A late-night call revealed my daughters voice. The phone rang well past bedtime, and I picked up the receiver to hear Pilar on the other end.
“Mum, its me. Ive got a problem!” she cried. “My husbands kicked me out. Ill come round tomorrow and stay with Dad.”
“Listen, Pilar,” I said calmly. “You dont have parents or a home anymore.”
“What?” she shrieked. “What do you mean, no home? Im your only daughter! Ive got a right to this flat!”
“Thats just it,” I replied. “You dont. We gave it to Lucy. She owns it now, and your father and I want nothing more to do with you. Youre not our daughter. Dont call againyouve lost everything.”
I hung up, satisfied. After what Pilar had done, I had every right to say it.
Gazing out the window, I remembered how this whole mess had started with another phone call, years agoone that came far too early in the morning. Id stumbled out of bed, groggy, and snatched up the landline.
“Hello?”
A stifled sob crackled through the line.
“Hello? Who is this?”
“Mary, its me Annie.”
“Annie, for goodness sake, do you know what time it is?”
“I do.” Her voice was strained. “Mary, Im going into hospital today for an operation, and Im terrified for Lucy. Please, promise me you and Andrew wont abandon her. Shes so little. Dont send her to an orphanage.”
Annie had always been eccentricfull of wild ideas and unpredictable choicesbut this was beyond anything. My fingers clenched around the receiver. Something was terribly wrong.
“Why didnt you tell me sooner? Whats happening? Where are they taking you?”
Annie had been unwell for years but never made a fuss. Lately, though, the pain had worsened. Shed lost weight, grown gaunt. The diagnosis was grim. She needed immediate surgeryone she hadnt even bothered to mention until now.
I was already the one who helped her constantly, slipped her money, acted more like a mother than a sister. And now? Another crisis, another burdenher young daughter thrown onto my lap.
“Mary, they cant guarantee Ill make it. Please, dont let Lucy down.”
An hour later, we were at the hospital. The operation hadnt started yet, but we werent allowed to see her. In the corridor, little Lucy sat curled up in a chair. I hugged her tight.
“Are they going to hurt Mummy?” she whispered, eyes brimming with tears.
“No, darling. Shell be asleep. She wont feel a thing.”
Four hours later, the surgeon told us Annie hadnt survived.
We took Lucy home. That evening, I walked into Pilars room and explained that Lucys mother had diedshed be sharing the room now. Pilar glared but stayed silent.
Ten days later, she hurled Lucys belongings into the hall and barred her from returning. Reasoning with Pilar was useless. She dug her heels in, swearing shed toss Lucys things out every time we tried. To keep the peace, we gave Lucy our bedroom and moved into the lounge.
Lucy was an orphan. Annie had never told us who her father was. Now her future rested entirely with usso we treated her exactly as we did Pilar. Both were our daughters.
Years passed. Pilar graduated uni, married a wealthy older manneither detail bothered herand promptly moved in with Raymond. A month later, she announced the wedding.
“Mum, just make sure that favourite of yoursthat little suck-updoesnt come. I dont want her there.”
“Pilar, you cant do that. Lucys your sister. Not inviting her insults us.”
“Shes not coming!”
“Then neither are we.”
“Fine! Suits me!”
I burst into tears but pulled myself together and booked a getaway to Brighton.
“What about Pilars wedding?” Andrew asked, baffled.
“Were not invited.”
“Lucy, help me find a nice B&B.”
“Were going on holiday?”
“Yes, love. We deserve it.”
“Hooray!” Lucy spun around the room, beaming.
The three of us stayed close. Lucy finished school, aced her exams, and got into uni to study architecture. Her mother had been a brilliant painter, quite well-known in her circles. Lucy inherited that talentor, as Andrew suspected, perhaps her fathers. He had theories about a certain local figure, but I didnt care. Lucy was ours.
A year later, we celebrated Lucys eighteenth birthdaythe same day Andrew collapsed, ghostly pale. The ambulance rushed him to hospital.
“The situation is critical,” the doctor said. “Theres a medication that could save him, but its extortionate. We can have it here in three daysif you can pay.”
Desperate, I rang Pilar. Raymond was loaded; surely theyd lend us the money.
Pilar answered. I explained the crisis.
There was a long silence.
“All right, Mum,” she finally said. “Ill talk to Raymond and call you back.”
An hour later, she did.
“Mum, thing is Raymonds finally buying me that new car. He promised ages ago. But theres a catch. Its either the car or the money for you.”
“Darling, well pay you backevery penny.”
“Dont be silly. When? In instalments? Ill never see that car if I wait for you.”
“Pilar, listen to yourself! Your father could die!”
“I cant help. Get a loan.”
The receiver slipped from my hand. I nearly fainted.
“Aunt Mary, whats wrong?” Lucy caught me before I fell.
Between sobs, I told her.
“Sell Mums flat,” she said firmly. “I cant stand being there five minutes anyway. Price it lowjust get the deposit for the medicine. Uncle Andrews life matters more.”
“Sweetheart, we cant. Its yours. What would your mother say?”
“Aunt Mary, be sensible! Who cares what shed say? We havent got time for this!”
I hugged her, overwhelmed. She was right.
We sold the flat that same daygot a fair priceand used the deposit to secure the medicine. Two days later, it arrived. The treatment worked. A month on, Andrew was fully recovered.
Once he was well, we transferred the flat to Lucys name. The leftover money went into savings. We were happyuntil that late-night call.
Pilar, dumped by Raymond, wanted to come home.
I told her no.
“Weve only got one daughter: Lucy.”
I hung up.
A couple of years later, Lucy married James, a farmer with a thriving business and a sprawling country house. He planned to open a small cannery.
She invited us to move in, but we preferred visiting a few times a week. They kept a lovely room ready for us. Andrew and James bonded over fishing trips, and Lucy designed the cannery layout.
We were a familyhappy, harmonious, just not always under one roof.
The only time we remembered Pilar was on her wedding daythe same day Andrew and I went to Brighton, just as we had years before. Lucy arranged our trips, sometimes joining us.
Every year, on that date, I wondered how Id raised a daughter so selfish shed trade her fathers life for a flashy carwhile Lucy, whod lost her mother so young, gave up everything for us without a second thought.
