night, I made my choice. No more victim.
The next day, I called Aunt Margaret.
“You wanted clarity? Elizabeth isnt well. She wants her affairs settled. Come tomorrow at seven. Bring Sophie.”
“Has she decided something?” Greed tinged her voice.
“Oh, yes. Youll find it very interesting.”
At seven sharp, the doorbell rang. Margaret and Sophie swept in, triumphant.
Elizabeth sat calmly at the table. I stood beside her. A stranger in a suitMr. Harringtonoccupied the third chair.
“Good evening,” he said. “Elizabeth wished to make an official statement regarding her assets.”
“What assets?” Sophie scoffed.
“Elizabeth is the sole owner of three cottages in St. Ives. She also holds an investment portfolio worth” He paused. “Roughly twenty times the value of your current residence.”
Sophies jaw dropped.
“Thisthis is a mistake,” Margaret whispered.
“I lived as I chose,” Elizabeth said coolly. “Money prefers silence.”
Mr. Harrington continued, “Elizabeth is signing over all properties, financial assets, and this flat to her great-niece, Emily Whitaker. The business transfers to her as well.”
Sophie shrieked, “Why *her*?”
“Family, Sophie, isnt those who wait for you to die. Its those who bring you medicine in the night.”
Elizabeths gaze warmed as she looked at me.
“Emily saw *me*, not a paycheck. She never asked for a thing. So she gets everything.”
I signed without hesitation.
“This is illegal!” Margaret screeched. “Well sue!”
“All documents are notarized,” Mr. Harrington said calmly. “We also have recordings of your insurance assessor and every threatening call. Attempted fraud against an elderly person.”
He closed the file.
Game over.
“You did this to yourselves,” I said, holding the door open. “With your greed and lies. Get out.”
They left in silence. Crushed.
Elizabeth hugged me tightly. “Now, Emily. Weve estates to manage. Ready?”
I glanced at the map of Cornwall. Justice had been served.
Epilogue
Six months later, I quit my job. Managing three holiday cottages was a full-time endeavor.
Elizabethnow my “business guru”proved a brilliant mentor. Her council flat became our headquarters.
We didnt move. She loved her neighborhood. What changed wasnt the place, but how we felt in it. I bought a new car but still brought her groceries and books.
Margaret and Sophie sued. The case dragged on for months. They painted me as a manipulator, Elizabeth as senile. Mr. Harrington dismantled their claims with ease, presenting recordings and witnesses. They lost, buried in legal debt.
After that, they vanished. Rumor had it Margaret sold her flat. Moved somewhere cheap.
Once, Sophie called. Her hollow voice begged for forgivenessand money.
“Mums health No work Emily, were *family*”
I listened in silence. The old Emily was gone.
“Youre right, Soph. Were related. But were not family. Goodbye.”
I hung up. Some bridges must burn so they cant drag you back to hell.
