**A Fair Bargain**
Natalie slipped away slowly, painfully. Her body, worn out by endless rounds of chemotherapy, had stopped fighting the illness. She longed for release from the agony that had plagued her these last months. The painkillers kept her in a drowsy haze, surfacing now and then like a swimmer gasping for air before sinking back into the numbing embrace of sleep.
Little Emily came home from school, stepping into the room heavy with the scent of sickness. She stared at her mother, who lay motionless beneath the covers, nothing like the laughing, vibrant woman she once was. Emily’s gaze fixed on the faint rise and fall of her mother’s chest—still breathing, still here.
“Mum? Mum, can you hear me?” she called softly.
Natalie’s eyelids fluttered, but she lacked the strength to open them. Grandma Margaret would gently lead Emily away.
“Come, love. Let’s get you something to eat, then we’ll do your homework. Let your mum rest.”
“But she’s *always* sleeping,” Emily protested. “When will she get better? I want things to go back to how they were.”
Margaret sighed, eyes glistening. “Oh, sweetheart, I wish that too. Sleep is healing. She needs it.” She set a steaming bowl of beef stew in front of Emily, blinking back tears.
*How could this be fair? My daughter, so young, slipping away—while I’m left standing here, helpless. I’ve prayed, lit candles in church… What did I do to deserve this?*
Natalie passed just before dawn. Margaret woke at three, checked on her daughter—still breathing—then tossed restlessly until sleep took her. She dreamed of Natalie as a girl, laughing, waving, running away. *Wait! Come back!* Margaret jolted awake and hurried to Natalie’s room.
She was gone. Cold. Distant.
Margaret closed the door quietly, boiled the kettle, reheated pancakes for Emily—then woke her.
Emily ate, pulled on her school uniform, and moved toward her mother’s room.
“Don’t,” Margaret said quickly. “Let her sleep. Here—take an apple.” She pressed a shiny red one into Emily’s bag.
Walking to school, Margaret barely heard Emily’s chatter.
“You’re quiet today,” Emily observed.
“Didn’t sleep well,” Margaret lied.
Back home, she called the ambulance.
“When did she die? Why wait so long to call?” the doctor pressed.
“Had to get my granddaughter to school. She shouldn’t see this.”
The mortuary van arrived quickly, taking Natalie away before Emily returned. Margaret rehearsed explanations all morning but found no words. At home, distracted, she failed to stop Emily from darting into her mother’s empty room.
“Where’s Mum?” Emily whirled toward her.
Exhausted, Margaret blurted the first thought: “She’s in hospital.” She avoided Emily’s eyes.
Emily must’ve sensed the lie. She refused dinner, curled into the sofa’s corner, face turned to the window. Too drained to console her, Margaret locked herself in the bathroom, ran the tap, and called Natalie’s ex-husband, Robert.
“What do you want?” he snapped, thinking it was Natalie.
“It’s Margaret. Natalie passed this morning. Can you take Emily for a few days? I told her Mum’s in hospital. There’s… too much to do.”
A pause. “Yeah. I’ll come.”
Half an hour later, Robert rang the doorbell. Emily brightened—still angry at Margaret.
“How’s school?” Robert settled beside her. “Boring yet?”
“No. Mum’s in hospital. Grandma won’t visit.”
“Probably not allowed yet. Fancy the park? Ice cream? Cinema?”
“Really?” Emily perked up.
Margaret packed Emily’s things, thrust the bag at Robert, then left for the hospital.
The funeral arrangements left her shattered. By evening, her legs buckled. She gulped painkillers, whispering, *Just hold on. Don’t break now.*
After the burial, Robert called.
“When should I bring her back?”
“Had enough already?” Margaret meant to snipe, but it came out weak.
“She misses home. We’ll come over. Need to talk.”
Her chest tightened. *What now?* She forced herself up, put the kettle on, laid out leftovers—cold cuts, sandwiches, a half-empty bottle of whiskey. Let him toast, if he cared.
Seeing Emily, Margaret wept. She’d missed her so much. Emily clung to her.
“Come. I made pancakes.”
At the table, Robert grabbed the whiskey, filled his glass to the brim. He opened his mouth—but Margaret shot him a warning look. He drank silently.
Later, she sent Emily to her room.
“Well?” Margaret exhaled.
“Don’t glare. I’ve got a solution. Emily’s young, you’re retired. If social services catch wind, they’ll take her.”
“You’d *report* me?”
“You’re not getting younger. But *I’m* her father. Healthy. Alive.”
Margaret’s pulse thundered. “What are you suggesting?”
“No place of my own. Flit between flats.”
“Between gullible women. You had everything and threw it away.”
Robert’s jaw twitched. “Point is—if we *both* raise her, no one can take her.”
Margaret masked her terror. “You want to live here?”
“Or we sell this place, split a smaller flat. Your call.”
“You’re blackmailing me.”
“Call it what you want. But it’s fair.”
She staggered to the window, gulped air. “I need time.”
Robert smirked. “Three days.”
When he left, Emily confronted her.
“Why didn’t you tell me? I’m not a baby.”
“Tell you what?”
“That I’m going with *him*.”
Margaret sighed.
That night, she lay awake. *Who can I turn to? If I let him in, he’ll steal this house. He’ll vanish, and we’ll be homeless. Oh, Natalie, why didn’t you listen?*
Next morning, after dropping Emily at school, Margaret knocked on her neighbor Jim’s door—a retired police officer. She confessed everything.
“Help me, Jim. I’ve nowhere else to go.”
He pondered. “Call him. Say you’ve decided. Buy two whiskey bottles—he’ll need both. Put out snacks. I’ll ‘drop by.’ We’ll see.”
Relieved, Margaret hurried home.
Three days later, Robert swaggered in, eyeing the set table.
Before he could gloat, Jim rang the bell.
“What’s the occasion?” Jim grinned, spotting the whiskey.
“Ex-son-in-law. We’re celebrating selling my flat,” Margaret said.
“*What?*” Jim feigned shock.
Margaret left them.
Jim secretly recorded Robert’s drunken boasts: *The old bat won’t last. The flat’s mine. If the kid misbehaves, off she goes.*
Robert left, swaying.
Later, Jim played the tape. Margaret clutched her chest.
“He’d toss Emily into care!”
Jim smiled grimly. “Don’t worry. Dug up dirt on him. He’ll stay quiet—or face prison.”
Robert never returned.
Years later, Emily graduated. “You look just like your mum,” Margaret murmured.
“Don’t talk like that! Who’ll help me with weddings? Babies? *Live*,” Emily scolded.
So Margaret did.
Emily brought every suitor home. First, to see if they’d accept an aging grandmother. Second, because Margaret had a gift for spotting snakes. After hearing about her parents’ failed marriage, Emily trusted her judgment.
She married well. Life had bumps ahead—but they’d face them.
Margaret found solace in church. She lit candles—for Emily’s health, for Natalie’s soul. Before the crucifix, she whispered fiercely:
“I accept Your will. But if You took my daughter, *let me stay*. Don’t leave Emily alone. I’m not bargaining—just asking for fairness.”
