Just Hold On a Little Longer “Mum, this is for Anna’s next semester.” Maria placed the envelope on the worn plastic tablecloth. A hundred thousand. She counted it three times—at home, on the bus, at the door. Each time, there was exactly what was needed. Elena put aside her knitting and looked at her daughter over her glasses. “Maria, you look so pale. Shall I make you some tea?” “No, Mum. I’m just here for a minute, I’ve got to make it to the evening shift.” The kitchen smelled of boiled potatoes and something medicinal—either the joint cream or the drops Maria bought for her mother every month. Four thousand for a bottle, enough for three weeks. Plus blood pressure pills, plus quarterly medical tests. “Anna was so happy when she got the bank internship,” Elena said, gently taking the envelope as if it were delicate glass. “She says there are really good prospects there.” Maria said nothing. “Tell her this is the last money for her studies.” The final semester. For five years Maria had carried this burden. Every month—an envelope for her mother, a transfer for her sister. Every month—calculator in hand, endless subtractions: minus rent, minus medicine, minus groceries for Mum, minus Anna’s university fees. What was left? A rented bedsit, a winter coat that was six years old, and forgotten dreams about a place of her own. Once, Maria had wanted to go to London. Just for the weekend. See the National Gallery, stroll along the Thames. She even started saving. Then her mum had a bad turn, and every penny went to doctors. “You should take a break, love,” Elena stroked her arm. “You look exhausted.” “I will. Soon.” Soon—after Anna found work. After Mum stabilised. After life calmed down and she could finally breathe and think about herself. Maria had told herself “soon” for five years. Anna collected her economics degree in June. Honours, too—Maria attended the ceremony, getting time off work especially. She watched her little sister step onto the stage in a new dress—Maria’s gift, naturally—and thought: this is it. Now everything will change. Now Anna would start earning, and Maria could finally stop counting every penny. Four months later. “Maria, you don’t understand,” Anna said, curled on the sofa in fluffy socks. “I didn’t study five years to slog away for peanuts.” “Fifty thousand isn’t peanuts.” “Maybe to you it isn’t.” Maria gritted her teeth. At her main job, she got forty-two. With her side jobs, she might scrape another twenty if she was lucky. Sixty-two thousand pounds, and if she was lucky to keep fifteen for herself. “Anna, you’re twenty-two. It’s time to start working, somewhere, anywhere.” “I will, just not in some dead-end company for peanuts.” Elena bustled about in the kitchen, rattling dishes; pretending not to hear, as she always did when the sisters argued. She’d disappear, and later, when Maria left, she’d whisper, “Don’t be cross with Anna, she’s still young, she doesn’t understand.” Doesn’t understand. Twenty-two years old and still doesn’t understand. “I won’t be here forever, Anna.” “Oh, stop being so dramatic. I’m not asking you for money, am I? Just taking my time finding the right job.” Technically not asking. But Mum was: “Maria, Anna needs English lessons.” “Maria, Anna’s phone’s broken—she needs it for job applications.” “Maria, Anna needs a new coat, winter’s coming.” Maria sent the funds, bought what was needed, and paid for everything. Silently. Because that’s how it had always been: she shouldered the burden, and everyone else took it for granted. “I’ve got to go,” she said, standing up. “I’ve got another shift this evening.” “Wait, let me pack you some pies!” called Mum from the kitchen. The pies were cabbage. Maria took the bag and stepped into the cold, damp-smelling stairwell. Ten minutes’ brisk walk to the bus stop, then an hour’s ride. Eight hours on her feet. And, if she made it back in time, another four hours at her laptop for the side job. Anna would sit at home, browsing listings and waiting for the universe to deliver a perfect job—one that paid £150,000 with work-from-home perks. The first real fight happened in November. “Do you do anything at all?” Maria snapped, finding Anna sprawled on the sofa just like she’d been a week ago. “Have you sent out a single CV?” “I have. Three, actually.” “Three CVs in a month?” Anna rolled her eyes and stared at her phone. “You don’t understand the job market. Huge competition. You have to pick the right opportunities.” “The ‘right’ ones? Like, where you get paid to lie on the sofa?” Elena peered in from the kitchen, nervously wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Girls, how about some tea? I’ve baked a cake…” “No, thanks, Mum,” Maria rubbed her temples. Her head had ached for three days. “Just explain to me why I’m working two jobs while she’s not working at all?” “Maria, Anna’s still young. She’ll find her way…” “When? In a year? Five? I was working at her age!” Anna bristled. “Sorry I don’t want to end up like you! Racing about, working yourself into the ground!” Silence. Maria quietly picked up her bag and left. On the bus home, she stared out the window at the darkness and thought: workhorse. Is that how others saw her? Elena called the next day, asked Maria not to be upset. “Anna didn’t mean it. She’s just struggling. Just hold on a little longer, she’ll definitely find a job.” Hold on. Mum’s favourite phrase. Hold on till Dad gets himself together. Hold on till Anna grows up. Hold on till things improve. Maria had been holding on all her life. Fights became the new normal. Every visit to her mother ended the same way: Maria pleading with her sister, Anna pushing back, Elena torn between them, begging for peace. Then Maria would leave, Elena would ring with apologies, and the whole cycle would repeat. “You have to understand—she’s your sister,” Mum would say. “She has to understand I’m not a cash machine.” “Maria…” In January, Anna called herself, her voice sparkling with excitement. “Maria! Maria, I’m getting married!” “What? To who?” “His name’s James. We’ve been dating three weeks. He’s just… Maria, he’s perfect!” Three weeks. Maria wanted to say it was insane, that Anna should at least get to know him. She bit her tongue. Perhaps this was for the best. If Anna married, her husband could support her, and Maria could finally breathe. That hope lasted only until the family dinner. “I’ve planned it all!” Anna beamed. “A hotel for a hundred guests, live music, and the dress I found at a boutique in Kensington…” Maria slowly put down her fork. “And how much is all this going to cost?” “Well…” Anna shrugged with a disarming smile. “About fifteen, maybe twenty thousand. But it’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing! My wedding!” “And who’s paying for it?” “Maria, you know… James’s parents can’t, they’ve got a mortgage. And Mum’s on nearly a pension. I suppose you’ll have to take out a loan.” Maria stared at her sister. Then at her mother. Elena looked away. “Are you serious?” “Maria, it’s a wedding,” Mum said, using that syrupy tone Maria knew from childhood. “A once-in-a-lifetime event. You can’t be stingy…” “I’m supposed to borrow fifteen thousand so my unemployed sister can have the wedding of her dreams?” “You’re my sister!” Anna banged her hand on the table. “You owe me!” “I owe you?” Maria stood. Her mind was strangely calm and clear. “Five years. For five years I paid for your education. For Mum’s medicine. For your food, clothes, bills. I work two jobs. I have no flat, no car, no holidays. I’m twenty-eight and the last time I bought new clothes was a year and a half ago.” “Maria, calm down…” Mum started. “No! Enough! For years I have supported you both, and now you tell me about my ‘obligations’? That’s it. From now on, I’m living for me!” She grabbed her coat and left. Outside, it was below zero, but Maria felt warmth inside—as if she’d finally shrugged off the burden she’d carried all her life. Her phone rang with calls. Maria silenced and blocked both numbers. …Half a year passed. Maria moved into a small flat she could finally afford. In the summer, she went to London for four days: the National Gallery, walks by the river, late sunsets. She bought a new dress. And another. New shoes too. She learned about her family by accident—from a school friend working locally. “Hey, is it true your sister’s wedding was called off?” Maria paused, coffee cup in hand. “What?” “Yeah, word is the fiancé left. He found out there was no money, so he bailed.” Maria drank her coffee. It was bitter—and, oddly, delicious. “I don’t know. We’re not in touch.” That evening, Maria sat by the window of her new flat and realised she felt no bitterness at all. Just quiet contentment—the quiet satisfaction of someone who’d finally stopped being a workhorse.

Author John SmithReading 9 minViews 3Published by February 1, 2026

Just hang on a little longer

Mum, this is for Alices next term.

Mary placed the envelope on the faded vinyl tablecloth. A thousand pounds. Shed counted it three timesat home, on the bus, and again outside the block of flats. Each time, the exact sum needed.

Helen put down her knitting and peered over her glasses at her daughter.

Mary, you look awfully pale. Fancy a cup of tea?

No, thanks, Mum. I cant stay, Ive got to make it to my late shift.

The kitchen smelt of boiled potatoes and a hint of something medicinalperhaps the ointment for Helens joints or the eye drops Mary bought every month. Forty quid a bottle, and it never lasted more than three weeks. Then the blood pressure pills, the quarterly check-ups. All adding up.

Alice was over the moon when she got that internship at the bank, Helen said, gently taking the envelope as if it were fragile glass. Says its a proper opportunity.

Mary said nothing.

Tell her this is the last lot for her tuition, Helen added.

Final term. For five years, Mary had been slogging away. Every montha little for Mum, a bank transfer for her sister. Every monththe calculator out, endless arithmetic: subtract rent, subtract groceries, subtract Mums medication, subtract Alices fees. What was left? A tiny box room in a grimy houseshare, a winter coat older than some schoolchildren, and abandoned daydreams of owning her own place.

She used to want to visit Londonjust for a weekend. See the National Gallery, stroll along Southbank. Shed begun saving for it, but then Mum had her first bad turn and all those rainy-day funds evaporated into medical bills.

You ought to get a bit of rest, love, Helen said, patting her hand. You look done in.

I will. Soon.

Soonwhen Alice gets a job. When Mums health evens out. When its finally possible to breathe and think about herself. Mary had been chanting that soon for five years.

Alice got her economics degree that Junewith honours, actually. Mary took leave to attend the ceremony, watching her little sister walk across the stage in a new dress (a gift from her, predictably) and thought: thats it. Now things will change. Alice would get a job, start earning, and maybe, just maybe, Mary could stop counting every penny.

Four months passed.

You dont understand, Alice huffed from her nest of fluffy socks on the sofa. I didnt bust my guts for five years just to slave away for peanuts.

Fifty grand a year isnt peanuts.

Maybe not to you.

Mary clenched her jaw. Her main job paid her forty-two. The temp gigs brought in another twenty if she got lucky. Sixty-two grand, and if she could manage to set aside fifteen for herself a month, it was a miracle.

Alice, youre nearly twenty-two. Its time to start working somewhereanywhere.

I will. But Im not settling for some dead-end company for fifty grand.

Helen banged about in the kitchen, clattering dishespretending not to listen. She always did this while her daughters bickered. Disappeared for a bit, then, as Mary gathered her things to leave, would whisper: Dont be cross with Alice, shes still young, shell see sense.

See sense. Twenty-twoand still not got the hang of it.

I wont be around forever, Alice.

Oh, dont be dramatic. Its not like Im asking you for money, is it? Im just holding out for the right job.

True, she wasnt asking. Not directly. Helen did that. Mary, Alice needs money for some English classes, she wants to up her CV. Mary, Alices phones bustshe needs it to apply for jobs. Mary, Alice saw a lovely new coatwinters coming, you know.

Mary paid out, covered bills, forked out for everything. Quietly. Because thats how it had always been: she grafted, the rest just took it for granted.

Gotta dash, Mary said, grabbing her bag. Evening shifts waiting.

Let me pack you up some sausage rolls! Helen called from the kitchen.

They were cabbage-filled, but Mary took the bag and braced the chill, stairwell reeking of must and cat pee. Ten minutes quick-march to the bus stop. An hours ride, then eight hours on her feet. Four more behind a computer, if she was lucky.

Alice would presumably be home, scrolling job sites, waiting for the universe to hand her the perfect work-from-home position with a six-figure salary and free snacks.

The first serious row erupted in November.

So are you doing anything at all? Mary snapped, dismayed to find Alice in the same slouch as last week. Sent off even one application?

I have. Three.

Three? In a month?

Alice rolled her eyes and retreated behind her phone.

You dont get what its like out there. The job markets murder; you have to pick the right openings.

Right ones being where you get paid for lying on the sofa?

Helen peeked out, nervously drying her hands on a teatowel.

Anyone want a cuppa? Ive baked a nice cake

No, Mum, Mary groaned, massaging her temples. Shed had a splitting headache for days. Just tell me why I have to work two jobs while she does nothing?

Shes still young, Mary. Shell find her way…

When? Next year? In five? At her age, I was already working!

Alice jolted upright.

Sorry for not wanting to end up like you! Knackered, worn out, just living to work

Silence settled. Mary picked up her bag and left. On the bus home, she watched her reflection in the black window: knackered cart horse. Thats what it looked like from outside.

Helen phoned the next day to plead.

She didnt mean it like that. Alice is just rattled. Just hang on a bit, shell sort herself out.

Hang on. Mums favourite phrase. Hang on while Dad sorts himself out. Hang on until Alice grows up. Hang on until things get better. Mary had been hanging on all her life.

The squabbles became routine. Each visit home ended the same way: Mary tried to get through to Alice, Alice bit back, Helen scurried between them, begging for peace. Then Mary would go, Helen would call with apologies, and the whole thing reset.

You have to understand, shes your sister, Mum insisted.

And she has to understand, Im not a cash machine.

Mary…

In January, Alice rang herself. She sounded far chipper than usual.

Mary! Guess whatIm getting married!

Sorry, what? To whom?

His names Jamie. Weve been together three weeks. Hes… hes just perfect!

Three weeks. Mary wanted to say it was madness, that you had to know someone at least a little, but bit her tongue. Maybe it was for the best. Get married, let the husband take over, let Mary finally rest.

That naïve fantasy lasted exactly until the family dinner.

Ive planned it all! Alice glowed. A reception for a hundred, live band, dress from that boutique on Regent Street…

Mary put her fork down slowly.

How much is all this costing?

Well… Alice grinned the kind of winning smile you just cant argue with. Maybe five, six grand? But its a wedding! Once in a lifetime!

And whos paying?

Oh, you know how it is… Jamies family cant help, and Mums barely scraping by on her pension. Youll probably have to take out a loan.

Mary stared at her sister. Then at her mother. Helen looked everywhere but at her.

Youre serious?

Mary, its a wedding, her mum cooed in that syrupy lets keep the peace voice. Its a big day. You cant cut corners…

Im meant to borrow thousands, for a wedding, for someone whos not even bothered to find a job?

Youre my sister! Alice clapped a hand on the table. Thats your duty!

My duty?

Mary stood. Her mind was astonishingly calm.

Five years. Ive paid for your degree. Mums medicine. Both your bills, your food, your clothes, the gas and electric. I work two jobs. Ive not got a house, a car, or even taken a proper holiday. Im twenty-eight, and the last time I bought myself new clothes was eighteen months ago.

Mary, dont be hasty Helen began.

No! Enough! Ive kept you both afloat for years, and now you tell me Im obliged to keep going? Well, thats it. From today, Im living for myself.

She left, barely remembering to snatch her coat from the stand. Outside, it was freezing, but Mary didnt feel the cold. Inside, a gentle warmth spread, as though shed finally dropped the sack of rocks shed been carrying for years.

Her phone buzzed with calls, but she silenced it and blocked both numbers.

…Six months later, Mary moved into a tiny one-bed flat she could finally afford. That summer, she went to London. Four daysthe National Gallery, the river, evenings when it never seemed to get dark. She bought a new dress. And another one. And new shoes, just because.

She only discovered the latest family news by chancefrom a school friend working near her mum.

Oi, is it true your sisters weddings off?

Mary froze, coffee mug poised.

Sorry?

Word is, he legged itfound out there wasnt any money and did a runner.

Mary sipped her coffee. It was bitteryet oddly delicious.

No idea. Were not in touch.

That evening, sitting by her new flats window, Mary realised she felt no shred of schadenfreude. Not even a tickle. Just a quiet, contented glow, the relief of someone who, finally, is no longer a knackered cart horse.