I always believed that family should stand by each other. That no matter what, blood was thicker than water. But I was wrong. Some people only see family as an opportunity to take what they want, without a second thought about who they hurt.
It started the day I returned from a two-week business trip. The first thing I wanted to do was check on my parents. Mom and Dad had always been hardworking, running their little convenience store on Cherry Street for years. It wasn’t fancy, but it put food on our table and gave my sister Emily and me a future.
Emily, however, had never appreciated it. While I helped out at the store after school, she was out with her friends, embarrassed by our “poor parents.” She hated the store and anything that reminded her of where we came from. She was always too busy chasing after a life of luxury to care about the people who made sacrifices for us.
So when I had to leave town, I had no choice but to ask Emily to check in on Mom and Dad. I found her at her favorite bar, sipping an expensive cocktail while scrolling through her phone like she owned the place.
“You want me to do what?” she scoffed, barely looking up.
“Just check on them,” I pleaded. “Make sure Dad takes his heart medication and that Mom’s arthritis isn’t getting worse. It’s only for two weeks.”
She rolled her eyes. “God, you’re so dramatic. They managed the store for 30 years. They can handle two weeks without you hovering.”
“Emily, please. Just stop by every couple of days. That’s all I’m asking.”
Suddenly, her expression changed. A slow smile spread across her face. “You know what? You’re right. I’ll do it. Consider it handled.”
I should have known then. Emily never did anything without an ulterior motive. But she was my sister, and I wanted to believe she would do the right thing.
I was wrong.
When I arrived home two weeks later, I drove straight to my parents’ house. The moment I pulled into the driveway, my heart sank. The house was dark. No car in sight. No response when I knocked on the door.
I grabbed my phone and dialed Mom’s number. When she answered, her voice was soft, almost confused.
“Oh, honey. We’re at Golden Acres now. Emily said it was best for us. That we couldn’t manage on our own anymore. I thought you knew…”
Golden Acres. That awful nursing home on the edge of town. The one known for its health violations and neglect. The place where people went to be forgotten.
I felt the world tilt beneath me.
Fury boiled inside me as I jumped into my car. Fifteen minutes later, I burst into Emily’s high-rise condo. She was lounging on her designer sofa, flipping through paperwork on her glass coffee table. She barely looked up as I stormed in.
“You had NO RIGHT!” I shouted, shaking with anger. “They trusted you! I trusted you!”
She smirked. “Relax. They’re fine. And besides, I have buyers lined up for the house. It’s time to move on.”
I felt like I had been punched in the gut. “That house is their home, Emily. They raised us there.”
“Oh, please.” She waved her hand dismissively. “You’re always so sentimental. Like we had some perfect childhood.”
Then, I saw the papers on her coffee table. My stomach twisted as I realized what they were—real estate documents. She wasn’t just trying to get rid of our parents. She was selling their house. And at a ridiculous price, too. She wanted to cash in fast.
I wanted to scream. To rip those papers to shreds. But I knew Emily too well. Direct confrontation wouldn’t work. If I wanted to stop her, I needed to outsmart her.
Taking a deep breath, I forced my expression to soften. “You know what? Maybe you’re right. Maybe selling is the best move.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “In fact, I might know someone. One of my clients is a private investor. He’s got deep pockets and hates dealing with banks.”
Emily’s greed lit up her face. “Oh? What kind of numbers are we talking?”
“Let me call him. But Emily? He moves fast. Like, cash-offer fast.”
“Even better,” she purred. “You know what they say—time kills deals.”
The “investor” I mentioned? That was Robert, a real estate lawyer I knew. At first, he thought I was joking when I explained my plan. But after a long pause, he finally said, “Alright. Let’s take her down.”
The night of the signing, Emily threw a party to celebrate. She dressed in a red designer gown, basking in the attention as her friends praised her “brilliant” real estate move. Robert played his part flawlessly, dressed in a sleek suit, tossing around words like “portfolio expansion” and “market positioning.” Emily was eating it up.
Then, as she lifted her pen to sign, Robert cleared his throat. “Before we finalize this, I need to clarify something.”
Emily froze. “What?”
Robert pulled out a thick folder. “I ran a legal check. This sale is invalid. Your parents never legally transferred the house to you. Their signatures were obtained under false pretenses—this is fraud.”
The room fell silent. Emily’s smile vanished.
“That’s not true!” she stammered. “The papers—”
Robert slid the documents across the table. “These prove your parents still own the house. And since you admitted them into a home under deception, this could be considered elder abuse and financial fraud. Both state and federal offenses.”
Gasps filled the room.
“You LIED to your parents?” someone whispered.
“You tried to STEAL their house?!”
Emily’s face drained of color as her carefully curated image crumbled before her eyes. Her friends slowly backed away like she had a contagious disease.
“Oh, and by the way?” Robert added casually. “The bank has been alerted. Your accounts are frozen. Good luck seeing a dime from this sale.”
She collapsed into a chair, mascara smudging as the weight of it all hit her. The photographer she had hired kept snapping pictures. I didn’t stop him.
That night, I took our parents home. Mom cried when she saw her neglected garden. Dad ran his fingers along the kitchen counter, as if reassuring himself it was real.
When they learned what Emily had done, they pressed charges. Her so-called friends abandoned her. She lost her high-paying job. Turns out, fraud and elder abuse don’t align with company values.
A week later, my phone rang. It was Emily.
“Please,” she whispered. “I need help. They’re going to press criminal charges. I could go to jail.”
I laughed. “Time to move on, right?”
I hung up, and it was the most satisfying sound I’d ever heard.
Now, when I drive past our parents’ house, I see Mom in her garden and Dad reading on the porch. The roses are blooming again. The grass is green. Everything looks just as it should.
Emily doesn’t call anymore.
But that’s okay. Some things, once broken, are better left that way.