**Not His Circus, Not His Monkeys**
Tell William to come over right away! Emily was practically hyperventilating. All three kids are running fevers, throwing tantrumsI cant get them to the clinic alone. He needs to drive us!
Margaret nodded, though Emily couldnt see it. Her stomach twisted with worry for her grandchildren.
Ill sort it, love. Dont panic, Margaret said, keeping her voice steady to avoid winding her daughter up further.
She hung up and froze for a second, fingers fumbling through her contacts for her sons number. Three sick kids, Emily alone, her husband at workproper crisis.
William would help. She was sure of it.
First ring. Second. Finally, he picked up.
Mum, hi, he said, sounding rushed.
Will, sweetheart, theres a bit of a situation Margaret scrambled for the right words. Emily just rang. All three little ones are poorly, need to see a doctor. Her husband cant get off work. Could you pop over, take them? Shouldnt take long.
Silence. Just his breathing and some background noise.
Mum, todays a no-go, William sighed. Its Charlottes birthday. We booked this restaurant weeks ago. Emilys clear across town, traffics a nightmarewed miss the reservation. So cant do it.
Margaret gripped the phone tighter. Her palm was sweating. He couldnt *seriously* be saying no?
William, are you hearing this? The kids are *ill*, your own niece and nephews! She was fighting to keep from shouting. Emily cant handle three feverish toddlers alone! They *need* to see a doctor!
Mum, I get it, he said flatly. But weve got plans. She can call a cab. Or you and Dad help. Whats the big deal?
Margaret sank onto a chair, legs gone weak. She couldnt believe what she was hearing.
Dads *at work*! Now she wasnt holding back. I cant wrangle three sick kids alone! How is this not obvious?
Mum, I *cant*. Sorry, William snapped this time. Not my problem. The kids are Emilys responsibility. Shell sort it.
Margaret nearly choked on indignation. *Excuse* him?
How is this *not* your problem?! she shrieked. Shes your *sister*! You cant help family *one bloody time*?!
I said no. Weve got to get ready, bye. He hung up.
The dial tone buzzed in her ear. Margaret stared at her phone, numb. Hands shaking, she redialled. Nothing. Again. Silence.
Something inside her boiled overhot, furious. How *dare* he? She called Charlotte. Maybe *shed* talk sense into him.
Hello, Margaret? Charlotte answered promptly.
Lottie, love, Margaret forced calm into her voice. Could you ask Will to help? His own niece and nephews are *ill*. Emilys drowning! Youre a woman, you *get* it.
Charlotte exhaled. Her tone was cool, detached.
Margaret, parents handle their own kids. Theres cabs, theres the NHS. Theyre not infants. Emilys a grown womanshell cope.
Margaret went rigid. That stung worse than Williams refusal.
Lottie, have you *tried* hauling three sick toddlers in a cab? Theyre tiny! Emily cant do this alone!
Her kids, her problem, Margaret, Charlotte said, utterly unmoved. We planned this night ages ago. Not ruining it over someone elses drama.
Rage replaced shockwhite-hot and vicious.
Then dont *dare* come crying for help when *you* have kids! Margaret yelled and slammed the phone down.
The next few days passed in a fog. No calls to William. No calls from him. She tried not to dwell on it, but the anger gnawed at her, sleepless and sharp.
Nights were worst. That wretched conversation played on loop. How could her son be so cold? Where had she gone wrong raising him?
Her husband tried to talk about it. She brushed him off. Needed to work it out herself.
By day four, she snapped. Margaret marched to Williams flat. Needed to see his face when she asked how hed betrayed his family.
Charlotte opened the door, eyebrows lifting, but stepped aside without a word. Margaret stormed in, coat still on.
Wheres William? she demanded.
In there. Charlotte nodded to the bedroom.
Margaret flung the door open. William looked upjust for a second, something flickered in his eyes. Then nothing.
Mum? Whats wrong? He raised a brow.
How *could* you?! The words burst out so loud he flinched. Four days of fury came pouring. Your own sister! Sick *kids*! I didnt raise you to be this selfish!
William stood slowly. His face stayed blank, infuriatingly calm.
Mum, *you* couldve called a cab. Gone over yourself. Im not dropping everything every time Emily panics.
He paused. Met her eyes dead-on.
Or did you forget how she *ghosted* us? he said. The second we bought this flat. No calls, snubs us in the streetsix *months* of this. Now suddenly she needs favours?
Margaret faltered. Words stuck in her throat.
Thatsthats just She floundered. Emilys renting with *three kids*! You and Lottie have a two-bed, no mortgage! Of course shes bitter! And I didnt *know* she wasnt speaking to youwhats she been saying?
William narrowed his eyes. Charlotte leaned in the doorway, arms crossed.
Plenty. Slags off Lottie, moans about the flatnone of her business, William said coldly. We earned this place. No handouts. Emilys mess? *Hers* to fix. Not drag *my* family into it through *you*.
Margaret stepped closer, fists clenched.
What *rubbish*! she shouted. Shes your *sister*! *Family*!
No, Mum, Williams voice rose. *Charlottes* my family. Emily shouldve *thought* before having three kids! Not my job to bail her out!
Margaret recoiled.
Youre *heartless*! she spat. Your sisters *struggling*! One *hour* of help!
*Help*? William barked a laugh. Why would I help someone whos ignored me for half a year? Were *done*, Mum. Howd you *miss* that?
He took a breath, quieter now:
But why would you notice? Its always about *Emily*. Im just background noise.
You *monster*! Margaret whirled around. Couldnt look at him. I raised you *better*! Taught you to *help* each other!
She bolted from the flat. On the landing, she stopped, gasping. Everything burned. How could he speak to her like that?
Cold air hit her face outside. Didnt help. As she walked to the bus stop, one thought pounded: *Where did I go wrong?*
But deeper downsomewhere she didnt want to lookdoubt crept in. Williams words about Emily. The snubbing. The flat. Him having his *own* family. Her always fussing over Emily, never him.
Margaret stopped dead on the pavement. Pedestrians swerved around her.
What if he was right?
No. She shook her head sharply. Couldnt admit that. She was the *mother*. She *knew* what was best. Always had.
But the doubt grew. Gnawing. Relentless.
On the bus, she stared out the window. Life went on outside. But inside? Something had shattered.
She didnt know if it could be fixed. If theyd ever talk properly again. If she could forgive him. If *hed* forgive *her*.
The bus rattled over potholes. Margaret shut her eyes. Maybe tomorrow, things would make sense. Maybe shed find the right words. Maybe family would feel like family again.
Or maybe it was already too late.
