Sweetie, weve decided to sell your car your brothers in trouble and youll have to walk everywhere, the mother announced, fully expecting the daughters retort.
Emma Clarke stood by the window of her flat, watching the rain turn an October evening in London into a blurry watercolor. Thirty was the age when you stop expecting miracles, yet you still remember what theyre supposed to feel like. She worked for a consulting firm, earned a decent salary, and rented a spacious flat in a respectable neighbourhood. Life was predictable and calm.
Her phone buzzed. It was her mothers number. Emma sighed, turned the TV down, and answered.
Emma, love, are you home? her mothers voice sounded nervous. Were on our way over. We need to talk.
Emma felt a knot form in her stomach. Whenever Mom and Dad came over to talk, it always meant fresh trouble with Tom, her younger brother, who at twentyfive seemed to have a hobby of collecting mishaps.
Half an hour later they were all sitting at her kitchen table. Her father stared at his hands, while her mother fidgeted with the strap of her handbag.
Do you know what Toms up to? Mom began.
What exactly? Emma replied, trying not to jump to conclusions.
He hes gotten himself into a mess. Remember we gave him the money from selling the cottage? He bought a motorbike
Mom, weve already talked about this. I warned that the cash should have stayed in a savings account, not handed over to Tom straight away.
He promised, dear! her mothers voice took on a childish tone. He was going to rent a flat, marry Lucy
But instead he started blowing money in pubs, Lucy left him, and he bought that bike to heal his broken heart, Emma continued dryly. Did I get that right?
Her father finally looked up.
He crashed into a car in the car park. A pricey one. A Porsche.
No insurance?
No, her mother said quietly. You know he always thinks nothing bad will ever happen to him.
Emma poured herself a cup of tea, trying not to show irritation. Tom always thought he was invincible because his parents always bailed him out.
How much?
Three hundred thousand pounds, her mother exhaled. The owner agreed to a payment plan, but we need to hand over half immediately, otherwise a bailiff will be sent.
Emma nodded. Everything made sense. Now the fun part would begin.
Emma, love, her mother grasped her hand, weve decided to sell your car.
My car?
Well, its technically registered in Dads name, she added hastily. We gave it to you when we sold the cottage. But Toms in a bind and youll be walking everywhere. Youre still young and healthy, after all.
Emma gently withdrew her hand.
Im not okay with that.
Sweetie, this is family, her mother raised her voice. Tom is your brother! Hes suffering, not sleeping, losing weight!
Mom, has he even tried to get a job? Or at least gone to the job centre?
Emma, what job could he find in a week? her mother looked at her bewildered. He cant just start earning that much right away!
But I could lose the car in a week?
Her father finally spoke, his voice low but firm.
Emma, weve already decided. Your opinion doesnt matter right now. The car is in my name, I can sell it whenever I like. I dont want to argue, but theres no choice.
Emma stared at her father. He had taught her to ride a bike, read bedtime stories, and bragged about her university achievements. Now he calmly told her that her voice didnt count.
Dad, she said slowly, choosing her words, what happens the next time Tom lands himself in trouble?
There wont be a next time, her mother snapped. He promised he wont gamble again, wont
Hes promised that five times already.
Emma, come on! her mother began to cry. Hes your brother! How can you be so cruel?
Emma walked over to the window. The rain had intensified. She thought back to six months ago when Tom begged her for money for the essentials and she gave him twenty thousand pounds. Hed spent it on new trainers and a night out with mates.
You know what, she turned to her parents, I have news. I transferred the car into my name a month ago.
Silence fell. Her mother stopped sobbing, her father finally raised his eyes.
How?
It was simple. I had a power of attorney from Dad when we were selling the cottage. I forged a gift deed and reregistered the car in my name. I knew it would eventually have to be sold for Toms sake.
You you forged documents? her father stared, astonished.
Yes, and I dont regret it. Im tired of rescuing my brother from the fallout of his decisions.
Her mother clutched her chest.
Emma, how could you! Were family!
Thats exactly why I did it, Emma sat back down. You dont help Tom. You turn him into a dependent. At twentyfive he cant solve a single problem because he knows youll always fix it for him.
But hell end up in prison! her mother shrieked. Theyll lock him up!
He wont go to prison for debts. At most theyll ban him from traveling abroad, and he doesnt even leave the house. This will finally make him realise actions have consequences.
Her father remained quiet, staring at the table. Emma could see his inner battle.
Emma, he finally whispered, please sell the car. Well buy you a new one later.
Later when Tom climbs out of yet another mess?
He wont.
He will, Dad. He cant live any other way. And you cant keep bailing him out.
Sweetheart, her mother took Emmas hands, what are you doing? Hes your brother!
Im not giving him the money. Look at him. Twentyfive, living at home, unemployed, gambling the last of his cash. You dont see it, do you?
He just hasnt found himself yet, her mother muttered.
At twentyfive you should be looking, or at least trying.
The parents left, getting nowhere. Emma stayed alone, sipping lukewarm tea. Her phone was silent presumably theyd gone to Tom with more bad news.
An hour later Tom called.
Emma, are you mad at me? his voice trembled with anger. Do you know what youre doing?
I get it, Tom. For the first time in ages, I understand.
They might lock me up!
People dont go to jail for debts.
Emma, please! This man is serious! Its money! Where do I even get it?
Where everyone gets money a job.
What job? Who needs me?
Tom, you can drive, you can talk to people. You have hands, a head. Youll find something.
In a week?
Maybe. Or you could negotiate a longer payment plan with the car owner. Grownups usually help if they see youre trying.
Emma, why are you so hard on me? Anyone could have been in my shoes.
Not anyone, Tom. Only an irresponsible person who never learned to drive properly and didnt even bother to get insurance!
He hung up.
The following months were rough. The parents barely called. When Emma visited, the house was thick with tension. Mom sighed dramatically, Dad stayed silent. Toms absence was a ghost in every conversation.
From snippets, Emma learned Tom was indeed jobhunting. He tried courier work, driving, loading. Eventually he landed a job at a garage washing cars and handing tools. The pay was modest, but it was work.
Strangely, the owner of the wrecked Lexus turned out to be a decent chap. When he learned Tom was actually employed, he agreed to extend the payment plan. Tom moved into a flat he shared with two flatmates. The parents helped with the deposit but refused any further cash Emma had insisted.
Mom, if you give him money hell quit straight away, she told them during one of the rare visits. He needs to learn to rely on himself.
But hes so thin, only eats porridge, Mom complained. He looks sick.
Then hell find a better job. Or a side hustle.
Sure enough, after a few months Tom picked up an evening gig dismantling old cars for parts, and weekends he helped friends with minor repairs. Turns out he had a knack for mechanics his hands were steady, his mind quick.
Emma heard of this in fragments, from parents who were slowly thawing. Dad sometimes, with a hint of pride, mentioned how Tom had fixed 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, a little sunkissed, holding a bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums.
Hey, he said, can I come in?
Emma stepped aside. Tom set the flowers on the table and sat in the same chair his father had occupied a year before.
Beautiful flowers, Emma said. Chrysanthemums.
Thanks. He stared at his hands, now rough with work calluses, scabs, a speck of dirt under each nail. Im here to thank you.
For what?
For not giving you the money.
Emma sat opposite him.
Tell me everything.
I started my own garage. Small, in a garage box, but its mine. I fix cars, sell parts. Im making a decent living. I even paid back that bloke who sold me the broken car ages ago.
Congratulations, Emma replied.
You know, Tom lifted his gaze, I used to hate you. Thought you were selfish and cruel. I didnt get why you wouldnt help your own brother.
And now?
Now I get it. If youd handed me the cash, Id still be on the sofa waiting for you to sort my problems. Instead I had to grow up.
Emma nodded.
Was it hard?
You cant imagine, Tom answered honestly. The first months I thought of quitting every day working for pennies, sharing a flat with strangers, skimping on food. Then I got into it. I discovered I love working with my hands, figuring out how things work.
Did your parents ever step in?
Mom now tells everyone my son is an entrepreneur. Tom laughs. 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 filled his posture.
Emma, he said finally, I dont deserve forgiveness. Ive been a burden for years
Tom, Emma interrupted, you werent a burden, you were a spoiled kid. Different things.
Maybe. But Im not a kid any more.
Exactly.
Tom rose, walked to the window the same rainsoaked October evening, only a year later.
You know whats strange? he said without turning. Im happier. I earn more, have more responsibilities, but Im happier. When you earn your own money, you spend it differently. When you solve your own problems, they stop feeling impossible.
I agree, Emma said. When youre in control, everything changes.
And Ive met someone Katie. She works at a bank, very proper. We click. Were planning to live together.
Good for you.
Thanks. Emma, can I still pop over sometimes? Just to chat. I miss you.
Of course.
They hugged, tightly, like the old days before cars, debts, and grudges.
By the way, I have a car now, Tom added, stepping back. I bought a dented Toyota, fixed it up myself. Runs like new.
Well done, Emma said.
Its thanks to you, for not letting me stay a kid forever.
After Tom left, Emma lingered at the kitchen table, admiring the chrysanthemums bright yellow, fluffy, with that crisp autumn scent.
She reflected on how love for family sometimes makes you hurt them, how hard it is to say no when asked for help, and how vital it is to set boundaries so people learn to stand on their own.
Outside, the rain continued, but now it felt cleansing rather than bleak, washing away old grievances and making room for something fresh, adult, and real.
Emma placed the flowers in a vase, turned the kettle on, and thought that tomorrow would be a new day. Tonight she was simply grateful to have a brother a real, grownup brother who now fixed cars and brought flowers.
