Emma stood by the window of her flat, watching the rain turn an October night into a smeared watercolor. Thirtythree felt like the age where miracles stop arriving, yet you still remember how they should look. She worked for a consulting firm, earned a respectable salary, and rented a spacious flat in a decent part of Manchester. Life was predictable, calm.
Her phone buzzed. Moms number flashed on the screen. Emma lowered the TV volume, took the call.
Emma, love, are you home? her mothers voice trembled.
Yes, Mum, Im here. Whats wrong?
Were coming over. Need to have a word.
A knot tightened in Emmas stomach. Whenever Mom and Dad said they were coming to talk, it always meant fresh trouble with Tom. Her younger brother, twentyfive, seemed to collect mishaps on purpose.
Half an hour later they were seated at her kitchen table. Her father stared at his hands, Mum fiddled with the strap of her bag.
Do you know what Toms gotten himself into? Mum began.
What exactly? Emma asked, trying not to jump to conclusions.
He hes in a bind. Remember when we gave him the money from selling the cottage? He bought a motorbike
Mum, weve already been over this. I warned you the cash should have stayed in a savings account, not handed to Tom straight away.
He promised! Mums voice slipped into a childish pitch. He was supposed to rent a flat, marry Lucy
Instead he blew it in bars, Lucy left him, and he bought the bike to heal his wounded soul, Emma replied. Got it?
Her father finally lifted his gaze.
He crashed into a car in the car park. A pricey one. A Porsche.
No insurance?
No, Mum said quietly. You know he always thinks nothing will ever happen to him.
Emma poured herself a cup of tea, keeping her irritation under wraps. Tom always believed fate would spare him because his parents always bailed him out.
How much?
Thirty thousand pounds, her mother exhaled. The owner is willing to let Tom pay in instalments, but we need to front half now or hell go to the bailiffs.
Emma nodded. It all made sense. The real drama was about to start.
Emma, darling, Mum reached for her hand, weve decided to sell your car.
My car?
Technically its registered to your father, Mum added hastily. We gave it to you when we sold the cottage. But Toms in trouble and youre still walking everywhere. Youre still young, still healthy.
Emma slipped her hand free.
Im not okay with that.
Sweetheart, this is family, Mum raised her voice. Tom is your brother! Hes tormented, cant sleep, has lost weight!
Mum, has he even tried to get a job? Maybe gone to the job centre?
What job can he find in a week? Mum looked at her bewildered. He cant just start earning that much straight away!
And I could lose my car in a week?
Her father finally spoke, his voice low but firm.
Emma, weve already decided. Your opinion doesnt matter now. The cars in my name, I can sell it whenever I want. I dont want to argue, but theres no choice.
Emma stared at the man who had taught her to ride a bike, read bedtime stories, and bragged about her university achievements. Now he told her her voice meant nothing.
Dad, she said slowly, choosing her words, what happens next time Tom lands in trouble?
There wont be a next time, her mother snapped back. He swore hed stop gambling, stop
Hes sworn that a dozen times already.
Emma, stop it! her mother began to sob. Hes your brother! How can you be so cruel?
Emma moved to the window. The rain hammered harder. She remembered half a year ago when Tom asked for money for the essentials and she gave him twenty thousand pounds. Hed spent it on new trainers and a night out with friends.
Listen, Emma turned to her parents, I have news. I transferred the car to my name last month.
Silence fell. Mum stopped crying, Father lifted his eyes.
How?
It was simple. I had a power of attorney from Dad when we were selling the cottage. I forged a deed of gift and reregistered the car in my name. I knew sooner or later it would be used to bail Tom out.
You you forged documents? Father stared, stunned.
Yes. And I dont regret it. Im tired of rescuing my brother from his own mistakes.
Mum clutched her chest.
Emma, how could you! Were family!
Thats exactly why I did it, Emma said, sitting back down. You never help Tom. You turn him into a dependent. At twentyfive he cant solve a single problem because he knows youll always sort it for him.
But hell end up in prison! Mum shrieked. Theyll lock him up!
He wont go to jail over debt. At worst theyll freeze his bank account, and he barely drives anywhere anyway. This will finally make him face the consequences of his actions.
Her father remained silent, staring at the table. Emma saw the battle raging inside him.
Emma, he finally whispered, please, sell the car. Well buy you a new one later.
When later? When Toms next disaster hits?
He wont hit again!
He will, Dad. He doesnt know how to live without leaning on us.
Sweetheart, Mum took her hands, what are you doing? Hes your brother!
Exactly why I wont give him money. Look at him. Twentyfive, lives at home, unemployed, gambling away the last of his savings. Hes deteriorating and you dont see it.
He just he just hasnt found himself yet, Mum said, uncertain.
At twentyfive you should be looking for yourself, or at least start.
Their parents left, achieving nothing. Emma stayed alone at the kitchen table, sipping cold tea. The phone was silentobviously theyd driven to Toms flat to deliver the bad news.
An hour later Tom called.
Emma, are you out of your mind? his voice trembled with anger. Do you know what youre doing?
I understand, Tom, Emma replied, hearing the strain in his voice for the first time in ages. I finally get it.
They might lock me up!
They wont. Debt doesnt land you in a cell.
Emma, please! This man is serious! Its my money! Where will I get it?
Where everyone gets moneywork.
What work? Who would want me?
You can drive, you can talk to people. Youve got hands, a brain. Youll find something.
In a week?
Maybe. Or you could negotiate a longer payment plan with the car owner. Adults usually give a chance if they see genuine effort.
Emma, Toms voice softened, why are you so hard on me? Anyone could have been in my shoes!
Not everyone, Tom. Not someone who never learned to drive properly and didnt even think about insurance!
He hung up.
The months that followed were harsh. Parents called rarely. When Emma visited, the house was thick with an unspoken weight. Mother sighed dramatically, father remained mute. Toms absence was felt in every sentence.
From scattered conversations Emma learned Tom was actually looking for work. He tried courier jobs, driving, loading. Eventually he landed a job at a garage washing cars and handing tools. The pay was meagre, but it was work.
Strangely, the owner of the wrecked Lexus was a fair man. Upon learning Tom was actually employed, he agreed to a longer instalment plan. Tom moved into a flat he shared with two other lads. Parents helped with the deposit but refused further cashEmma had forced that.
Mom, if you give him money hell quit straight away, Emma said during one of the few visits. Let him learn to rely on himself.
But he eats only a bowl of porridge, Mum complained. Hes gaunt, pale.
Hell find a better job. Or a side gig.
And indeed, after a few months Tom picked up a side hustle. In the evenings he dismantled old cars for parts; weekends he helped friends with minor repairs. He turned out to have a knack for mechanicshands that knew their way around engines, a mind that could figure out new systems.
Emma learned of this in bits, from her parents who gradually thawed. Mum still called her harsh, but father occasionally, with a shy pride, mentioned how Tom had repaired a neighbours car or helped a friend with wiring.
About a year after that kitchen showdown, there was a knock at Emmas door. She opened it to find Tom, sunkissed and a little tanned, holding a bouquet of chrysanthemums.
Hey, he said. Can I come in?
Emma stepped aside. Tom set the flowers on the countertop and sat in the same chair where her father had sat a year before.
Beautiful flowers, Emma noted. Chrysanthemums.
Thanks. He stared at his hands, now calloused, stained with grease, nails smudged with oil. Im here to thank you.
For what?
For not giving you the money.
Emma folded her arms.
Tell me then.
I started my own little garage in a spare garage space. I fix cars, sell parts. Im making decent money now. I even paid back that bloke I owed.
Congratulations.
You know, Tom lifted his gaze, I hated you back then. Thought you were selfish and cruel. I didnt get why you wouldnt help your own brother.
And now?
Now I see. If youd handed me cash, Id still have been waiting for you to sort my problems. Instead I had to grow up.
Emma nodded.
It was hard?
You cant imagine, Tom admitted honestly. The first months I wanted to quit every day. Working for pennies, living in a flat with strangers, skimping on food But then I got into it. I love working with my hands, I love fixing things.
Your parents dont interfere?
Mum now tells everyone my son is an entrepreneur. Tom chuckled. Dad sometimes drops by the garage, helps out, says hes proud.
They sat in quiet, watching each other. Tom looked older than his twentysix years, in a good way. Confidence steadied his movements, calm filled his eyes.
Emma, he said finally, I dont deserve forgiveness. Ive been a burden for years
You werent a burden, Tom. You were a spoiled kid. Those arent the same thing.
Maybe. But Im not a kid any more.
Not any more.
Tom stood and walked to the window, the same rainsoaked autumn evening, only a year later.
The strangest thing, he said without turning, is that Im happier now. I earn more, I have responsibilities, but Im happier. When you earn your own money, you spend it differently. When you solve your own problems, they stop feeling insurmountable.
Exactly, Emma replied. When youre in charge of your own life, the obstacles shrink.
And Ive met someoneKate. She works at a bank, solid, mature. Were thinking about moving in together.
Good for you.
Thanks. Emma, can I still drop by now and then? Just to talk. I miss you.
Of course.
They embraced, a tight, genuine hug like the ones from childhood before cars, debts, and grudges entered the picture.
By the way, I have a car now, Tom added, stepping back. A battered Toyota I rebuilt myself. Looks brand new.
Well done, Emma smiled.
Its thanks to you, for not letting me stay a child forever.
After Tom left, Emma lingered at the kitchen table, eyes on the chrysanthemumsbright yellow, full, with a sharp autumn scent.
She thought about how love for family can make you hurt them, how hard it is to say no when they ask for help, and how sometimes that no forces them to say yes to themselves.
Outside, the rain kept falling, no longer bleak but cleansing. It washed away old grudges, old fears, childish fantasies, making room for something new, mature, real.
Emma placed the flowers in a vase, switched on the kettle. Tomorrow would be another day, but tonight she felt grateful for the brother who finally learned to fix his own problemsand for the chance to watch him grow.
