«You ought to be grateful we even put up with you,» Sophie snapped across the festive table.
«Is that all?» I said, lifting the corner of the modest gift bag with two fingers. «Seriously? A set of kitchen towels? Mum, look at this generosity.»
«Ellen, stop,» Eleanor, the birthday girl, pressed her lips together tightly, though a cold approval flickered in her eyes. «Sophie tried.»
«Tried?» Sophie laughed, tossing the bag onto a chair. «Three quid from the nearest DIY shop? She could’ve splurged a bit she lives off takeaways, pays no rent herself.»
Heat flushed my cheeks. I was standing by the table Id set up since early morning, feeling like a scolded schoolgirl. My tenyearold son, Jack, sat beside me, hunched over his plate, eyes downcast. He got the picture.
«I thought it was practical,» I whispered, not looking up. «The old ones were completely worn out»
«Practical?» Sophie lounged back, a picture of confidence, the younger sister of my late husband Andrew. «You know what would be practical? If you found a decent job and moved out. Then there’d be more room in the house.»
The only sound breaking the tension was the clatter of a fork Jack dropped. He bolted from the room without a word. I wanted to follow, but Eleanors stern voice stopped me.
«Where are you going? Sit down. You made the boy cry at the slightest thing. Hes growing up, not behaving like a little girl.»
I sank back, feeling a cold numbness spread through me. I stared at the empty chair where Andrew had sat five years ago. He would never have spoken to me like that; one look from him would have put Sophie in her place. But he was gone, and I was alone in this big, unfamiliar house where every bite of bread seemed earned through humiliation.
The celebration was ruined. Relatives and neighbours pretended nothing had happened, but the conversations grew softer, and the glances they threw at me were full of awkward sympathy. I forced a smile, refilled glasses with juice, cleared plates. I just wanted the day to end.
When the last guests left, Sophie, already gathering her things with her husband, paused at the doorway.
«I hope you understand I’m not being cruel,» she said, tone leaving no room for argument. «I say what I think. You should be grateful we even put up with you after everything for Andrews memory, and for Mum.»
The door slammed. I was left alone in the kitchen, dishes piled high. Eleanor slipped back to her room without a word. Fatigue settled on me like lead. I dropped onto a stool and wept silently, not from hurt I was almost used to it but from helplessness.
Late that night, after the kitchen was cleared, I slipped into Jacks room. He was awake, lying facedown on the floor.
«Jack, you still up?» I whispered, sitting on the edge of his bed.
«Mum, why doesnt Aunt Sophie like us?» he asked without turning.
I ran my fingers through his hair, searching for the right words to explain the tangled, suffocating web of family dynamics.
«Shes not angry, just she has a difficult character. And she misses Dad a lot, just like us.»
«Dad would have scolded her,» Jack said confidently. «He wouldnt have let her treat you like that.»
«Exactly, he wouldnt have,» I agreed, feeling a knot rise in my throat. «Sleep now, love. School tomorrow.»
I kissed his forehead and left. I had no room of my own. After Andrews death, Jack and I lived in what had been his childhood bedroom tiny, cramped. Our spacious master bedroom was now a memory room Eleanor had turned into a shrine, offlimits to anyone but her.
That house, once cosy and welcoming, had become a gilded cage. It belonged to Andrews parents. When Andrew died, Eleanor became the outright owner. Wed lived there from the start because Andrew never wanted his ageing mother alone. He worked hard, earned well, and his income covered us all. When he was gone, the modest savings ran out quickly. I had a bookkeeping degree but hadnt worked in years, so I took a parttime callcentre job just to pick Jack up from school. The pay was tiny, mostly swallowed by his clothes, school supplies, and other bills. We survived on Eleanors allowances, and that was the leverage Sophie used against us.
The next morning Eleanor acted as if yesterdays argument never happened. She sipped coffee at the kitchen table, newspaper in hand.
«Good morning,» I said softly, putting a pot of porridge on the stove for Jack.
She nodded without looking up.
«I’m heading to my friends cottage for a couple of days. The foods in the fridge, look after the house, and dont forget to water the plants in the lounge.»
«Will do, Eleanor.»
When her door closed behind her, I finally breathed a long, free sigh. Two days of quiet. Two days without sharp looks and poisonous comments.
I walked Jack to school and returned to the empty house. With a watering can in hand, I tended to the many plants Eleanor adored. In the lounge, on an old dresser, sat photographs: a young Andrew smiling, a tiny Jack and Sophie as children, and a wedding picture of Andrew and me hopeful, bright.
My eyes landed on the closed door of the former master bedroom the memory room. I wasnt supposed to go in, but curiosity won. The door was unlocked. I slipped inside, ears tuned to every creak. The air was stale, smelling of dust and mothballs. Everything was exactly as Eleanor had left it: the doublebed with a silk throw, a vanity with her perfume bottles, Andrews bookcase.
I ran my fingers along the spines of classic novels, history, scifi his favorites. Between the Tolstoy volumes, a thick folder slipped out. I didnt recognise it. Carefully I set it on the table. The cover simply read Documents.
My heart hammered. Inside were old papers, receipts, Andrews birth certificate, and, crucially, a will. It had been drawn up by his father, Igor, six months before his death.
I read it, eyes scanning the neat script. It stated that the house was to pass not to his wife, but to his son, Andrew Jr., with one condition: his mother, Eleanor, could live there for life. No mention of Sophie at all.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, hands trembling. It meant that after Andrews death the sole heir was our son, Jack, and I, as his legal guardian until he turned eighteen, was effectively the houses steward. Eleanor had known this all along and kept it secret.
I slipped the folder back, closed the door gently, and sat in the hallway, mind swirling. Should I confront them? Hand the will over? Start a legal battle? I didnt want a war; I just wanted peace for me and Jack.
For two days I drifted in a fog, weighing my options. I could claim my rights now, hire a solicitor, expose the lie. But then Id have to keep living under the same roof with people who might hate me even more, or evict the elderly motherinlaw whod been my only support. Andrew would never have wanted that.
When Eleanor returned, I met her with a calm façade, helped with the bags, poured tea. She chatted about her friends garden, while I thought about how good an actress she was at pretending everything was fine.
That evening, once we were alone in the kitchen, I finally spoke.
«Eleanor, we need to talk.»
She raised an eyebrow.
«About the house,» I said, keeping my voice steady. «I know about Igors will.»
A long, tense silence stretched. Eleanor finally set her cup down, her face hardening.
«Youve been rummaging through my things?» she asked icily.
«I found the folder in Andrews old room the memory room.»
«Dont you dare!» she snapped. «Thats my sons room!»
«Our sons,» I corrected. «There are still my things in there. It was our bedroom.»
We stared at each other, and for the first time I didnt look away.
«What do you want?» she asked after a beat, voice like steel. «To kick me out? Sell the house and leave?»
«No. Im not selling. This is Jacks house. My husbands, my fatherinlaws. I just want the insults to stop. I want Sophie to stop treating me and my boy like were strangers. By law this place is ours.»
Eleanor breathed heavily.
«I did it for the family,» she murmured. «I never wanted Sophie left with nothing after Im gone. I thought wed all live together, as one family.»
«We never became a family, Eleanor. It turned into a boarding house where my son and I are barely tenants. Andrew would never have allowed this. He loved his sister, but hed never have let her behave like this.»
She turned to the window, shoulders drooping.
«What will you do?»
«Nothing,» I said. «Ill leave the will where it is. I wont start a court case. But I need you to speak to Sophie, to change how you both treat us. Jack is your only grandson; he shouldnt grow up feeling unwanted.»
The next day was Saturday. By lunchtime Sophie arrived with her husband and their little girl, as usual. I set the table, tension thick in the air. Eleanor was quiet, pale.
«Mum, why are you so sour today?» Sophie chirped, plopping down. «Did your tenant mood ruin the vibe again?»
«Sophie, shut up,» Eleanor snapped, sharper than ever.
Sophie stared, bewildered.
«What?»
«I want you to apologise to Megan for yesterday and for everything before.»
Sophies face stretched.
«What? Apologise? To her? Are you mad? For speaking the truth?»
«Its not the truth,» Eleanors voice trembled. «Megan and Jack arent guests. This house it belongs to them.»
Sophie turned slowly to me, then back to her mother, fury bubbling.
«Youre lying! This is your house! Dads house!»
«My father gave it to Andrew,» Eleanor said quietly but firmly. «After Andrews death, it passed to Jack.»
The kitchen fell into a deathly hush. Sophies husband froze, fork halfway to his mouth. Sophie stared at her mother as if seeing her for the first time.
«You you knew?» she hissed. «You let us think she was nothing?»
«I thought I was doing what was best for the family» Eleanor whispered.
«For the family?!» Sophie shrieked, standing up. «All these years youve been feeding us lies!» She jabbed a finger toward me. «And you, you kept quiet?»
«I only found out yesterday,» I said calmly.
«Youre lying! You two are in on this!» Sophie grabbed her bag. «Im done with this house!» She stormed out, her husband following, slamming the front door.
Eleanor curled into a ball, hands covering her face, silent sobs shaking her shoulders. Jack, who had been watching quietly, went over and squeezed my hand.
I placed my hand on Eleanors shoulder.
«Dont cry, Eleanor. Itll get better.»
She lifted tearstreaked eyes to me.
«Shell never forgive me.»
«She will,» I said firmly. «Shes your daughter. She just needs time. We all need time.»
I wasnt sure if I was lying, or what tomorrow would bring. But looking at Jacks clenched fist around my hand, and at Eleanors broken stare, I felt for the first time in five years that I wasnt a victim I was the one running this house, my own destiny. There would be hard battles ahead, but I now knew I had the right to fight for my place in the sun. For me, and for my son.
