“Youve got problems, little sister, but this isnt your home.”
My auntmy mothers sisternever had children, but she owned a splendid three-bedroom flat in the heart of London and suffered from serious health issues. Her late husband had been a collector, so her home resembled more of a museum than a residence.
My younger sister, Emily, had a lazy husband and two children. They lived in a cramped rented room near the university. When Emily heard about our aunts declining health, she rushed over at once to complain about her own miserable lot in life.
I should mention that our aunt is a sharp-tongued woman who doesnt mince words and knows how to put someone in their place. For years, shed invited me and my husband to live with her, promising to leave us the flat. But we had our own home and turned down her “generous offer.” Still, out of duty, we brought her groceries and medicine, and I cleaned her house occasionallynever because we coveted her property.
Within days of Emilys visit, she and her family moved in. My sister and I had never gotten alongshed always envied me. I had a hardworking, loving husband, a wonderful son, a good job, a comfortable income, and my own home. Emily only ever called when she needed to borrow moneywhich she never repaid.
After I became pregnant again, I had less time for my aunt, though my husband still dropped off treats for her. When my baby was six months old, I finally visited. As I approached the door, I heard shoutingmy sisters voice:
“Until you sign over the flat, youre not getting a bite to eat! Crawl back into your corner, and dont you dare come out tonightyou belong in the doghouse!”
I rang the bell. When Emily saw me, she barred the door, sneering, “Dont even think about coming inthis flat isnt yours!”
I only got inside after threatening to call the police. My aunt had aged ten years since Id last seen her. Tears welled in her eyes when she spotted me.
“Why are you crying? Go on, tell her how well we treat you!” Emily snapped. “See? She couldnt even be bothered to bring her baby!”
My aunts room had been stripped bareeven her wardrobe was gone, her belongings piled on the floor. The collectors’ items had vanished, and she no longer wore her fine jewellery. It was clear Emily and her husband had been selling everything off while living off my aunts generosity.
Excusing myself to the loo, I texted my husband: *We need to rescue Auntienow.* Returning, I chatted brightly about my life, squeezing her hand and whispering, “Just hold on.” She understood, gratitude flashing in her eyes.
Emily tried to shove me out, while her husband kept hovering, asking if my baby missed me. Exactly an hour later, my husband arrivedwith a constable in tow. My sister stalled before opening the door. “My husbands here,” I announced.
The policeman was an unpleasant shock for Emily and her husband. I led him to my aunt. “This is the victim. Theyve been starving her, selling off her furniture, her jewelleryeverything. Her late husbands entire collection, gone.”
Over Emilys wails, the officer asked, “Do you wish to press charges?”
Emily got off lightly, but her husband served two years. My mother took her and the children in, despite having disowned them years earlier. Mum blamed *me* for involving the police, declaring Id never inherit a thing. But in gratitude, my aunt left me her flat.
Now, my husband and I visit her as we always did, with a nurse to care for her. I cant imagine the horrors she endured under my sisters “care.”
Sometimes, kindness repaid isnt measured in propertybut in knowing you did the right thing.
