**Diary Entry – October 12th, 2023**
*”No need,” Emily said suddenly. “Listen, just take the house as it is. I’ll take the cottage. Even if it’s worth less.”*
*”Margaret Elizabeth, are you absolutely certain you read it properly?” Emily’s voice trembled with anxiety. “Could there be something hidden between the lines?”*
*”I read it, I read it!” The solicitor pushed the document across the desk. “It’s just the standard clause: ‘This will revokes all previous wills made by me.’ That’s all. Nothing more.”*
Sarah sat stunned, fiddling with her glasses, slipping them on and off. Emily nervously twisted the strap of her handbag, while James, the youngest of the late Elizabeth Margaret’s three children, simply stared at the floor in silence.
*”But how can this be?” Sarah finally managed, her voice choked. “Mum always said she’d sorted it—that the house and cottage were divided between us. Remember, Emily? She explained it all last summer!”*
*”Of course I remember!” Emily threw up her hands. “She said you’d get the house, Sarah, because of the children, and I’d have the cottage—I spend every summer there! James was to get the savings—he’s in London, he doesn’t need property here.”*
James lifted his head, glancing at his sisters.
*”I thought Mum was just talking. You know how she loved planning things, discussing them. Never imagined she’d actually written a will.”*
The solicitor cleared her throat gently.
*”The truth is, Elizabeth Margaret did draft a will—years ago, nearly a decade. At some point, she must have changed her mind and made a new one, revoking the old. But she never got around to specifying the distribution. It happens, unfortunately.”*
Sarah stood and paced the room. At forty-three, a schoolteacher raising two children alone after her divorce, her mother’s crumbling house had been her last hope for a home of her own.
*”So now we divide everything equally? The house, the cottage, the savings—all split three ways?” she asked, fighting back tears.*
*”Precisely. Equal shares for all.”*
Emily scoffed. *”Good! I saw your face, Sarah—thought you’d get it all. As if my pension could cover six measly acres!”*
*”Emily!” Sarah snapped. “This isn’t about your pension! You know what Mum wanted!”*
*”Oh, I know! But wanting isn’t enough—you have to put it in writing. And our dear mother, God rest her, was always one to leave things to the last minute.”*
James stood, fastening his coat.
*”Enough arguing. We’ll sort this at home. Margaret, when should we return?”*
*”In a week. I’ll prepare the division documents. Just agree among yourselves who takes what. If you can’t, the court will decide for you.”*
Outside, a dreary October drizzle fell. Sarah pulled up her hood while Emily snapped open her umbrella. James lit a cigarette, muttering under his breath.
*”Fancy a coffee? We need to talk,” Sarah suggested.*
*”I don’t want to talk to you,” Emily retorted. “I saw your face—you’re gutted you won’t get it all. But Mum had three children, not just you.”*
*”Emily, why so bitter? It’s not my fault the will’s a mess.”*
*”Not a mess—fair!” Emily jerked her umbrella shut, sending water spraying.*
James stubbed out his cigarette on a wet bench.
*”Girls, enough. It’s pouring, and we’re making a scene. Let’s go to Sarah’s, have tea, and sort this calmly.”*
The walk took fifteen minutes, silent except for the patter of rain. Elizabeth’s house stood on a quiet lane, weathered but solid. Boards covered the windows, the gate padlocked.
*”Who has the keys?” James asked.*
*”Me.” Sarah pulled them from her pocket. “Took them after the funeral, thought I’d tidy up.”*
Inside, the garden was overgrown, apple trees unpruned, the greenhouse sagging. The front door creaked open, the air thick with damp and neglect.
*”Oh, Mum,” Emily whispered, her voice breaking. “Look at the state of it.”*
The sitting room held traces of their childhood—the piano they’d all learned on, the china cabinet with crystal glasses, photos lining the walls: their parents’ wedding, school portraits, grandchildren.
Sarah put the kettle on, digging out biscuits from the cupboard. They sat at the round table where the family had once gathered.
*”Remember how Mum made us study here?” Emily said softly. “We’d sneak off to the garden instead.”*
*”And James, that algebra mark in Year Seven,” Sarah smiled. “Mum threatened the belt, then stayed up all night helping you.”*
James nodded. *”Strict, but fair. Never favoured any of us.”*
Emily stirred sugar into her tea. *”Fair, was she? Then why make a will that favoured you? Me the cottage, you the savings, Sarah the house—the most valuable bit!”*
*”Emily, this isn’t about fairness,” Sarah sighed. “Mum thought of need. I’ve got kids, rented flats—the house would help. You love the cottage. James is in London—cash matters more than property.”*
*”Easy to say when you get the most!”*
James slammed his fist on the table. *”Enough! Emily, listen to yourself! Mum’s been gone a month, and we’re squabbling like strays over her things!”*
Silence fell, broken only by the ticking clock and the rain outside.
*”You know,” Sarah said, standing by the window, “maybe Mum did this on purpose.”*
*”What?” Emily frowned.*
*”Think about it. She was sharp—planned everything. Do you really believe she forgot to specify?”*
James frowned. *”What are you saying?”*
*”Maybe she wanted us to decide for ourselves. To divide things justly, by conscience. Remember how she’d say, ‘You’re adults—you know right from wrong.’”*
Emily snorted. *”Oh, now she’s a saint! More likely she ran out of time. She was ill at the end.”*
*”Maybe,” Sarah conceded. “But we’re here. We can do what she wanted.”*
*”How?” Emily narrowed her eyes.*
*”Exactly as she said. Me the house, you the cottage, James the savings.”*
*”Ha!” Emily shot up. “Knew you’d steer it this way! The house is worth far more!”*
*”Emily, calm down,” James said. “Let’s be practical. The house is in worse shape—peeling walls, ancient wiring, that leaky roof. Sarah, could you afford the repairs?”*
*”No,” she admitted. “But it’d still be a roof over our heads.”*
Emily sat back down, silent for a moment. *”And the cottage? The greenhouse’s falling apart, the fence is rotten. It’ll cost a fortune too.”*
*”But the land’s good,” James said. “By the river—it’d sell well if fixed up.”*
*”So what’s your solution?” Emily challenged.*
James lit another cigarette—something he’d never dared do in front of their mother.
*”We get everything valued, split it equally. Either in cash or property, but fairly.”*
*”How? Hire a surveyor?” Sarah asked.*
*”If we must. Or—maybe we don’t divide it at all.”*
His sisters stared.
*”What do you mean?” Emily said.*
*”The house isn’t liveable without serious work. Sarah, could you manage it?”*
*”No,” she whispered.*
*”And the cottage, Emily? Could you handle it alone?”*
*”Doubt it,” she muttered. “Not on my pension.”*
*”Exactly. So why not sell it all, split the money? Then everyone gets what they truly need.”*
Sarah hesitated. It made sense, yet something ached at the thought.
*”It’d break my heart to sell Mum’s house. Our whole lives happened here.”*
*”Lives end. Houses don’t,” James said. “What’s the point if it just rots?”*
Emily twisted her empty cup. *”Maybe he’s right. Sell it, split it, no debts between us.”*
Sarah sighed. *”Alright. But let’s wait a week. Think it over properly.”*
*”Agreed,” James nodded. “I’ll come by this weekend, see what can be salvaged.”*
Dusk fell early. James left for his hotel, Emily for her flat. Sarah stayed alone in her mother’s house, trailing fingers over familiar things.
On the bedside table lay Elizabeth’s notebook. Sarah flipped through it—doctors’
