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.