The air was thick with unspoken demands as my mothers voice cut through the silence. “Your father wouldve expected you to look after your siblings,” she said, her words laced with obligation, stitching her childrens futures into the fabric of my guilt.
Emily drove slowly through the winding lanes of her hometown, the years spent in London softening the edges of memory. The GPS guided her to her mothers terraced house, its brick façade weathered by time. The door swung open before she could knock. Her mother stood there, older now, weariness etched into her face.
“So, youve finally decided to visit,” Margaret Holloway said flatly. “Come in.”
Emily stepped inside. The narrow hallway was crowded with teenagersher half-siblings, Oliver and Sophieeyeing her with poorly hidden curiosity.
“Kids, this is Emily,” their mother announced. “Your sister.”
Sophie, fourteen and sharp-eyed, studied Emilys designer coat, the leather handbag, the polished bootsall marks of a life far removed from theirs.
“Shes got a posh car,” Sophie muttered to Oliver.
“Quiet, Sophie,” Margaret snapped.
A balding man emerged from the kitchenthe stepfather, Robert. He gave Emily a curt nod, his gaze lingering on her watch. The living room was a patchwork of worn furniture, the telly outdated. Emily sat, absorbing the scene.
“Were not exactly rolling in it,” her mother began.
Emily nodded.
“Roberts a foreman at the factory,” Margaret continued. “Wages arent what they used to be. The kids need things.”
Oliver slouched in the corner, glued to his cracked phone screen. Sophie fiddled with the frayed cuff of her jumper.
“Mum, when am I getting proper trainers?” Sophie blurted. “Everyone at school has decent ones, and Im stuck with these.”
“Not now, Sophie,” Margaret hissed.
The air grew heavier.
“Long journey?” Robert asked.
“A bit,” Emily admitted.
“And your job in Londongoing well?” her mother pressed.
“Yes. Fine.”
“I heard your father left you the firm,” Margaret ventured. “Must be doing alright?”
Emily exhaled. The meeting with the companys director still lingered in her mindthe sheer scale of the business, turnover in the millions.
“Its doing well,” she said.
Robert and Margaret exchanged a glance. Something hungry flashed in their eyes.
“Emily, can we talk?” her mother asked. “Privately.”
They retreated to the bedroom. Margaret shut the door.
“Love, you see how we live,” she whispered. “Sophie needs a maths tutor. Oliver wants coding lessons.”
Emily stayed silent.
“Roberts facing layoffs,” Margaret pressed on. “Were at wits end. And now youve come into all this money”
“Mum, Ive only just arrived,” Emily said gently. “Lets give Dad a proper send-off first.”
“Of course,” Margaret agreed, though her tone tightened. “But familys family. Your father always said blood comes first.”
Emily nodded. Arguing was pointless.
Back in the living room, she caught the tail end of a hushed discussion. Robert was murmuring to the children. They fell silent when she entered.
“Staying long?” Robert asked.
“Not sure. Need to sort Dads affairs.”
“Is the house he left big?” Sophie piped up.
“Sophie!” Margaret scolded.
“What? Just asking,” Sophie shrugged.
Oliver finally looked up from his phone. “Your dad had that building firm, yeah? Must be minted now.”
Emily studied themthe unspoken hunger, the fixation on her money. No one asked how she was coping. No one cared.
“Right, Ill check into a hotel,” Emily said, standing.
“What hotel?” Margaret protested. “Youre home! Stay here.”
“No, Mum. Id rather be alone.”
Margaret walked her out, pulling her into a stiff hug. “Think on what I said. Familys everything.”
Emily left with a sinking heart. The next day, she buried her father. The service was quiet. Margaret and her brood kept their distance.
Afterward, Margaret cornered her. “Come for dinner tomorrow. Auntie Val and Uncle Pete are coming. Family matters to discuss.”
Emily agreedrefusing wouldve been awkward.
The following evening, the table was set, the relatives solemn. Auntie Val and Uncle Pete watched her like hawks.
“Sit, Emily,” Margaret instructed.
The tension was palpable. Sophie and Oliver stole glances at her.
“Weve been thinking,” Margaret began. “Your father was a fair man. Family mattered to him.”
Auntie Val nodded. “John always said kin should stick together.”
“Wheres this going?” Emily asked carefully.
Uncle Pete cleared his throat. “Youve inherited a fortune. Your brother and sister are struggling.”
“Its not right,” Auntie Val cut in. “One child rolling in it, the others scraping by.”
Emily stiffened.
“We think,” Margaret said, “you ought to share. At least half.”
“What?” Emilys voice was thin.
“Whats wrong with that?” Robert shrugged. “A proper daughter wouldnt leave her family in the lurch.”
“Your father wouldve wanted you to help them,” Margaret said coldly.
Sophies eyes gleamed with hope. Olivers jaw clenched.
“Youve been in London ten years,” Auntie Val added. “Never lifted a finger for us. Nows your chance.”
“Fairs fair,” Uncle Pete said. “The kids deserve their share.”
Emily scanned the roomtheir expectant stares, the unspoken demand.
“I dont owe you anything,” she said quietly.
“How can you say that?” Margaret exploded. “Were your blood!”
Emily replied, “If Dad wanted you to have it, hed have put it in his will. He never mentioned you. Not once. You were strangers. I was his only child.”
Margarets face darkened.
“So thats it? Youll turn your back on us?”
“Not exactly”
“Prove it, then!” Margaret shouted. “Give them their due!”
Robert leaned in. “Be reasonable. Youve got millions. Were barely getting by.”
“Sophies off to uni soon,” Auntie Val said. “No money for it.”
“Oliver needs a proper computer,” Uncle Pete added.
Emily met their staresSophies tearful resentment, Olivers simmering fury.
“Choose,” Margaret spat. “Share the inheritance, or lose your family for good.”
Silence. Emily stood.
“No,” she said firmly.
Margarets chair crashed to the floor as she leaped up. “Have you no shame? How can you look at them and refuse?”
“Selfish cow!” Auntie Val shrieked. “Ten years gone, and now this?”
“Cold-hearted,” Robert muttered, shaking his head. “I thought you had some decency left.”
Sophie burst into tears. “We hoped and you just”
Olivers voice shook with rage. “You swan about in your flash car! That bag costs more than our food bill! And were stuck with rags!”
“The lads right,” Robert said. “Youre living it up while were drowning.”
Emily moved to leave, but Margaret blocked her. “Walk out now, and dont come back! Youre no daughter of mine!”
“Ill tell the whole village!” Auntie Val threatened. “Everyonell know you abandoned your kin!”
“Neighbours, shops, the lot!” Margaret raged. “Your namell be mud!”
“And your business?” Roberts voice turned icy. “Ive got mates. Well make sure you regret this.”
“Go on, then!” Sophie sobbed. “Piss off and never come back! We dont need you!”
“Disgrace!” Uncle Pete roared. “Your fatherd be ashamed!”
Emily shoved past. The shouts chased her down the hall:
“I curse you!” Margaret screamed. “May you die alone!”
“Youll rot in your money!” Auntie Val yelled.
The door slammed. The noise bled through the walls.
A year later, Emily lived in her fathers house, the locks changed, the rooms orderly. Margaret still turned away when they crossed paths. The siblings glowered. Neighbours whispered.
“Stingy cow,” they muttered. “Chose cash over family.”
“No heart,” the old women tutted.
But Emily didnt care. The firm thrived. She built homes, created jobs. Her fathers legacy lived.
She remembered why her parents splither dad scraping by, her mother running off with Robert when he had money. Her father never forgave it. He poured everything into herraising her, sending her to London, helping her succeed. He never spoke of Margarets new family.
Now Margaret pretended the past didnt exist, her hands outstretched for a piece of what her father built. Emily wouldnt dismantle his life
