Once upon a time in a quiet village in Yorkshire, there lived a family whose bonds were tested by greed and stubbornness.
“How can you speak like that? Hes a living soulyour husbands own brother!” Margaret clutched her apron, her voice trembling.
“Ill say it againId sooner burn that money than give it to him! What good would it do anyway? If he wont look after his own health, why should I?” retorted Emily, the younger daughter-in-law, folding her arms with a stubborn tilt of her chin.
Margaret could scarcely breathe for indignation. Beside her, her younger son, Edward, rubbed his temples, his jaw tight. He was a steady man, never one to panic, always reasoning before reacting.
“Emily, this isnt the way! Lifes longtoday you help him, tomorrow he might help you,” Margaret pleaded, though the words seemed wasted on the cold-hearted woman before her.
“Oh, spare me! That glutton? Hes up to his ears in debt!”
“Not everything is measured in pounds and pence,” sighed Margaret. “If you love Edward, at least respect his brother. Im not asking you to sit by his bedside!”
“Margaret, forgive me, but we have our own plans,” Emily replied coolly. “Were saving for our daughters future. Unlike Geoffrey, she still has a chance to make something of herself.”
Margarets cheeks burned. The way Emily spoke of her eldest sonas though he were dirt beneath her shoe! But Geoffrey was no wastrel. He was a good husband, a devoted father, never straying, never shirking. An ordinary man, like thousands of others.
Edward, on the other hand, had always been ambitious. From boyhood, hed dreamed of rising above the common lot, finding his place in the sun. Hed chosen dentistry not from passion but for profit, and in time, hed made a comfortable living. Hard work, long hours, difficult patientsbut he lived well.
Geoffrey, though not wealthy, was no pauper. He had a car, albeit bought on credit, and a modest home inherited from his grandmother. Yet he had one weakness: his love of rich food. Pastries, bread slathered with butterhe skipped breakfast only to feast at supper, spending his weekends idle. His mother often chided him”Geoffrey, more greens, less gravy!”but she never truly feared for him. Not until the day he collapsed, his heart failing.
The doctors verdict was grim: “A strict dietlikely for life.”
Geoffrey, at first, paid no heed. He endured the pain, ignored follow-ups, abandoned his medicine. When pressed, hed wave a hand”Im fine.”
“Clara, you must make him see sense!” Margaret begged his wife.
“Ive tried! Hes stubborn as a mule. I throw out the butter, he buys more. Says hell stop eating at home if I force rabbit food on him,” Clara sighed.
It was clearuntil Geoffrey chose to change, no one could help him. But Emilys disdain ran deeper than frustration. She despised him.
“I dont know why you bother. Let him dig his own grave,” she sniffed once, overhearing Margaret and Edwards worries.
Margaret told herself Emily was merely strong-willed, that harsh words might shock sense into him. But in her heart, she knew: the woman was cruel.
It showed in everything. Emily never shared, never helped. If Margaret asked for aid, excuses flowedtoo busy, unwell, promised to her own mother. She never lifted a finger in Margarets garden yet never missed a barbecue. When their daughter needed minding, Emily called Margaret before her own mother.
For years, Margaret held her tongue. But nownow she feared for Edward.
Days earlier, Geoffrey had suffered another attack. Surgery was needed, recovery would be long. For once, fear had touched him. He barely ate, spoke little.
Margaret rang Clara. “How are you managing?”
“Oh, Margaret Its terrifying. The billsmedicines, tests, the operation And you know how the NHS can be.”
“Dont fret, dear. Well manage. Hes family.”
Relieved, Margaret called Edward and Emily, certain theyd help. But Emily refusedfirmly.
“His gluttony, his debtswhy should I pay?” she snapped.
Margarets voice turned icy. “Do you not see? If we turn away now, Geoffrey may have no future at all.”
Emilys lips thinned. “He gorged himself for yearslet him suffer the consequences!” With that, she stormed out.
Edward didnt follow. He sat, fists clenched, silent.
“Edward” Margaret hesitated. “Today she refused your brother. What if tomorrowGod forbidits you needing help?”
“I know, Mother.” His voice was quiet, firm. “Ill help Geoffrey. But Emily Im not sure I can share my life with someone so heartless.”
That evening, Edward sent Emily awaynot home, but to her parents. She raged, threatened divorce, called him a mothers boy. But he stood firm.
He filed first. Emily waited, expecting him to crawl back. When he didnt, she threatened to take their daughter.
“Youll never see her again!”
“Dont be absurd,” Edward scoffed. “You havent asked after her once since we parted.”
In the end, she took his carthe price of her silence.
Margaret never saw Emily again. Rumor had it shed grown bitter, dining now at cheap eateries, her once-luxurious habits gone.
“Any regrets?” Margaret asked Edward once.
“None. If helping my brother was a crime to her, we were never suited.”
Edward thrived, raising his daughter with Margarets aid. Geoffrey, too, found his wayhis surgery successful, his health renewed. He walked now, ate wisely, his family closer than ever.
As for Emily? Shed grasped too greedilyand ended with nothing.
