You ought to be grateful we even put up with you, my sisterinlaw snarled across the Christmas table.
Is that it? Emily pinched the corner of the modest gift bag with two fingers. Seriously? A set of kitchen towels? Mother, look at this generosity.
Emily, stop, Margaret, the birthday girl, pressed her lips together, her eyes flashing a cold approval. Your sisterinlaw tried.
Tried? Emily laughed, tossing the bag onto a chair. Three pounds from the nearest discount shop? She could at least be generousshe lives here on a free board, pays not a penny for the flat.
Helen felt the colour rush to her cheeks. She stood by the alreadyset table shed been preparing since dawn, feeling like a schoolgirl caught after school. Her tenyearold son, James, sat beside her, his eyes dropping into his plate. He understood everything already.
I thought it was practical, Helen whispered, not looking up. The old ones were worn out
Practical? Emily leaned back, the picture of confidence that had once been Andrews younger sister. You know what would be practical? If you found a decent job and moved out. Thered be more room in this house.
The only sound that broke the tension was the clatter of a fork James dropped. He jumped up and fled the room without a word. Helen flinched, ready to follow, but Margarets stern voice halted her.
Where are you going? Sit down. Youve already riled the boy; any more and hell burst into tears. A mans supposed to act like a man, not a child.
Helen sat, a chill spreading through her. She stared at the empty chair where Andrew had sat five years earlier. He would never have spoken to her like that. He would have put her sisterinlaw in her place with one look. But Andrew was gone, and she was alone in this big, unfamiliar house where every crust of bread seemed to have been earned through humiliation.
The celebration was ruined. Distant relatives and neighbours pretended nothing had happened, but conversations grew softer and the glances they threw at Helen were full of awkward pity. She smiled mechanically, refilled glasses with orange juice, cleared empty plates. She just wanted the day to end.
When the last guests left, Emily, already gathering her things with her husband, paused at the door.
I hope you understand Im not doing this out of spite, she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. Im just saying what I think. You should be grateful we even tolerate you after everything. For Andrews memory, and for Mothers sake.
The door slammed. Helen was left alone in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes. Margaret slipped silently into her bedroom, saying nothing. Fatigue pressed down on Helen like lead. She slumped onto a stool and wept silently, head in her handsnot from hurt, which shed almost grown used to, but from helplessness.
Late that night, after washing the kitchen, she slipped into Jamess room. He lay facedown on the floor, eyes open.
James, love, are you sleeping? she whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Mum, why does Aunt Emily hate us? he asked without turning.
Helen ran her fingers through his hair, searching for words. How could she explain this tangled, suffocating web of family relations to a child?
She isnt angry, shes just difficult. She misses Dad a lot, just like we do.
Dad would have scolded her, James said confidently. He wouldnt have let her hurt you.
Yes, he wouldnt have, Helen agreed, feeling a lump rise in her throat. Sleep now, love. School tomorrow.
She kissed his forehead and left. She had no private bedroom; after Andrews death she and James lived in what had been his childhood roomsmall and cramped. Their former master bedroom now sat empty, turned by Margaret into a memorial room where everything remained as it had when her son was alive. Only Margaret was allowed inside.
The house, once spacious and cosy, had become Helens golden cage. It belonged to Andrews parents. After his fatherinlaw died, Margaret became the rightful owner. Helen, Andrew, and little James had lived there from the start; Andrew never wanted his ageing mother left alone. He worked hard, earned well, and his income covered everyone. When he was gone, the modest savings ran out quickly. Helen, a qualified accountant who hadnt worked for years, could only find a parttime job as a callcentre operator to pick James up from school. The pay was tiny, almost all spent on clothes for James, school supplies and other expenses. They survived on Margarets handouts, and that was Emilys trump card.
The next morning Margaret acted as if yesterdays argument never happened. She sat at the kitchen table, sipping tea and reading the paper.
Good morning, Helen said quietly, setting a saucepan of porridge for James on the stove.
Margaret nodded, eyes still on the print.
Im off to my friends cottage for a couple of days. The fridge is stocked, just look after the house and dont forget to water the plants in the sitting room.
Will do, Margaret.
When Margarets door closed behind her, Helen breathed a longoverdue sigh of relief. Two days of silence. Two days without sharp looks and poisonous remarks.
She walked James to school and returned to the empty house. With a watering can in hand she tended the many plants Margaret adored. In the sitting room, on an old chest of drawers, stood photographs: a young Andrew, smiling; a tiny picture of Andrew and Emily; and the one that always tightened her heartAndrew and Helen on their wedding day, happy and hopeful.
Her eyes fell on the closed door of the former bedroom, the memorial room. She was told not to enter, but curiosity won. She knew she was doing something wrong, yet an irresistible pull drove her inside.
The door was unlocked. Helen stepped in cautiously, listening for any sound. The air was stale, smelling of dust and mothballs. Everything was exactly as it had been: the double bed with its silk cover, the dressing table with perfume bottles shed never dared take, Andrews bookcase.
She moved toward the shelf. Andrew had loved to readclassics, history, fantasy. Her fingers brushed the spines of familiar volumes. A thick folder, hidden among Tolstoys works, caught her eye. She didnt recall it. She slipped it out and placed it on the table. The cover simply read: Documents.
Her heart raced. Inside were old papers, receipts, Andrews birth certificate, and, among them, a will. It had been drawn up by her fatherinlaw, Igor Nikolaevich, six months before his death.
Helen read, her eyes skimming the lines. In plain black ink it stated that the house they were living in was bequeathed not to his wife but to his son, Andrew Nikolaevich, on one condition: his wife, Margaret, could live there for life. There was no mention of Emily at all.
She sank onto the edge of the bed, hands trembling. It meant that after Andrews death the sole heir to the house was his son, James. As his legal guardian until he came of age, Helen was the defacto owner. Margaret had known this and had hidden it all these years.
She slipped the folder back into the cupboard, shut the door and left, a fog clouding her mind. What now? Hand the will over? Start a scandal? Confront Emily when she discovered she had no rights to the house? The thought made Helens stomach churn. She didnt want war; she only wanted peace for herself and her son.
For two days she moved through the house like a ghost, turning the new knowledge over in her mind. She could immediately assert her rights, hire a solicitor, prove the will had been concealed. But then what? Live under the same roof with people who would hate her even more? Or evict the elderly Margaret, the mother of her late husband? Andrew would never have approved.
When Margaret returned, Helen met her with a calm exterior. She helped carry bags, poured tea. Margaret chatted about her friends cottage and the seedlings shed bought. Helen nodded, all the while thinking how brilliantly she played the part of the dutiful daughterinlaw.
That evening, alone together in the kitchen, Helen finally spoke.
Margaret, we need to talk, she said, keeping her voice steady.
Margaret raised an eyebrow.
About what?
About the house, Helen replied. I know about Igor Nikolaevichs will.
A long, ringing silence followed. Margaret set her teacup down slowly, her face hardening.
Youve been rummaging through my things? she asked, voice as cold as ice.
I found the folder by accident in Andrews old roomthe memorial room, Helen answered.
Dont you dare speak like that! Margaret snapped. That was my sons room!
Our sons, Helen corrected. My things are still in there. It was our bedroom.
They stared at each other, neither blinking. Finally Margaret asked, her voice metallic, And what do you want? Throw me out? Sell the house and leave?
No, Helen said. Im not looking to sell. This is Jamess house. Its his fathers and his grandfathers. I just want the humiliation to stop. I want Emily to stop treating me and my son as if were strangers in our own home. Legally, this house is ours.
Margaret breathed heavily, shoulders slumping.
I did this for the family, she whispered. I never wanted Emily to end up with nothing after my death. I thought wed all live together as one family.
We never became a family, Margaret, Helen replied. It turned into a boarding house where my son and I are guests with no rights. Andrew would never have let it go on like this. He loved his sister, but he would never have allowed her to behave this way.
Margaret turned to the window, her eyes distant.
What will you do now?
Nothing, Helen said. Ill leave the will where it is. I wont start legal battles. But I need you to speak to Emily and change how you both treat us. James is your only grandchild; he shouldnt grow up feeling like an unwanted guest.
The next day was Saturday. By lunchtime, as usual, Emily arrived with her husband and their little daughter. Helen set the table, feeling the tension thickening the air. Margaret sat silently, her face pale.
Mom, why are you so sour today? Emily chirped, plopping onto a chair. Did your tenant mood ruin everything again?
Emily, shut up, Margaret snapped, sharper than ever before.
Emily stared, confused.
Whats that supposed to mean?
I want you to apologise to Helenfor yesterday and for everything that came before.
Emilys face stretched.
What? Apologise? To her? Mum, are you out of your mind? For what? For speaking the truth?
Thats not true, Margarets voice trembled. Helen and James arent guests. This house belongs to them.
Emily turned slowly toward Helen, then back at her mother, bewilderment flickering to anger in her eyes.
What are you talking about? This is your house! Dads house!
It was left to Andrew, Margaret said quietly but firmly. After Andrew, it passed to James.
A dead silence fell over the kitchen. Emilys husband froze, fork halfway to his mouth. Emily stared at her mother as if seeing her for the first time.
You you knew? All this time you kept quiet? You let us believe she was nobody?
I did what I thought was best, Margaret murmured. For the family
For the family?! Emily shrieked, leaping to her feet. What family? Youve been lying to me all these years! And you she jabbed a finger at Helenyou knew and said nothing! Playing the poor relative?
I only found out two days ago, Helen said calmly.
Youre lying! Youre in on it together! Youve both conspired against me! Emily shouted, grabbing her bag. Im not stepping foot in this house again!
She stormed out, her husband trailing behind, slamming the front door.
Margaret sat, hands covering her face, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. James, who had been watching from the corner, walked over and took Helens hand.
Helen placed a comforting hand on Margarets shoulder.
Dont cry, Margaret. Itll be alright.
The old woman lifted her tearfilled, bewildered eyes.
Shell never forgive me.
She will, Helen said firmly. Shes your daughter. She just needs time. We all need time.
Helen didnt know if she was telling the truth or what tomorrow would bring. Yet, looking at her son clutching her hand and at the broken woman who had deceived everyone, including herself, Helen felt for the first time in five years that she was not a victim but the master of her own home and destiny. The road ahead would be hard, but she now knew she had the right to fight for her place in the sun. She would fightfor herself and for James.
