A late-night call revealed my daughter’s voice.
The phone rang well past midnight. I picked up the receiver and heard my daughters frantic tone.
“Mum, its me, Emily. Ive got a problem! My husband just threw me out. Im coming over with Dad tomorrow morningIll stay at home.”
“Listen, Emily,” I replied calmly, “you no longer have parents or a home.”
“What?” she interrupted sharply. “What did you say? What do you mean theres no home? Im your only daughter! I have a right to this flat!” Emily shrieked hysterically into the phone.
“Thats just how it is,” I answered evenly. “You have no flat. We gave it to Sophieshe owns it now. And Dad and I want nothing to do with you. Youre not our daughter anymore. Dont call again. Youve lost everything.”
I ended the call firmly. After what Emily had done, I had every right to say it.
Staring out the window, I suddenly remembered how our story had also begun with a phone call.
That fateful call came early one morning. I leapt out of bed and rushed to the landline.
“Hello?”
A choked sob echoed down the line.
“Yes, hello? Who is this?”
“Margaret, its me, Alice.”
“Alice, you frightened me! Do you know what time it is?”
“I do. Margaret, Im being admitted to hospital today for an operation, and Im terrified for my daughter. Please, I beg you and Thomas, dont abandon Sophieshes still so young. Dont send her to an orphanage.”
My sister Alice had always been eccentric, full of wild ideas and unpredictable actions. But this time, shed crossed a line.
I twisted the phone cord nervously, sensing something deeply wrongsomething I couldnt yet grasp. Fear prickled down my spine.
“Alice, why didnt you tell me sooner? Whats happening? Where are they taking you?”
Alice had been ill for years but never made a fuss. Last month, the pain worsened. She lost weight, her face drawn and pale. The diagnosis was grim. She needed urgent surgery but hesitated to burden me.
I already helped her constantlygave her money, acted as a second mother. And now she was dumping her problems on me again, along with her young daughter.
“Margaret, they cant guarantee the outcome. Please dont abandon Sophie.”
An hour later, we arrived at the hospital. The operation hadnt started yet, but we werent allowed to see Alice. In the corridor, little Sophie sat curled up in a chair. I knelt and hugged her.
“Are they going to hurt Mummy?” she whispered, eyes brimming with tears.
“No, darling. Mummy wont feel a thingshell be asleep.”
Four hours later, the doctor emerged to tell us my younger sister had died.
We took Sophie home. I walked into my daughters room and explained that Sophies mother had passed awayshed now be sharing a room with Emily. Emily glared but stayed silent.
Ten days later, Emily threw Sophies belongings into the hall and barred her from the room. Reasoning with my daughter was impossible. She dug in her heels, vowing to toss Sophies things out every time we tried.
To keep the peace, we gave our niece our bedroom and moved into the living room.
Sophie was an orphan. Alice had never revealed who her father was. Now her fate rested entirely with us. So we never treated Emily and Sophie differentlyboth were our daughters.
Time passed. Emily graduated university and married. Her husband, Richard, was wealthy and much older. Neither fact bothered her. She packed her bags and moved in with him swiftly.
A month later, she announced the wedding.
“Mum, just dont bring that little favourite of yoursthe sycophant. I dont want her there.”
“Emily, you cant behave like this. Sophie is your sister, and excluding her insults us.”
“Shes not coming to my wedding!” Emily snapped.
“Then your father and I wont be there either.”
“Perfect! Deal!”
I burst into tears but quickly steadied myself, deciding Thomas and I would escape to Brighton instead.
“What about Emilys wedding?” Thomas asked, bewildered.
“Nothing. We werent invited.”
“Sophie, help me find a nice seaside retreat.”
“Were going on holiday?” Sophie asked.
“Yes, love. We can afford it.”
“Hooray!” she cheered, spinning around the room.
The three of us stayed close. Sophie finished school and excelled, securing a place at university to study Architecture. Her mother, Alice, had been a brilliant painter, well-known in her field. Sophie followed in her footsteps.
“Or her fathers,” Thomas often mused, suspecting a certain local figure might be Sophies dad.
I ignored that. Sophie was ours.
A year later, we celebrated Sophies 18th birthdaythe same day Thomas collapsed, pale and unconscious. An ambulance rushed him to hospital.
The doctor delivered grim news. Thomas was critically ill. Only an expensive imported drug could save himavailable in three days, at a staggering cost. Desperate, I called Emily, knowing Richard could lend the money.
She answered. I explained our crisis.
“Emily, darling, your fathers ill. He needs this medicine urgentlythe price is unthinkable. Could you lend us the amount?”
Silence. Just as I began repeating myself, she spoke.
“Alright, Mum. Ill talk to Richard and call you back.”
An hour later, she did.
“Mum, listen Richards finally buying me that new carhe promised ages ago. But theres a catch. Its either the car or lending you the money.”
“Emily, love, well repay youevery penny.”
“Dont be daft. When would that be? Bit by bit? Id never see that car in my dreams!”
“Do you hear yourself? Your father could die. He needs your help.”
“I cant help. Get a loan if youre so desperate. The world doesnt revolve around you.”
The receiver slipped from my hand. I nearly fainted.
“Aunt Margaret, whats wrong?”
Sophie caught me before I fell, holding me as I sobbed.
“Listen, Aunt Margaretlets sell Mums flat. I cant stand being there five minutes anyway. Dont argueUncle Thomass life matters most. Well price it low, get the deposit to the doctors fast.”
“My dear, we cantits yours. What would your mother think, me taking advantage?”
“Aunt Margaret, youre smarter than this! Is now really the time to wonder? Uncle Thomas is in danger. Thats what matters. We must act quickly and wisely.”
I hugged her, overwhelmed with gratitude. She was rightthis was Thomass only chance.
We listed the flat that day. It sold quickly for a fair price. The buyer paid a deposit, allowing us to secure the medicine before the paperwork finalized.
Two days later, the drug arrived. It worked. Sophie had saved Thomas. Within a month, he fully recovered. Our joy was boundless.
Once Thomas was well, we transferred the flat to Sophies name. The solicitor updated the deeds. She was deeply moved. The leftover money went into savings.
We lived happily togetheruntil that late-night call.
Emily, abandoned by Richard, demanded to come home.
I refused.
“We have only one daughterSophie,” I said, hanging up.
A few years later, Sophie married James, a successful farmer with a sprawling country estate. He planned to open a cannery.
She invited us to live with them, but we preferred visiting weekly. Our room was always readyneat and welcoming. Thomas and James bonded over fishing. He helped manage the land. Sophie designed the cannery.
We lived in harmonya happy family, if not always under one roof. We only remembered Emily on her wedding day, the same day Thomas and I had escaped to Brighton years earlier. Sophie sometimes joined us on those trips.
Every year on that date, I wondered how Id raised such a selfish girlone who valued a luxury car over our lives. And Sophie, orphaned so young, cherished us above all, willing to sacrifice everything for our happiness.
