The Grand Prize
Elizabeth Carter was widowed at thirty-two, left with two children: a son, William, and a daughter, Eleanor.
She forbade herself from even thinking about love again. All the affection she had left was poured into her eldest, William. He was calm, obedientshe saw him as her future support in old age.
Eleanor, however, took after her fatherdreamy, impulsive, with a stubborn fire in her eyes. The girl refused to bend to her mothers harsh rules. Their conversations often turned into clashes.
“You should think about your future, not these silly poems!” Elizabeth would snap, snatching the notebook from Eleanors hands.
“And whats in this future? Working at the factory like you? Just surviving?” Eleanor shot back.
William, meanwhile, grew up adored. His mistakes were forgiven, his small victories treated as grand achievements. He quickly learned: his mother would always take his side. Shed do anything for himjust as long as he didnt upset her. He wasnt cruel, just clever enough to stay convenient.
Eleanor, worn down by the cold war with her mother, left at eighteen. She enrolled in teacher training college, got a room in the dorms. Rarely called, visited even less, and every trip ended in shouting.
Then, she vanished completely.
When neighbours asked about her, Elizabeth would frown and look away. William, if his mother brought up his sister, just shrugged. “She hated it here. Let her sort out her own life.” Hed married by then but still visited every Sundayenjoying a plate of his favourite roast, taking home a container of leftovers, and pocketing a bit of cash “for small expenses.”
Five years passed.
One day, Eleanor appeared on her mothers doorstep. Not alone. Clutching her skirt was a little girl with wide, curious eyes. Eleanor herself was thin as a shadow, coughing like her chest might split open.
“Whats this?” Elizabeth asked coldly, eyeing the child.
Turned out, Eleanor hadnt disappeared without reason. Shed hidden her pregnancy, then her daughters birthknowing her mother wouldnt approve. Worked two jobs, barely scraped by until her health gave out. Doctors offered no promises, just a little more time. Someone had to take care of little Emma
And so the circle closed. Eleanor had to return to the doorstep shed once been so desperate to leave.
Elizabeth let them in without a word. Not out of love, but duty. “What will people say if I turn away a sick daughter with a child?”that was what drove her.
They settled in the smallest room. Eleanor faded slowly. But Emma, like a weed pushing through concrete, began softening her grandmothers stony heart.
Elizabeth realised, to her surprise, this little girl wasnt afraid of her. Trusted her. Didnt expect cruelty. Loved her. Emma brought her scribbled drawings”for Gran Lizzie,” hugged her in the mornings, even tried to cheer her up when she frowned. At night, if Emma had a nightmare, she didnt run to her mothershe climbed into Grans stiff, wide bed.
Eleanor died quietly, as if shed never really lived.
And in the flat, two women remainedone old, with everything behind her, and one young, with everything ahead.
That was when the ice began to crack.
Elizabeth, whod spent her life fearing weakness, found it in herself. She taught Emma to bake scones, told old family stories (edited, of course, to skip the fights with her own mother), cried into her pillow at night, knowing how cold shed been to her daughter. Loving Emma was painfula late, guilty love, partly an apology.
William hated it.
“Mum, youre spoiling her!” he grumbled, watching her buy the girl a new dress. “Were not made of money.”
“Its my money!” Elizabeth snappedthe first time steel had ever edged her voice against him.
Years passed. Emma grew into the one person Elizabeth couldnt imagine life without. William visited less, his trips becoming mere formalities. Yet he was certain the flat and the cottage were rightfully hishis niece was “no real family,” not a direct heir.
Elizabeth noticed. Saw the way his eyes scanned the flat. How, after a drink, hed hint about “getting the paperwork in order.” Her heart, finally learning to love properly, achednot for herself, but for him. For the boy whod never grown up.
Her decision came quietly. No will to stir up trouble after her death. She was wiser than that.
One day, she took Emma to the bank and transferred her savings into the girls name. Not a fortune, just a lifetimes careful savingsmoney put aside for a rainy day that, thankfully, never came.
“Gran, you dont have to! I dont need anything!” Emma protested.
“Hush,” Elizabeth said firmly. “This isnt for you. Its for me. For my peace of mind. So I know youll always have your own bread on the table. So youll never depend on anyoneespecially themwhen Im gone.”
She suspected William would pressure Emma over the flat and cottage. If he succeeded, at least the money would keep her from ending up with nothing.
William lived in a cramped two-bed council flat on the citys outskirtshis wife Susans inheritance. Theyd never had the time or money for proper renovations. The place felt stuck in the late nineties, heavy with hopelessness.
His obsession was his mothers three-bed in a solid brick building downtown. High ceilings, ornate mouldings. To him, it wasnt just propertyit was justice. A reward hed earned.
First, hed never upset her. Second, it was his right. The good, devoted sonhed waited for it like his grand prize. His ticket to a better life. With it, he could pay off debts, maybe even save.
When the solicitor explained Emma had equal claim, William was stunned. Hed assumedas the only living direct heirit would all be his. Splitting it meant his dream was halved. The cottage wouldnt fetch much.
Whenever inheritance was mentioned, William transformed. His usual sullenness turned sharp, aggressive.
“Shes got no right!” hed shout, pacing the lounge. “Thats my flat! Mums flat! What share? Who does she think she isthis Emma?”
Susan kept knitting. Shed heard it all beforehow Eleanor had made everyone miserable, then crawled back with her baggage.
William measured everything in money. Yes, Emma helped Gran. But so had he! He brought groceries once a month, called the plumber, gave up his Sundays!
What had Emma done? Just lived there. She couldve been in care.
For six months, William plotted to fight for “what was his.” Called solicitors, showed up to “reason” with Emma. Threatened to drag her through court if she didnt move out.
After another round of humiliationhis threats to “pull strings,” leave her “with nothing”Emma surprised him.
She invited him and Susan for lunch. Set the table, made Grans favouritesthat same scone, that same vegetable soup.
“Uncle Will, Aunt Sue,” she said quietly, “Im giving you my share of the flat. Its yours. And Ive found a buyer for the cottage. If you agree, Ill take that money, leave, and never bother you again.”
The room went silent. Susan stopped chewing. William stared as if shed gone mad.
“Youre joking. Thats a third of whatand why would I let you have the cottage?”
“Gran wanted me to have a start. The cottages worth far less, isnt it? And you dont need it. Take the deal. I wont waste time on courts or fights.”
She stood and left. William sat, staring at the table. His whole scheme collapsed. No battlehed won nearly everything.
The solicitor, expecting a feud, was pleasantly surprised when they came to sign.
Emma, with Grans savings and the cottage money, bought a small studioeven had some left to invest. She often remembered that day at the bank. Felt grateful Gran had given her freedomand spared her from fighting for scraps.
