**The Flat for the Sister: How a Mother Betrayed Her Son for Her Favourite Daughter**
Daniel returned from Germany, where he had spent nearly nine months labouring under gruelling conditions, and his first stop was his mother’s house. Eleanor Whitmore embraced him right on the doorstep.
“Good heavens, love, you’ve been gone an age! Did you at least bring home some proper money?”
“Same as last time,” Daniel replied wearily. “Been thinking, though—I’m done with rented flats. Spend half the year abroad anyway. Time to buy my own place, even if it’s mortgaged.”
“Quite right. You’re twenty-six now—high time you settled down. Then again,” she added dreamily, “perhaps you’ll find a nice girl, start a family…”
Two months later, Daniel secured a mortgage and bought a modest one-bedroom flat in a new development. He furnished it simply but tastefully. Out of respect, he gave his mother a spare key—just in case. Then he was off again for work.
But the moment he left, Eleanor handed those keys to her eldest daughter, Charlotte—the one perpetually broke, drowning in debt, and forever hunting for her “Prince Charming.” She scraped by on waitressing gigs, always begging for handouts—from her mother, from Daniel.
“Let her stay with her brother a while,” Eleanor thought. “She’ll save on rent, get back on her feet…”
But Charlotte didn’t save a penny—she sank deeper into debt. And when the time came to leave, she didn’t return the keys. She changed the locks instead.
Daniel came home, climbed to his floor, slid his key into the door—and nothing. He checked the number, baffled. It *was* his flat. Stunned, he went straight to his mother.
“You let Charlotte stay in my flat?” he demanded. “Why am I only finding out now?”
“Don’t be cross, dear. I thought she’d stay a bit, clear her debts, then go. But she… well, you know her.”
“She’s changed the *locks*. Did you know?”
“No…” Eleanor whispered.
The next day, Daniel called a locksmith and a constable. The door was forced open. He didn’t press charges—sparing his mother the fuss—but he gave Charlotte an earful.
“I *bought* this place, yet you act like the world owes you a living!”
“Oh, big man! Could’ve just stayed with Mum. You’ll be off again soon enough. *I* need to sort my life out,” she retorted, shrugging.
“Sort it out, then. But not in *my* flat! Go live with Mum. Better yet—get a job and pay off your own debts,” he snapped. “No man’s sticking around with that mess.”
“Piss off! Get married yourself first!” she shot back before slamming the door.
Within the hour, she packed her things and left. From that day, she refused to speak to him. Daniel didn’t lose sleep over it—he’d long known his sister only saw family as an ATM.
Come autumn, he visited his mother’s cottage to help with the harvest. There, he ran straight into Charlotte.
“*You* here? Scuttled off from another job? Or finally feeling guilty?” she sneered.
“Lovely to see you too,” he said flatly. “Come to dig potatoes and then beg for cash?”
“Unlike you, I *actually* help Mum every year. Which is why she bought me a flat,” she crowed.
“What? What flat?”
“She took out a mortgage—got me a two-bed in a new build. Furnished. I *deserve* it.”
“And who’s paying the mortgage?”
“Mum, obviously. Who else?”
Daniel turned on his heel and walked away. His chest burned—his mother hadn’t even offered to help with his deposit, though he’d always looked after her, sent gifts, wired money.
But he swallowed the bitterness. Helped with the harvest. Then left.
A month later, Charlotte called—asked him to fix the balcony door. He went, curious to see what palace his mother had mortgaged for her. The flat was ordinary, no better than his. The door, it turned out, was just broken.
“Needs a new part. Can order it now,” he said.
“You order it. Get the money from Mum,” she dismissed.
His temper flared.
“Have you *no* shame? Mum’s breaking her back for you, and you can’t even cough up fifty quid?”
“You’re just jealous! She loves *me* more!” Charlotte snarled. “Piss off and stop lecturing me!”
Daniel said nothing. He walked out, blocked her number, and cut her out of his life.
“Let them get on with it. I’m done,” he thought.