—You’re no sister of mine!—shouted Evelyn, choking back sobs. —I hate you! Take your little thief and get out!
—You’ll be crawling back to me on your knees one day, Nancy!—snapped Nancy, her face burning with indignation. —You’ll beg for forgiveness, but you’re dead to me!
Nancy grabbed her crying daughter’s hand and slammed the door behind her, spitting out a contemptuous “Ugh!” as her final word. The cruel things said in anger weren’t just harsh—they became prophecy. Evelyn and Nancy never saw each other again. Decades passed, the world changed, but the sisters could never get past their bitterness. Had there even been anything to forgive?
Though twins, Evelyn and Nancy’s souls belonged to different worlds. Quiet, reserved Nancy always faded beside radiant, fiery Evelyn. No surprise—Evelyn had been born fifteen minutes earlier and carried the “burden of the elder sister,” as she often reminded everyone.
Arguments between them were rare. After they were orphaned at nineteen, their bond only grew stronger. But life spares no one, pulling even the closest apart. Evelyn married first and moved to Manchester, swallowed by the busy city. Nancy stayed behind in the quiet village of Meadowbrook, starting a family soon after. Distance didn’t sever their connection—letters, calls, occasional visits kept them close.
Nancy became a mother first. Her daughter Lily, with the same hazel eyes and dimpled cheeks, was her spitting image. Evelyn struggled for years to conceive—only after twelve years of marriage did she have her longed-for son, Oliver, who became the centre of her world.
Nancy and Lily often visited Manchester, bringing gifts from the countryside: baskets of apples, jars of blackberry jam, fresh cream. Evelyn would grumble but gratefully accepted. “Ollie’s too thin,” Nancy would insist. “Needs proper country food!” Evelyn would sigh, smiling, and for a moment, everything felt right.
But disaster strikes without warning. Evelyn’s husband died suddenly of a heart attack. Doctors just shrugged—too fast, too final. Her world crumbled. Left alone with three-year-old Oliver, meagre savings, and a gaping hole inside, she had no idea how to go on. How could she raise a son without him?
Nancy tried to help, but what could ease that kind of pain? Just being there.
—Evie, what if Lily stays with you a while?—Nancy suggested. —She’s finished school, summer’s ahead. She’ll help with Ollie, keep you company.
Nancy wished she could stay longer, but home called—farms and a husband who couldn’t be left unsupervised. But she couldn’t abandon Evelyn.
—Nan, you know Lily’s like a daughter to me,—Evelyn said. —If she wants to stay, let her.
—She’s thrilled!—Nancy brightened. —She’s set on uni in the city, wants to study design. Youth, eh? Under your watch, she’ll study properly while helping out.
Evelyn was glad for Lily. After her husband’s death, the flat felt hollow, loneliness gnawing at her. When Oliver slept, she’d weep. Maybe Lily could fill some of that emptiness.
And she did. While Evelyn worked, Lily fetched Oliver from nursery, cooked dinner, studied. Life was steadying.
But happiness is fragile.
The fortieth-day memorial loomed. Evelyn planned a modest meal, but money was tight. Payday was a week off. “I’ll take from the stash, replace it later,” she decided, reaching into the cupboard for the old biscuit tin where her husband kept savings.
He’d dreamed of a new car, even mapped out how to save. Now that money was survival. “He’d understand,” Evelyn thought, opening the tin. And froze. It was empty.
Panic set in. Who’d taken it? When? She hadn’t checked in months—first Oliver was ill, then her husband died. But no one knew about the stash! Who’d find an old biscuit tin?
Then it struck her. Only a close someone would…
—Aunt Evie, I passed my first exam!—Lily burst in, grinning. —Two more, and I’m in!
Evelyn didn’t answer. She sat at the table, clutching the empty tin, face like stone.
—Lily, admit it. Where’s the money?—Evelyn’s voice shook. —Spent it? Gave it away? Tell me!
Lily froze, baffled.
—What money, Aunt Evie?
—The money you stole!—Evelyn hurled the tin at the wall, barely missing Lily.
—I—I don’t—I didn’t!—Lily burst into tears.
—Then who did?—Evelyn was beyond reason. —You’re the only one here!
The door opened—Nancy, arriving early to help. She dropped her bags at the shouting.
—What’s going on?—she asked, but Evelyn whirled on her.
—Look who’s here!—Evelyn hissed. —Raised a thief, now face it! Return that money now, or I’ll call the police! You’ll both rot!
Lily sobbed, Nancy tried explaining, but Evelyn wasn’t listening. Betrayal blinded her. In fury, the sisters made their fatal choice—to erase each other from their lives.
“You’re no sister of mine,” each thought, drowning in bitterness.
Evelyn felt betrayed. The more she blamed Nancy and Lily, the hotter her hate burned. How could family do this? With no one left, she faced the world alone.
Hard times came. Evelyn worked herself ragged, money always short. How she longed to call Nancy, vent about struggles, reforms, survival! Nancy would’ve rushed over with food, warmth. But pride was stronger.
Years flew by. Evelyn never remarried—no time. Oliver grew up, left at eighteen for uni, became a lawyer, married. Now successful, nearly mortgage-free, but they spoke less—her sharp tongue pushed him away.
—Mum, why weren’t you answering?—Oliver rushed in, breathless. —I thought something happened!
—Your stupid phone’s off, no idea how to turn it on!—Evelyn grumbled.
Oliver loved her despite her temper. He called daily, rushed over if she didn’t answer. At seventy-nine, no risks.
—We’ll sort it,—he said gently. —Fancy tea?
She led him to the kitchen, frozen in time. Yellowed wallpaper, an old Cheburashka calendar, an Olympic bear tapestry—all preserved like relics.
—Mum, don’t freak out,—Oliver started carefully. —Nancy died yesterday…
Evelyn stiffened, betraying nothing.
—How’d you know?
—Lily called.
—You speak to that thief?—Evelyn’s voice turned icy.
—Mum, enough!—Oliver raised his voice. —We reconnected ages ago. She’s no thief!
—You know what they put me through?—Evelyn trembled. —I slaved to raise you, and they lived it up on my money!
—Mum, that’s not proven!—Oliver tried.
—Get out!—Evelyn screamed. —If you’re with them, you’re no son of mine!
Oliver left, knowing she wouldn’t listen. He’d wanted to say how Nancy had begged for reconciliation, called for her sister at the end. But Evelyn was deaf to it.
Next day, a neighbour’s call stopped him. Evelyn had a heart attack, rushed to hospital. He raced there—too late. She died barely a day after her sister.
—Love, if we sell this place, we’ll need to fix it up,—Oliver’s wife said, eyeing the flat. —And chuck all this junk.
She yanked down the Olympic bear tapestry. It fell, and behind it, fluttered old notes—blue, purple, red. Oliver froze. His father must’ve moved the money, never got to say. And now… no one left to ask.
