**Diary Entry**
My sister kicked me out and changed the locks.
“Poppy, love, when are you going to make up your mind?” Marina tugged at the edge of the tablecloth, sitting at the kitchen table. “The estate agents have called me three times this week. The buyers are seriouscash in hand.”
Poppy stirred sugar into her tea without looking up. The teaspoon clinked monotonously against the glass, grating on the nerves.
“Are you even listening?” Marinas voice rose. “Or will you pretend this doesnt concern you?”
“It does,” Poppy said quietly. “Very much. But its your decision, not mine.”
Marina sighed, rubbing her temples. Since the divorce, life had turned upside down. Child support came irregularly, shed taken on two jobs, and now their mothers old flatleft to both sisterswas yet another problem.
“You know I need the money, Poppy. The car loan, my boy starting uni, tutors What do you suggest? Stay in this old flat until were pensioners?”
Poppy finally looked up. The exhaustion in her eyes was so deep Marina flinched.
“And where am I supposed to go, Marina? You at least have a joba salary. I was made redundant six months ago. Try finding decent work at forty-five.”
“Then look harder! Stop sitting around like a wet blanket!” Marina snapped. “Mum loved us both equally. The flats half yours. We sell, split the money, and sort ourselves out.”
Poppy stood and walked to the window. The familiar courtyard, the park where theyd played hopscotch as kids, the old bench where Mum liked to sit in the evenings
“Remember,” she said softly, “what Mum told me in hospital? She held my hand and said, *Poppy, youre the homely one. You need the flat more. Marinas strongshell manage. But you*”
“That was the morphine talking!” Marina cut in. “No wills, no special requestsits split by law.”
“I know. Thats why Ive said nothing.”
Marina watched her sister and felt the old resentment bubble up. Poppy, quiet and passive, while *she* bore the weight. At school, shed defended Poppy from bullies. When Poppy failed uni, shed pulled strings for a job. And after the disastrous marriage, whod listened to the tears?
“Fine,” Marina said sharply. “Youve got a month. Find work, rent a placegood. Otherwise, we sell. I wont wait longer.”
Poppy nodded without turning.
The month flew. Poppy went to interviews, answered ads, but they all wanted young, tech-savvy candidatesnot someone with twenty years in a defunct drafting office.
“Well?” Marina demanded the moment she stepped in.
“Nothing yet,” Poppy sighed. “But tomorrow, the librarys hiring”
“Enough!” Marina slapped the table. “Were signing the sale papers tomorrow. The buyers have paid the deposit.”
Poppy paled.
“Marina, just a little longer”
“No. Its done.” Marina pulled out the documents. “Ten oclock at the solicitors. Dont *dare* not show up.”
That night, Poppy didnt sleep. She wandered the flat, touching familiar things, staring at Mums photos. This was her whole life. And tomorrow
At dawn, Marina left for work. “Ill be back at nine. Well go together.”
Poppy was nursing cold tea when Mrs. Wilkins from next door knocked.
“Love, whys Marina changing the locks? A locksmith camesaid the owner ordered it.”
Poppys heart lurched. She ran to the door. Her key didnt fit. The new lock gleamed, mocking her.
Marinas phone rang and rang.
“Mrs. Wilkins,” Poppys voice shook, “may I use your phone?”
Marina answered on the third try.
“Yes?” Cold. Businesslike.
“Its me. Whats with the locks?”
“Oh, Poppy. Well, I changed them. Youre living in *my* flat now. *Mine.* I decide who stays.”
“*Ours.* It was *ours*!”
“Was. Now its mine. The deeds signed. I forged your signatureremember in school, when youd do my homework? Similar handwriting.”
The floor vanished beneath Poppy.
“Youyou cant! Thats fraud! Ill sue!”
“Go ahead,” Marina said flatly. “Prove it. The solicitors my friend. The buyers connected. No witnesses. Whod believe Id forge my own sisters name?”
“But *how*, Marina? Were *family*!”
“Which is why I put up with you this long. But no more. I need money, not dead weight.”
“Where do I go? What do I do?”
“Figure it out. Youre an adult.”
The line died. Poppy stood in a strangers hallway, numb. Mrs. Wilkins touched her shoulder gently.
“Love, whats happened?”
Between sobs, Poppy told her. The old woman tutted, shaking her head.
“Lord above. Turning out your own sister Stay with me tonight. Well sort something.”
Three days passed. Marina never called. Never asked. As if Poppy no longer existed.
On the fourth day, Mrs. Wilkins bustled in, beaming.
“Remember Mrs. Thompson from flat 10? Her daughters back from Americataking her mum to live there. Needs someone to mind the place while its being sold. Just cover the bills and keep it tidy. What dyou say?”
Salvation. Poppy hugged her.
“Dont slack off, though,” Mrs. Wilkins warned. “Find work. Stand on your own feet.”
Poppy nodded fiercely. She *wanted* to live.
The flat was bright, spacious. Mrs. Thompson showed her where everything washow to water the plants, feed the cat, which pills he needed.
“I dont know you, dear,” she admitted, “but if Mrs. Wilkins vouches, thats good enough.”
That evening, Poppy sat in the new kitchen, tea in hand. Rain tapped the window. The cat purred on the sill. For the first time in months, she felt calm.
A knock made her jump.
Marina stood there, drenched, hair wild.
“Can I come in?”
Poppy stepped aside.
Marina eyed the kitchen. “Nice place. Better than our old flat.”
“Its temporary.”
“I know. Mrs. Wilkins told me.”
Silence. Marina twisted her handbag strap. Poppy studied the tablecloth.
“Toms ill,” Marina blurted. “Pneumonia. Hospitalised.”
Poppy looked up. “What do the doctors say?”
“Bad case. Expensive meds, treatments” Marinas voice cracked. “The flat moneys gone. Sold the car. Everything.”
“Why tell *me*?”
“I dont know,” Marina admitted. “Maybe so youd know it wasnt for handbags or holidays.”
Poppy stood and filled the kettle. “Tea?”
They drank in silence. Marina kept glancing at her sister, hesitating.
“Poppy I know what I did was vile. No excuses. But I was desperate.”
“You couldve *talked* to me.”
“Would you have listened? Every time I mentioned selling, you acted like I was murdering you.”
“Maybe. But forgerys a *crime*, Marina.”
“I know. I think about it every night. Especially now, with Tom” She turned to the window.
The anger drained from Poppy, leaving hollow pity.
“How is he?”
“A little better. But not out of danger.”
“Send him my love. Tell him Im praying.”
Marina nodded and stood. “I should go. Thanks for the tea.”
At the door, she paused.
“Poppy will you ever forgive me?”
“I dont know. Not yet.”
After she left, Poppy sat for hours, listening to the clock tick, the cat purr. Life went on.
A week later, Mrs. Wilkins called.
“Toms worse! Marinas beside herself. Says the treatment costs are crippling.”
Poppy said nothing.
“Youre just abandoning her? Shes still your blood.”
“Mrs. Wilkins, what can *I* do? Ive no money.”
“Its not about money, love. She needs *you*. Her husbands gone, friends vanished when trouble came. Youre all she has.”
That evening, Poppy went to the hospital. Marina sat on a hard bench, clutching her bag. Shed aged, eyes sunken.
“How is he?” Poppy asked, sitting beside her.
Marina startled. “Poppy? Why?”
“Mrs. Wilkins told me.”
