Helen woke at dawn, made breakfast, packed her husband’s lunch, and only then went to rouse him.
“Love, why so much? I’ll be back tomorrow,” he said, eyeing the hefty bag.
“You’ll need something to eat for two days. No time to cook there—just heat it up. Don’t fuss. There’s warm clothes in there too. Nights are chilly now. Drink your tea before it gets cold,” Helen brushed him off.
He ate heartily, dressed, and grabbed the bag.
“Off I go. You go back to bed,” he said, stepping out.
Helen shut the door behind him, returned to the kitchen, and peered out the window. She knew halfway across the yard, Alex would turn and wave. Sure enough, he stopped, glanced back at the house, and raised a hand. She waved back. A quiet smile touched her lips. “Like newlyweds,” she thought, warmth blooming in her chest.
Since retiring, she’d made a habit of seeing him off—whether to work or their cottage. Twenty-six years together. Not long, considering their age. Both had pasts, other relationships.
Helen hated being alone. She’d have gone to the cottage, but she’d promised her daughter to babysit today. Sighing, she rubbed her temples. Too early to vacuum—people liked their lie-ins on weekends in these flats.
With nothing else to do, she lay back on the bed in her dressing gown, thoughts drifting until sleep took her.
A dream came—her grandmother’s old sheepdog, Bruno, big and shaggy, bounding toward her, tail wagging. “Bruno! Where’ve you been?” she reached to pet him, but suddenly he bared his teeth. She jerked back, bewildered—
Helen startled awake. Empty room. No Bruno. The dog had died when she was fourteen. The clock showed she’d only napped ten minutes. Closing her eyes, she murmured, “Dreams of the dead mean storms, dogs mean family visits—”
The doorbell rang.
Who could it be this early?
Groaning, she slid on her slippers and shuffled to the hall. The bell rang again—insistent.
“Coming, coming!” She yanked the door open—then nearly slammed it shut.
Staring back at her was the last person she wanted to see. First instincts were right—later, she’d wish she’d acted on it. Her younger sister stood there, smiling with teeth too large for her mouth. “Hello, sis,” Lily drawled, lingering on the word.
Helen’s heart hammered like a trapped bird. “Dreams don’t lie,” she thought, remembering Bruno snarl.
Different fathers, ten years apart. Mum remarried after Helen’s dad died in a crash, had Lily. Polar opposites—Helen round-faced, gentle; Lily tall, sharp, with that horsey grin.
“Well? Keeping me on the doorstep?” Lily tapped a high-heeled shoe.
Helen stiffened. Still family, however unwelcome.
“Come in.”
Lily stepped inside, kicked off her heels, fluffed her hair in the mirror, then smirked. “Surprise, eh?” She reached for Alex’s slippers—Helen thrust guest ones at her. Too small, but tough.
“Show me your palace,” Lily purred, prowling the living room, eyes cataloguing every detail.
“Fancy. Imported furniture, posh decor…” She turned, and for a split second, Helen saw venom in her gaze—then the grin was back, gummy and wide.
“Landed well, didn’t you? Where’s the husband?”
“At the cottage,” Helen muttered.
“Ooh, a cottage too? Proper bourgeoisie,” Lily chuckled, the way one says, “We’ll see about that.”
“Why are you here?” Helen’s control frayed.
“Missed you. We’ve only got each other, haven’t we?” Lily picked up a photo—Helen’s daughter and grandson. “This her?”
Silence.
“Me? Three divorces. Turns out men are interchangeable,” Lily sighed theatrically.
“Still stealing them, then?” Helen snapped.
“Ooh, bitter. What’s her age—twenty-eight? So you rushed the baby to keep your man?” Lily cackled at her own joke.
“Stepdaughter,” Helen said—then cursed herself for justifying.
“Truce. Tea?” Lily offered, as if magnanimous.
As Lily gushed over the kitchen—”Such taste!”—Helen reheated the kettle.
“How long are you staying?”
“Kicking me out already?” Lily batted eyelashes.
Helen gritted her teeth. Just say you’ll leave after tea.
“One night? Hate hotels. Hubby’s away anyway.” Lily smirked. “Off tomorrow.”
“Where to?”
“The coast. Last-chance sunshine. Thought I’d drop by.” A faux sigh. “Still holding a grudge? I was stupid. It all worked out—you’re cushy, your Michael’s mediocre in bed—”
Helen’s vision darkened. “Forgive you? You ruined my life!”
“Pfft. You’re married, comfortable. And honestly?” Lily winked. “He wasn’t worth it.”
The kettle screamed. Helen slammed cups down, thrust biscuits forward.
“Not joining me? I don’t bite.” Lily nodded at the lone cup.
“Already ate with Alex.”
“Ah.”
After tea, Lily stretched. “Mind if I leave my bags? Fancy a stroll. You’ll be in?”
“Babysitting later.”
Lily’s brow arched. “Keys? Hate waiting outside.”
Helen hesitated—gave in. The moment Lily left, she checked the hiding spots—cash, documents, jewelry. With Lily, you never knew.
She’d always been prettier than Lily—just quieter. Lily collected men like trophies.
Helen and Michael dated since school. He proposed after the army. One week before the wedding, she caught him in bed with Lily. She fled north, rebuilt. Years later, she met Alex in a shop—a widower with a sobbing toddler begging for a doll. Helen bought it. The girl clung to her.
When Alex proposed, she said yes—knowing neither loved the other yet. But the girl called her “Mum,” and in time, love grew. No children of their own—a miscarriage saw to that—but she adored her stepdaughter.
Her phone buzzed—Emma, reminding her. “On my way,” Helen said, then texted Alex: “Lily’s here.”
Returning that evening, she saw every light blazing in the flat. Her stomach dropped. Alex home early?
The TV blared. Lily lounged with wine, an empty box of chocolates beside her. Cigarette smoke clung to the air. Helen flung windows open.
“Smoke outside!” She muted the telly. “Celebrating?”
“Join me. Oh right—Saint Helen doesn’t drink.” Lily drained her glass, already slurring.
“What time are you leaving tomorrow?” Helen crossed her arms.
“Changed my mind. Two more days. Don’t worry—not after your dreary hubby.” Lily’s laugh was wet. “Or will you toss me out?”
Arguing was pointless. Helen clenched her fists. Alex would be home tomorrow.
She barely slept, deciding at dawn she’d send Lily packing. But by breakfast, Lily had vanished—sensing the shift?
Alex returned early. Helen spilled everything. When Lily swanned in, Helen cut to the chase: “If you’re staying, get a hotel.”
“You owe me,” Lily hissed.
“After what you did?”
“Gran’s house. Dad fixed it up—it’s half mine.”
“Sold after Mum died. Alex has the cottage. Too much upkeep.”
“Was it willed to you?” Lily’s eyes gleamed.
“No. She died suddenly. We didn’t know where you were.”
“I’ll sue. I’m entitled.”
Alex stepped in. “You want half the sale money?”
“Finally,” Lily purred.
“Done. Just go,” Alex said, ignoring Helen’s glare.
“Try cheating me—I asked the neighbors what it sold for,” Lily warned.
That night, Helen fretted: “What if she demands more?”
Alex sighed. “Not worth the fight. Let’s be rid of her.”
Next morning, he handed Lily an envelope. She peeked inside and smirked.
Helen remembered the dream—Bruno’s snarl. “Will she always haunt me?”
“Now leave,” Alex growled.
Lily leered. “One last lunch?”
He called a cab.
“Throwing out family?” Lily fake-pouted.
“You’ve got the money. We’re square.” Alex’s voice was ice.
“Fine. You’ll regret this,” she tossed over her shoulder.
Helen exhaled.
“Gutsy, that one,” Alex muttered.
Months later, two days before New Year’s, a hospital called. Lily—stage four cancer. “Days left,” the doctor said.
Helen rushed there. The gaunt figure in the bed was unrecognizable. Lily’s prominent teeth nowShe held Lily’s frail hand as the monitors flatlined, whispering goodbye to the sister she’d never truly understood.
