My uncle stopped by and insisted that he was entitled to inherit as well.

Half a year ago, our family was struck by calamity: my father passed away. And, drifting through six months of silence, my fathers brother, Uncle Arthur, suddenly appeared at our door. He rarely visited. His connection with my father was faint; not enemies, but never companions, their interactions were always cool, distant, like two stars orbiting in opposite galaxies. Each led a life entirely apart from the other.

How was your journey? I asked, my voice echoing strangely. And why do you address me so formally? I’m your favourite uncle! Uncle Arthur replied, a peculiar grin painting his face, as though hed always been cherished above all others.

He didnt forewarn us of his arrival, and so the house was unprepared, quiet and dim. Since my fathers funeral, we hadnt spoken to Uncle Arthur. Not a single phone calljust a sudden, unexpected visit.

Tea shimmered in our porcelain cups as we sat together. Uncle Arthur abruptly inquired, How shall we split the inheritancebetween the three of us? Theres no one else, is there? Mum blinked, startled; she seemed to awaken from some foggy trance. What inheritance?

Indeed, inheritance lay like a shadow over us: a lovely London flat, a sprawling manor in the countryside, and two well-kept cars. Mum had tried to convince me to sell the country house, buy a flat in Oxford where I studied, but we decided to wait. No haste, she said.

What inheritance, you ask? The property my brother left behind! Uncle Arthur exclaimed. You know, if neither Abigail nor I were here, youd inherit everything. But now, you arent entitled to a penny!

But Im his brother! I have my rights! argued Uncle Arthur.

No, you dont! The law supports us, Mum retorted.

What about conscience and fairness?

Uncle Arthur, sharp as a fox, knew perfectly well he had no legal claim, so he tried to tug at our hearts. His words tumbled out with no sense; my father and his brother had never been companions, so Arthur had no stake in the inheritance.

When my father grew ill, he made it unmistakably clear: everything would pass to Mum and me. No one else. Dad had no desire to share our property with those outside his circle.

Even in good conscience, Arthur, it wont happen! You never were close, Mum declared.

Thats how these tales go, isnt it? Arthur mused. A man marries, his wife keeps everything, and the restparents, siblings, nephewsare left with nothing at all!

Uncle Arthur tried twisting us with guilt, pushing us to agree to split everything threefold. Enough! We wont discuss this further, Mum said firmly.

After Uncle Arthur departed, we locked the manor and returned to our city flat. We knew Uncle Arthur well; he wouldnt surrender easily. Wed have to face him in court. So much hung in the balance: a third of a country estate, a third of a city flat, a third of those two carsworth more than £200,000.

Uncle Arthur, feeling the pull of greed, did indeed drag us before a judge, clutching hopes hed snatch away something precious. Yet the law stood in our corner, unwavering. What did he truly expect? The dream drifted on, uncertain and surrealhis hopes swirled in the mist, as if he thought the rules of waking life might bend under the weight of wishful thinking.