“Get ready, Mum and your brother are coming to split the inheritance”: You’ve robbed your own brother, you’ve got no conscience.
I gave up my share of the inheritance for my dad’s sake, but in the end, he left me his entire flat. His words still echo in my head: “You’ll understand later. Just don’t trust them—they’ll lie.” At the time, I didn’t know who he meant, but now it all makes sense.
My name’s Emily. I’ve got an aunt, Rebecca, Mum’s younger sister. They never spoke—rumour had it Rebecca took everything from Gran’s inheritance for herself. I knew I had cousins, Oliver and Charlotte. We used to play together as kids, but over time, we lost touch. Recently, Charlotte found me on social media and told me something that made my blood run cold.
The last few years have been full of loss. Three years ago, Mum passed. Dad held on just long enough to see me finish uni in Manchester, then followed her soon after. They loved each other deeply—he doted on her, carried her in his arms, always brought her flowers. I reckon he never got over losing her.
When Mum died, Dad inherited half the flat. I signed my share over to him, and to my surprise, he put the whole place in my name. “You’ll understand later,” he said. “Just don’t trust them—they’ll lie.” I pressed him—who were “they,” and what lies?—but he brushed me off.
Six months after the funeral, Charlotte messaged me. She reminded me she was Rebecca’s daughter and said she’d be passing through Manchester. “We need to meet,” she wrote. “Big news.” No reason to refuse, so I gave her my number and address, asking her to call first.
She arrived a week later. I met her at the station—she seemed jumpy. Brought her back to the flat, and she glanced around before saying, “Nice place. Pity you’ll have to move soon.” We sat in the kitchen, and there, she dropped the bomb: Oliver was my half-brother. She didn’t have details, but claimed that’s why Gran left everything to Rebecca instead of splitting it between the sisters.
Charlotte said Dad had first courted Rebecca, but when she fell pregnant with Oliver, he left her and married Mum. “Mum and Oliver are coming for their share,” she warned. “Get ready.”
I was stunned. Oliver wouldn’t get a penny—the flat’s in my name, Dad’s savings were kept at home (he never trusted banks), and the car was mine anyway. All Dad had, I owned now. The half-brother story felt shaky—Dad adored Mum too much for that—but anything’s possible.
“Thanks for the warning, Charlotte,” I said. “Let them come, then.”
I made up the spare bed and turned in. I’m a light sleeper, and that night, a faint rustling woke me. I opened my eyes to see Charlotte rummaging through my dresser, her phone torch glowing.
“Lose something?” I asked.
She jumped, dropping the phone—it shattered on the floor.
“I—it was nothing,” she stammered.
“Charlotte, go to bed. And leave tomorrow. I don’t want guests who rifle through my things.”
By morning, she was gone. The flat door was left ajar. I checked everything—nothing missing.
Days later, Rebecca called. Sounded drunk.
“You tricked your dad into signing the flat over, didn’t you?” she shrieked. “Robbed your own brother, you heartless cow! He’s married, stuck renting, and it’s all your mum’s fault! If not for her, your dad would’ve married me. She ruined everything!”
I hung up. She didn’t call back. But Charlotte kept ringing, demanding I replace her broken phone—apparently, that was my fault too.
Rebecca and Oliver never showed. Guess Charlotte told them the flat was mine, end of story. After all this, I finally understood why Mum kept her distance. Family like that? Worse than strangers.
