When my mother fell ill, my sister suddenly became the perfect daughter. She moved into my mother’s house and pushed me aside, saying she would take care of everything. But I knew my sister very well. Her motives were never pure. I couldn’t stop her, but everything changed when the doctor gave me my mother’s last letter.
I never understood how such different children could grow up in the same family. I didn’t understand until my sister and I became adults. Our mother raised us alone, and the older I got, the more I understood how hard it was for her.
I remember the small flat we lived in when I was little. It was always cold in winter, and I could hear the wind whistling through the cracks in the windows. Mum worked two jobs just to put a roof over our heads, but it still wasn’t enough.
Sometimes there was hardly any food at home. I still remember the nights when our neighbour, Mrs Jenkins, brought us dinner.
She would smile kindly as she served us hot soup or a plate of pasta.
At the time, I didn’t understand how much it meant. I just knew I wasn’t hungry anymore.
But I noticed that Mum never ate with us. She would sit quietly, pretending she wasn’t hungry, but I knew the truth.
She gave herself completely to us. Over time, things got better. Mum found a better job, and we gradually climbed out of poverty.
She saved enough money to move to a better house, and eventually Samira and I went to college.
But Samira didn’t remember those difficult times as I did. She was too young to understand the hardships her mother was going through.
Perhaps that’s why she turned out the way she did. How can I put it? A little selfish and carefree.
Even after graduating from college, she didn’t want to work. She kept asking Mum for money and spending it as if it would never run out.
But things got even worse. One day, Mum called me and asked me to come over.
‘Is everything okay?’ I asked.
‘Yes, yes, I just want to talk to you,’ my mother replied.
Her words echoed in my head as I drove to her place after work. I was worried. My mother never called like that. When I arrived, the door was open, so I went in.
‘Mum?’ I called.
‘I’m in the kitchen, sweetheart,’ she replied.
I went in and saw her sitting at the table with a cup of tea. Her hands were resting on the table, but they looked tired. Her eyes, usually bright, were dull.
‘What’s wrong? What did you want to tell me?’ I asked, sitting down next to her.
Mum took a deep breath. ‘I went to the doctor today. Unfortunately, I have some bad news,’ she said quietly.
My heart stopped. ‘Why? What happened?’
‘My heart,’ Mum said quietly. ‘They gave me a year at most.’
Those words hit me like a brick. ‘Can’t anything be done? I’ll pay whatever it costs, just tell me,’ I said in a trembling voice.
‘With treatment, I’ll live no more than a year. Without it, I might not even make it two months,’ Mum said.
‘No, no, that can’t be true,’ I whispered. My eyes filled with tears.
‘But it’s true,’ Mum said. ‘It seems that all the stress and overwork have taken their toll on me.’
I couldn’t help myself and hugged her. ‘We’ll get through this, Mum. I’ll be there for you.’
‘I know,’ Mum said softly, stroking my hair like she used to when I was little. ‘Just don’t tell Samira yet.’
‘Why? She’ll ask for money for treatment,’ I said.
‘She’s living off her new boyfriend’s money, so there’s no need to worry for now,’ Mum replied.
I shook my head. ‘That’s not right.’
‘I’ll tell her when the time comes,’ Mum said.
Mum told Samira everything a month after our conversation. Samira came back to ask for money after breaking up with her boyfriend.
After talking to Mum, Samira came to see me. She didn’t even knock, she just came in and sat down on my sofa.
‘I don’t want you to visit Mum,’ Samira said.
‘Are you crazy? Mum is sick, I’m going to visit her. Someone has to help her,’ I said, not believing my ears.
‘I know why you’re so worried about her — you want to get all the inheritance. But that’s not going to happen,’ said Samira.
‘Are you serious? I don’t need money, I want to help Mum. Or do you judge everyone through your own lens?’ I asked.
Samira rolled her eyes. “I know that’s not true. Mum always loved me more because she gave me more money. Now you want something after her death,” she said.
‘That’s silly if you really think so. I’ll visit Mum. Someone needs help,’ I replied firmly.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve already planned everything. I’m going to move in with Mum and take care of her,’ said Samira.
‘You? Since when do you care about that? You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself,’ I said.
‘That’s not true. I’ve always taken care of Mum, and now she needs me. So don’t even try to come here. I won’t let you in,’ said Samira.
She got up, took her bag and left without saying another word.
