Times may stay the same, but people certainly don’t.
“Tracey, have you got even a shred of conscience left?!” Olivia asked her younger sister, her voice trembling.
“Livvy, of all people, you’re the last one who should be lecturing me about conscience! Mum and I have done our bit—now it’s your turn to take her in with Ron. See how you like living under the same roof with an elderly woman. We’ve had enough!” Tracey shouted the last bit before slamming the phone down.
Olivia listened to the dial tone, paused for a moment, then sighed.
“What a piece of work… Absolute cheek!”
…Olivia and Tracey were sisters. Their parents, Gregory and Helen, had married as students. A year after the wedding, their first child, Olivia, was born. Money was tight, and the young family barely scraped by.
A few years later, Gregory was given a two-bedroom flat by the company he worked for. Life got easier—Helen taught music at a school and picked up private tutoring in the evenings, bringing in a decent wage. When Olivia turned ten, Tracey arrived.
The younger girl was utterly spoilt. Every whim, every demand was met instantly. Tracey quickly learned how to play the system, yanking the “emotional blanket” firmly to her side.
“Livvy, you’re the older one—let your sister have it!” Helen scolded for the hundredth time.
“Mum, why does she need that notebook? I bought it for myself—she’s too young for it anyway!”
“But I waaant it!” Tracey wailed.
And just like that, whatever she wanted ended up in her hands. Tracey refused to learn to read, refused speech therapy—she wanted things her way, full stop. Any resistance meant a full-blown tantrum with dramatic consequences.
When Olivia turned sixteen and Tracey was six, tragedy struck. Gregory suffered a sudden heart attack at work and died. Colleagues, neighbours, friends—everyone mourned. “Only forty! So young, so unfair,” they said.
Helen was shattered. Something inside her snapped. She barely noticed anything—or anyone—around her, least of all Olivia. All her love and attention poured into seven-year-old Tracey, who looked exactly like Gregory.
“Mum, my jeans are falling apart, and you keep buying Tracey new dresses! Her wardrobe’s stuffed—where’s she even putting them?” Olivia protested.
“Oh, stop making a fuss! You’re practically grown. Soon you’ll finish school, go to uni, get a job—buy whatever you want. But poor Tracey, losing her dad so young! And how he adored her…” Helen sniffled.
Olivia moved away for university.
“You know, Liv, I thought I’d miss you, but honestly? It’s a relief! I’m turning Tracey’s room into a proper princess suite!” Helen chirped.
“So… you’re chucking out my bed the second I leave? I was planning to visit on weekends,” Olivia said flatly.
“Well, of course! That old thing’s had its day. You can sleep on the folding bed in my room or the kitchen—it’s only a weekend! Tracey needs her own space; she’s got her whole school life ahead!”
By autumn, Olivia was gone, and Helen dove headfirst into renovation.
“Liv, I should’ve shipped you off in summer! Now we’re stuck doing this during term. Tracey’s desperate for her own room,” Helen complained over the phone.
“Mum, why even bother? The room was fine! Speaking of—first-years are chipping in for Freshers’ Week. Mind transferring me some cash?”
“If you want extra money, get a job! I’ve taken out a loan for this renovation. Then there’s Tracey’s new wardrobe—she’s outgrown everything. And cinema trips, ice cream… it never ends!”
“You buy her everything. Why am I less important?!”
“You’re an adult now—time to stand on your own feet! I worked through uni and managed. But Tracey’s just a child—and after losing her dad…”
“Mum, *I* lost him too.”
“Yes, but you’re older. Be responsible!”
Olivia rarely visited. She took weekend jobs, met Ron, moved in together, had a modest wedding, and got a mortgage.
“Sweetheart, I’d help with the mortgage, but you know how things are…” Helen sighed.
“How *are* things, Mum?”
“Tracey’s at university—private tutors cost a fortune!”
“I managed without them!”
“Times have changed! She’s aiming for Translation Studies—probably the paid route, so I’m saving. You and Ron will manage. Think before you leap next time!”
Olivia didn’t argue. By now, Tracey ran the show.
When Olivia had her first child, Ethan, she called Helen.
“Mum, could you maybe come help for a bit?”
“Oh, Liv, how? Tracey’s studying for her finals—she needs me to cook proper meals, keep her focused…”
“I sat exams too. Right after Dad died.”
“That was *then*. I want better for Tracey.”
Tracey graduated (paid for by Helen’s relentless scrimping—Ethan got bargain-bin toys because “plastic rubbish” wasn’t as important as Tracey’s future). She married young, stayed with Helen, and had a son, Noah. Helen doted on him like Tracey 2.0.
“Mum, did you quit your job?!” Olivia gasped during a call.
“Yes. Noah’s at that fancy grammar school across town—someone’s got to ferry him!”
“It’s a 25-minute bus ride! Let Tracey handle it!”
“Don’t be absurd! Noah’s *gifted*—that local school’s beneath him!”
Years passed. Noah grew up. Tracey and her husband bought a swanky new flat and ditched Helen. The stress triggered a heart attack.
“Trace, either take Mum in or stay with her. She’ll need care,” Olivia said.
“Are you *mad*? We’ve just done up the place—do you know how much that cost?!”
“So you’re leaving her alone?”
“*Alone*? Take her yourself! We’ve done our stint!”
Helen came home to an empty flat. Tracey’s family had already left for Turkey. Olivia and Ron took her in.
“Livvy, I’ve been so blind… Pushing you aside all these years. And look at you—built a life on your own. I’ll never forgive myself…” Helen wept.
“Mum, enough. Water under the bridge. Take on a few pupils—you’re a brilliant teacher.”
“You’re sure I won’t be in the way?”
“Don’t be silly. We’re glad you’re here.”
Weeks later, Tracey called. Olivia assumed guilt had kicked in.
“Liv, is Mum staying with you for good?”
“Yes. She’s recovering, even tutoring again—”
“Great. I’ll rent out her flat then. Noah’s tutors cost a bomb these days—”
“Trace—” *Click.* The line went dead.
