Cracked Roots

On a day of howling wind and snow, Grandma’s seven children gathered in the old family home and argued bitterly over the inheritance. The eldest uncle was impatient, insisting that their mother’s money would belong to them sooner or later and accusing the others of having ulterior motives. The second uncle’s wife gave as good as she got, dredging up the old story of how the eldest uncle had secretly sold Grandpa’s copper pipe. The argument grew more and more heated.

Grandma had raised seven children through years of hardship, yet after suffering a stroke five years ago, only her third son and his children had cared for her devotedly. The others were either busy fighting over the inheritance or pursuing their own schemes, indifferent to Grandma’s illness and daily needs. The second uncle’s wife kept bringing up the medical expenses she had paid during the three years Grandma lived with her, hoping to claim a larger share. The third uncle seemed mild-mannered, but he too had his eye on the wooden chest that might contain the land deeds. The fourth aunt mentioned how hard Grandma had worked to raise her children, yet she was also calculating how much she should be paid for caregiving.

In the middle of the argument, Grandma suddenly began to cough and shakily pointed at the wooden chest in the corner. Only then did everyone notice the old blue-cloth ledger hidden inside. It recorded the household expenses of years past, and on the last few pages were the names of Grandpa and an unfamiliar woman. Grandma stared fixedly at the ledger and gave a strange smile, murmuring, “He owes me… It’s all written down… Seven of them… Not one will get away.” Outside, the snowstorm grew fiercer. The old house’s wooden door creaked as if sighing at this reckoning, half a century overdue, over family ties and debts unpaid, laying bare the coldness of human nature.