Two Ungrateful Daughters
«We didn’t buy that three-bed flat just for fun, you know,» Mum leaned in, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. «We’re renting it out to students by the roomfive of them already! The incomes enough to keep us comfortable in retirement.»
Emily nodded, happy for them. Her parents had worked tirelessly their whole livesthey deserved an easy retirement. But then her father, William, whod been silently reading his paper at the table, spoke up.
«Now, we know what youre thinkingwholl get the flat when were gone? With three children, of course youd wonder. Perfectly natural.» He folded his paper deliberately.
Emily shook her head. The idea hadnt even crossed her mind. Her parents were perfectly healthywhy worry about inheritance now? But her mother, Margaret, continued with a smirk that made Emilys stomach drop.
«Oh, youve thought about it! Worrying wholl get such a windfall. Dont deny it, love!»
Emily opened her mouth to protest, but her mother cut her off.
«Well, your father and I have discussed it. The flat will go to whoever cares for us best. Fair, dont you think?»
Silence settled over the kitchen. Emily stared at them, stunned. Was this some sort of competition? Her father cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze.
«Weve spent our lives looking after youclothing, feeding, sacrificing. Now its time for a change. Youll have to prove yourselves. And if we dont like what we see…» He paused meaningfully. «Well, dont expect a penny.»
Emily sat frozen. Her parents watched her expectantly, as if waiting for applause. Her throat tightened. Mumbling something about an urgent errand, she hurried out.
On the bus home, her thoughts raced. What kind of twisted auction was this? Whoever groveled hardest won? Pulling out her phone, she called her older sister, Charlotte.
«Char, you wont believe what Mum and Dad just said,» Emily blurted.
«About the flat and inheritance?» Charlotte sighed. «They hit me with that yesterday. Still reeling.»
«What do we do now?» Emily pressed the phone closer, straining to hear over the bus noise.
«No idea. Weve always been there for themhelping with bills, groceries, dropping everything when they call. But our dear little brother, Tom? Always ‘too busy’ with work or his social life.»
«And how exactly do they plan to judge who cares more?» Emily stepped off at her stop. «Scorecards? A spreadsheet?»
Charlotte laughed darkly.
«Pretty much. Maybe its for the best. Well finally see where we stand. Though I think we both know wholl ‘win’.»
The next few weeks became a nightmare. Calls from her parents came daily. Late one Wednesday, the first demand arrived.
«Emily, darling,» Mums voice was sharp. «Weve got a hospital appointment tomorrow, and we need groceries after. Could you drive us? Your cars fixed now, isnt it?»
She had a crucial 9 a.m. meeting.
«Mum, what about a taxi?»
«Dont be ridiculous! Since when do family charge for help?»
Emily sighed. As always, she gave inskipping work to chauffeur them, enduring lectures about how wonderful Tom was.
On Friday, buried in quarterly reports, her father called.
«Love, the new furnitures arrived. We need help moving it. Cant afford moverssix hands will do!»
«Dad, Im at work»
«What kind of job wont let you help your own parents?» His disapproval was thick.
Again, she left under her bosss glare, hauling furniture until her back ached for days.
That weekend, finally booking a facial, Mum rang.
«Emily, were doing a deep cleancurtains down, chandeliers washed. Too much for us at our age…»
The facial was canceled. She spent the day scrubbing their flat, listening to endless praise for Tom.
«Toms so thoughtful,» Margaret cooed, sipping tea while Emily scoured the oven. «Called us for ages yesterday!»
«When was the last time he actually helped?» Emily snapped, wiping sweat.
Her parents exchanged glances. Her mother pursed her lips.
«Dont take that tone. Toms busyimportant job, not like you girls. As future wives, caring for family is your duty. Hes the man of the house.»
Emily clenched her jaw, swallowing her retort.
A week later, she was backpreserving jars of pickles while her parents supervised.
«Less vinegar! More dill!» Margaret ordered.
«Tom adours these,» William mused. «Hell be thrilled.»
«Whens he visiting?» Emily twisted a lid.
«Not sure. Been a month,» Margaret admitted.
Emily set down the jar. The dam broke.
«So the flat goes to Charlotte and me, right? Since were the only ones helping?»
Margaret turned scarlet, knocking over her tea.
«You selfish girl! Only thinking of yourself! Toms the manhell bring a wife home! He needs it more! The inheritance goes to himhes the heir!»
Something shattered inside Emily. Years of sacrifices meant nothing. She untied her apron.
«Heir? And what are we? Weve always been here. But thats not enough, is it?»
She walked out. Her parents scrambled after her.
«Emily, wait! Youre overreacting!»
«What about the pickles? Finish what you started!»
She turned at the door, exhausted.
«Im busy. Just like Tom. Find someone else.»
Outside, she called Charlotte.
«Char, Im done.»
«What happened?»
Emily relayed the conversation. Charlotte exhaled.
«Lets act like Tom. If hes the golden child, let him handle them.»
«Exactly.»
From then on, they did. Every parental demand was met with: «Call Tomhes the heir.»
A month later, walking through autumn leaves, Emily smiled. Shed finally lived for herself.
Her phone buzzedMum. She ignored it. Let them call their precious son. She was done.
