Between Two Fires

Hey mate, let me tell you this story about these two English twins, Sophie and her brother Oliver, who had a really tough time with their parents always at each other’s throats. So one afternoon as they were heading up the stairs in their building, they heard the shouting coming from behind the door of their flat, loud enough to echo all through the hallway. “What’s the matter with you this time?! How much longer is this going to go on?! I’m completely sick of it!” The woman’s voice carried right through.

Right then, Sophie and Oliver stopped dead on the steps, like they’d walked into something they couldn’t see. Their eyes met for a second, and straight away they got it without saying a word: best to just clear off. They both let out a sigh at the same time, turned round, and slipped away quietly from the building. No way were they going back to the flat that night.

Who’d want to sit through another evening of their mum and dad rowing non-stop? Not them, for sure! The kids marched straight over to the next building where their grandma Margaret lived. These days her place had turned into their proper bolt hole. What used to be weekend visits had become almost every night they were finding somewhere to stay.

Things at home had got to the point where it was just impossible to bear. The parents seemed to have forgotten about everything else and were yelling at each other all the time. What made it worse was they kept trying to pull the kids into the middle of it all.

Sometimes the mum would spin round to her daughter and demand, “Tell me I’m right, won’t you? You agree with me?”

Other times the dad would jump in before anyone could answer and say to his son, “No, I’m the one in the right here! You back me up!”

Sophie and Oliver kept their mouths shut. They didn’t want to take sides or get dragged into the endless back and forth. All they wanted was a bit of quiet, some peace and a bit of warmth, the sort of thing they always found at grandma’s.

This sort of carry-on happened day after day, like a record stuck on repeat that nobody could be bothered to lift the needle from. The kids had got good at spotting the early signs trouble was on the way. A certain tone, a sharp movement, the way the parents looked at each other, all of it told them it was time to make themselves scarce. Who’d enjoy living with that kind of tension, where any chat could flip into a full-blown row in a heartbeat?

The kids couldn’t work out what had set the whole thing off in the first place. Their family had never been picture perfect, not like you see in adverts, but before the parents used to sort things out properly. Rows happened, sure, but they ended with proper talks, not shouting matches. Mum might look a bit cross, dad might get a bit loud, but half an hour later it was all smoothed over. They’d all sit down for a cup of tea and chat about what they were doing at the weekend.

Then about two years back everything shifted… It was as if someone had swapped the old parents for a different pair, ones who could find something to argue about in the tiniest things. A dirty mug left on the table? That meant a long lecture about not caring and showing no respect. A shirt put on the wrong hook? Cue sarcastic digs about how the house was kept. A teaspoon left in the sink? Treated like some kind of crime that needed a full investigation!

One evening Sophie was sitting at the kitchen table in grandma’s flat, stirring her tea without really thinking about it. She stayed quiet for ages, watching the swirls in her cup, then suddenly asked with a heavy voice, “How did it end up like this, grandma? Everything went wrong after they went away on that holiday together. What actually happened?”

Grandmother Margaret paused, set her cup down on the saucer and gently touched Sophie’s hand. She only had her own guesses about why the family had fallen apart, and those guesses didn’t bring her any joy.

“The grown-ups will work it out between themselves,” she said softly, doing her best to sound sure of herself. “Sometimes people just need a bit of time to decide what’s best to do.”

Sophie nodded, but you could see in her eyes she wasn’t convinced. She knew grandma was keeping something back, but she didn’t push it. What was the point? While they still saw her as a kid, they weren’t going to share anything important anyway.

“We can’t put up with the shouting anymore!” Oliver burst out, sounding desperate. “Can’t even get homework done or read a book in peace! I can’t even remember the last time we all sat down for a meal together. If being together is so hard for them, they should just split up, it’d make life easier for everyone!”

The words tumbled out before he could stop them, but they carried all the truth of the past few months. Oliver was speaking for both of them, he knew his sister felt exactly the same. There hadn’t been any real peace at home for ages: either mum would snap at someone or dad would answer back irritably, and before you knew it the arguing had started again with nowhere to get away from it…

“Oliver…” Grandmother Margaret looked taken aback. She put her knitting aside, gave her grandson a proper look and slowly shook her head. “Have you thought about what happens if they do split up? You’d have to be divided between them. Are you ready to live apart from Sophie?”

“We’ll come and live with you!” Sophie said straight away, giving grandma a pleading look. “We already spend nearly all our time here anyway! You wouldn’t mind, would you?”

Grandmother Margaret stayed very still. She understood exactly how the grandkids were feeling, she could see how worn out they were from all the constant rows at home. On one side, the kids would be safe here in a calm, friendly place where they could do their schoolwork without any yelling, read books without noise and just feel looked after. She loved them to bits and was more than happy to wrap them up in care.

On the other side, what about their parents? How would you explain that the kids didn’t want to live at home any longer? Would the parents even go along with it? And if they did, how would that change how they got on with the kids? Might the whole thing just end up with everyone cut off from each other?

“Let’s not rush into anything,” she said after a long sigh. “You know I’m always glad to have you here. But first let’s try having a proper chat with your mum and dad. Maybe between us we can find a way to sort things out.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll speak to them ourselves,” Sophie said, sounding sure of herself and smiling. Grandma was nearly on their side, and that was what mattered most! “Just don’t say no, please! We really can’t stay there any longer! And it’ll be better for them if they’re apart, otherwise one day they might actually do something to hurt each other! I saw dad nearly take a swing at mum yesterday… He didn’t actually hit her, honest! But he was right on the edge of it.”

Sophie went quiet, thinking back to that awful moment. She’d gone into the kitchen for a glass of water and stopped in the doorway: dad was half facing mum, his arm had shot up suddenly, and mum had ducked without even thinking. A second later dad dropped his hand, but to Sophie that second had stretched out forever.

“Grandma, just say yes!” Oliver backed his sister up. He moved closer and took hold of grandma’s hand like he was worried she might still refuse. “We’ll help you round the house with everything. Just don’t send us back there. They don’t even notice we’re around! Yesterday I went up to dad and told him there was a parents’ evening coming up at school. You know what he told me? ‘Go and ask your mum!’ So I did. Guess what mum said?”

“Go and ask your dad?” Grandmother Margaret asked quietly, already knowing what the answer would be.

“Spot on!” Oliver gave a wry sort of laugh. “Then they spent another two hours arguing about which one of them should go. Sat in different rooms shouting across the hallway. And I was just stood there listening to the lot of it.”

“And I asked them to sign a permission form for a school trip to the museum,” Sophie added, eyes on the floor. Her fingers kept twisting the edge of her sleeve. “Now I’m the only one in my class who won’t be going. Neither of them signed it. Instead they started rowing again, mum yelling that it was dad’s job and dad insisting mum should deal with school things.”

Grandmother Margaret watched her grandkids and could see just how exhausted they were. Their eyes showed a tiredness that went deeper than just being young, the kind that piles up over months when every day feels the same, when there’s no family warmth left, only rows, and no support, just people not really caring.

“It’s always the same,” Oliver sighed, shoulders dropping. His voice sounded worn out, like he’d been saying the same thing for ages. “Any time we try to talk to them about something it turns into another argument. We don’t even want to come home anymore. A couple of nights ago we got back at eleven and do you think they had a go at us? No, they just sent us straight to bed without even asking where we’d been. Then they spent ages blaming each other for not bringing us up properly.”

The two of them sighed together again. Over the last few months they’d properly started thinking that their parents splitting up might be the only way out. But what scared them was the idea of being split up from each other, which would definitely happen if there was a divorce. One would end up with mum, one with dad, and the closeness they’d always had would turn into just seeing each other now and then at weekends.

They’d gone over all the possibilities, talking about them in whispers at night when they were alone in their room. Once Oliver had joked about running away from home, just grabbing their bags and heading off with no plan. He’d said it with a grin, trying to make things feel lighter, but Sophie had taken it seriously. Her eyes had lit up for a moment, then she’d said quietly, “What if we actually did leave? Even just for a couple of days…” Right then they both realised the home situation had got so bad that even thinking about running away didn’t seem completely mad anymore.

And then it came to them: grandma! Why not move in with her? The idea popped into both their heads at exactly the same moment, like they were thinking together. Sophie was the first to say it out loud: “What if we asked grandma if we could live here with her? She wouldn’t shout or row all the time. And we wouldn’t have to listen to those never-ending arguments…” Oliver jumped straight in: “Yes! She’s kind, she always looks out for us. And her flat’s big enough, there’d be room for us both.”

They started picturing what that new life might look like: quiet breakfasts, being able to do homework without any noise, evenings playing board games with grandma. No shouting, no blame, no need to hide away in their room to stay out of the firing line. For the first time in ages a bit of hope started to grow in them. Let the parents sort their own problems out, and the kids could finally get some peace, that’s what Sophie and Oliver kept thinking as they imagined living with grandma…

Then came the evening they finally spoke up. “Mum, dad, we need to have a proper talk,” the twins said, standing in front of their parents with their minds made up. They’d waited until both were home that evening and walked into the living room looking determined. Sophie kept a tight hold of Oliver’s hand, it helped her stay steady. “But first you have to promise you’ll hear us out all the way before you say anything.”

William looked up from his phone, looking surprised. Victoria, who was putting things away on the sofa, sat bolt upright. Her face had that look people get when someone’s said something they can’t quite believe.

“This is all your fault!” she snapped, folding her arms. “The kids are already laying down rules for us! Like we have to answer to them now!”

“Listen to you!” William shot back straight away, dropping his phone. “I’m out working all the time trying to keep this family going. You’ve been the one at home with them! And this is what you’ve taught them? Why are they telling us what to do?”

The twins glanced at each other. They’d expected something like this, the talk heading straight into the usual exchange of accusations. But they weren’t backing down.

“That’s enough!” Sophie said, her voice catching a bit. She stepped forward, trying to keep her words clear and steady even though she felt shaky inside. “Oliver and I have talked about it and we think you two should get divorced.”

Everything went quiet in the room straight away. Victoria just sat there with her mouth open, and William slowly got up from the sofa.

“Well that’s a turn-up!” the mother’s voice came out sounding sharp. “Sophie, you’re still far too young to be telling grown-ups how to run their lives! And what else have you two ‘decided’? Maybe you want to split the flat between us while you’re at it?”

“If you don’t get divorced we’ll go to social services,” Oliver said, gripping his sister’s hand like it was giving him strength. His voice sounded steady, even if inside he wasn’t completely sure he meant every word. “And then, dad, you could lose your job. Your company doesn’t like scandals, does it? You’ve said yourself that your reputation is everything there.”

“And you, mum,” Sophie went on, looking her mother right in the eye, “the neighbours will stop respecting you. They won’t even want to speak to you! Everyone already knows how much you two shout at each other, and we’ll fill in the rest!”

“They’re threatening us! Just look at them!” Victoria finally got out, glancing between the two of them. “These are our own children! How can you treat us like this?”

“We’re not threatening,” Oliver said quietly but clearly. “We just want you to see that we can’t go on like this. We’re worn out! Tired of all the shouting, of you not listening to us, of every little thing turning into a row.”

“You’ll get divorced and move out, and we’ll go and live with grandma,” the kids finished together, like they’d practised it beforehand. “It’ll be better for everyone: we’ll have some peace, you won’t have the constant fights. We don’t want to be stuck in the middle of it any longer.”

The parents just stood there. For the first time in ages they didn’t have a quick answer. Normally they’d have started arguing right away, cutting each other off and pointing fingers, but right then both of them seemed lost for words.

Their thirteen-year-old kids were behaving in a way nobody expected! Sophie and Oliver stood side by side holding hands, looking at their parents with a steady gaze, no usual shyness. And they were talking about things the adults had been trying hard not to face.

The couple had thought about divorce themselves more than once. But they always came back to the same sticking point: who would the kids live with? Splitting the twins up felt unthinkable, they were so close, always did everything together and backed each other up. The parents couldn’t picture separating them, making them live in different places and only see each other at weekends.

Living with grandma had never come up before. For some reason the idea had never even occurred to them, probably because they were both so wrapped up in their own grudges and complaints. But hearing the kids suggest it now, William and Victoria found themselves wondering if maybe this was the answer after all. Grandma adored the grandkids, she had a big flat and was always pleased to see them… Perhaps this really could help with at least some of the problems?

“I’ll ring my mum,” William said at last through his teeth. His voice came out flat, like it was an effort to speak. “If she says yes…”

He didn’t get to finish. Victoria cut in sharply, and there was such weariness in her voice that it even surprised her:

“Then we can finally stop making each other miserable. Ring her. I’ll be glad not to have to look at your face every day.”

Her words just hung there. She hadn’t meant to sound so blunt, but after years of hurt and disappointment piled up, they came out anyway.

“And I’ll be glad as well!” William answered, trying to cover up the sting with a touch of sarcasm.

There wasn’t any real anger in how he said it, just a bitter sort of smile at what their life together had turned into. He pulled out his phone and slowly tapped in his mother’s number. While it rang, both of them looked away in different directions, not meeting each other’s eyes. They didn’t know yet where this would lead, but they could feel something had shifted for good…

That day the Harrington family made a big decision that changed everything. It started with a long conversation between William and his mother. Grandmother Margaret listened carefully without interrupting, only asking a question here and there to clear things up.

When William had finished explaining it all, there was a pause. Grandma took a deep breath and said, “If you both think this is what’s best for the kids, then I agree. They’ll be safe here, I’ll look after them.”

By that evening the couple sat down together in the kitchen for the first time in ages without any shouting or blame flying about. They faced each other across the table and started going through the details. Bit by bit they came to the same conclusion: divorce was the only sensible way forward. The kids would move in with grandma, and the parents would send her money each month to help cover their costs.

But neither of them planned to just walk away from the kids. Both William and Victoria promised they’d come and see them at weekends, though on different days so they wouldn’t have to cross paths much.

“I’ll come round Saturday morning and take them out for a bit, and you can come Sunday,” William said tiredly, and his almost-ex wife nodded along. “That’ll keep things simpler. The important thing is the kids don’t feel like we’ve just left them.”

Their main aim was to keep any contact between them as low as possible and avoid new rows. They agreed not to talk about each other when the kids were around, not to try and pull them over to one side, and not to have arguments in front of them.

“We’re still their parents,” William said. “And we need to keep being that, even if we’re not married anymore.”

As time went on it turned out to be the right call. The kids could finally relax and get on with being normal teenagers. Sophie joined an art club, something she’d wanted to do for ages but never had the chance because of all the worry at home. Oliver started playing football and made new mates in the team. They began spending proper time together again, walking round town, going to the cinema, chatting about school without worrying a row was about to kick off.

Their schoolwork got steadier too. Now they had a quiet spot to get on with things, no one interrupting with shouting and arguments. Homework got done without any stress, and that showed straight away in their marks. The teachers noticed: “You’ve both become so much more focused, you two! Keep going like that!”

Slowly things settled into a new pattern, not perfect but steady and you knew what to expect. The kids stopped hiding away in their room, stopped jumping when voices got loud, stopped worrying about every little thing. They just got on with living, the way teenagers should when they’ve found something solid to hold onto in a difficult time…

Five years on, life for the Harringtons had settled into something steady and calm. Sophie and Oliver were well used to the new way of things: school, clubs, seeing friends, cosy evenings with grandma. The parents still came round on different days, each on their own, bringing little presents and paying attention, but without any digs at each other. Over time they’d learned to talk to each other in a polite, controlled way, without the old sudden flashes of anger.

The first time the former couple actually spoke face to face happened at the kids’ school leaving do. The school put on a proper evening event, and both parents turned up, of course. At first they kept a bit of distance, sitting at opposite sides of the hall, but slowly things eased up.

When the dancing started, William walked over to Victoria unexpectedly and said, “Fancy a dance? For old time’s sake.”

She waited a moment, then nodded.

After the event they sat out in the school yard for ages, watching the leavers messing about by the fountain. The chat just started up naturally, first about the kids, then about the past.

They talked plenty that night, remembered the good times from when they were married, and kept things respectful. They didn’t go over old grudges, just the nice bits that had once held them together. The twins, watching from a little way off, felt really glad to see it. It had been painful watching the two people closest to them treat each other almost like enemies.

But then something came out of nowhere. The very next day William and Victoria asked the kids to meet them in a cafe. Over cups of tea they looked at each other, took each other’s hands, and William said with a big smile, “Kids, your mum and I have been talking and we’ve decided to get married again. Over these years we’ve realised our feelings never went away! We still love each other and want to be a proper family once more.”

He sounded really pleased, like he was sharing the best news ever. Victoria looked delighted, clearly hoping for a happy reaction.

The twins looked at each other, and their faces fell straight away. Sophie had a look of doubt in her eyes, Oliver’s hands tightened into fists under the table. Here they went again, same old mistake! What on earth were their parents thinking? Could they really share a home without falling back into rows?

“Are you actually serious?” was all Sophie could get out.

“Completely,” William answered, sounding sure. “We’ve both changed. We’ve learned to listen to each other. And we want to give our family another chance.”

The kids stayed quiet. All sorts of feelings were churning inside: part of them wanted to believe the parents really had moved on, but another part was terrified of going through that same hurt all over again.

Still, Sophie and Oliver didn’t try to talk them out of it. They didn’t even comment on what had been said, which left the parents feeling pretty hurt. Victoria looked at the kids, confused:

“What’s the matter, aren’t you pleased? We thought you’d be happy for us.”

But the twins just glanced at each other and shrugged. What were they supposed to say? “Don’t do it, you’ll only make things worse for yourselves”? The words wouldn’t come out. They didn’t want to seem unkind, but they couldn’t pretend everything was fine either.

The rest of the get-together didn’t go very smoothly. The parents tried to talk about their plans, the kids nodded politely, but their thoughts were elsewhere. On the way home Sophie said quietly to her brother, “I hope they know what they’re letting themselves in for.”

Oliver just let out a sigh…

“So we’re off to London then?” Sophie opened her laptop, ready to look through university sites. “Somewhere far away from all this nonsense. I can already picture how this whole mess is going to turn out!”

“Of course we’re going,” Oliver said firmly, sounding older than his years. He pushed a hand through his hair like he was trying to shake off everything that had been weighing on him lately. “They’ll manage to be civil for a month, two at the most. Then it’ll be back to the same old thing: shouting, doors slamming, accusations flying… I don’t want to be trapped by their relationship anymore. I don’t want to wake up every morning wondering what mood they’re in and who’s going to get the next load of complaints.”

He got up and walked about the room, gathering up scattered books without really thinking. One thought kept turning over in his head: why do adults, who are supposed to show wisdom and steadiness, end up acting like moody teenagers? Why do they keep making the same mistakes instead of sorting things out properly?

“We need to get away,” he said again, stopping by the window. Outside the light was fading, giving the city a soft orange glow. Oliver stared out, like he was trying to see what was coming next. “Far away. Far enough that their rows can’t reach us anymore. Let them deal with their own problems. We’re not their counsellors, not their go-betweens, not their punchbags any longer. We’ve got our own lives, our own dreams, and I’m not letting them wreck them with another round of this family chaos.”

“When are we sending off the applications?” Sophie asked calmly.

“Tomorrow,” Oliver replied without any hesitation. “So we don’t have time to change our minds.”

The girl nodded without a word, eyes still on the screen. Pages from London university websites were flicking by, she’d spent the last week looking at courses, student accommodation, what jobs might be like after finishing. Her notebook next to the laptop was filling up with lists: good and bad points for each place, what documents were needed, deadlines, who to contact at admissions.

“The main thing is we can just get on with studying without their dramas getting in the way,” she said quietly, like she was wrapping up her own thoughts. “It’s good we’ll be so far off.”

“Exactly,” Oliver agreed, pulling up a chair beside her. He leaned in a bit to read what was on the screen. “And when they start up again about who’s to blame, we won’t even hear it. They can ring and moan and try to drag us into some family meeting, we’re not getting involved anymore. And that idea of giving things a second chance,” he gave a wry smile, “that’s their decision, not ours.”

Victoria and William did go ahead and have that second wedding. This time they skipped any big fuss on purpose: they didn’t want the extra cost, didn’t want to make a big show of it, and honestly didn’t feel like anything fancy was needed. They kept it simple with a quick ceremony at the registry office and a meal with just the closest family and a few friends, plus the kids.

In the photos from that day they looked genuinely happy. Smiling, holding hands, looking at each other with real warmth. You could see their fingers linked, gentle looks, small touches. It seemed like all the old hurts had been put behind them, that the time apart had helped, that now they knew exactly what they wanted and only good things were ahead. The kids looking at those pictures couldn’t help wondering if maybe this time it really would be different.

But… no, it wasn’t. The first few weeks after the wedding were surprisingly quiet: the couple tried to be more thoughtful with each other, said thank you more often, didn’t pick at small things. But slowly the old patterns started creeping back in. After just a month the voices were getting raised again in their flat. At first it was just quiet but pointed complaints: “Did you leave that there again?”, “Why didn’t you tell me you’d be late?”, “You could lend a hand since you’re home.”

Then proper rows started breaking out. Fights flared up over nothing much: someone leaving damp towels in the bathroom, someone forgetting the bread, someone having the TV on too loud… Words got sharper, voices louder, the gaps between arguments got shorter.

And after two months, just like Oliver had said would happen, things came to a head. One evening a row about who was supposed to get the shopping turned into a proper explosion. William, losing his temper, threw a cup at the wall in a rage, it smashed loudly and pieces went everywhere across the kitchen. Victoria, just as angry, grabbed a plate off the table and slammed it down on the floor. The sound of it breaking rang through the flat.

After scenes like that the parents always tried ringing the kids. Every time it went the same way: one of them would dial the number, still breathing hard from the row, and straight away start pouring out all the built-up grievances.

“Can you believe what he said today?” Victoria would be nearly crying by the time Sophie answered. “He doesn’t even try to see my side!”

“Son, you’ve got to understand, she can’t keep a grip on herself at all,” William would tell Oliver, sounding worked up. “I’m doing my best, I really am, but she seems to look for reasons!”

But Sophie and Oliver had learned to cut those long rants short, gently but firmly. They no longer let themselves get pulled into big discussions, didn’t try to work out who was right or wrong. Their replies were short and to the point.

“Mum, I’m in the middle of a lecture, I’ll ring you back later,” Sophie would say calmly, checking the time: there were still twenty minutes before class started, but she didn’t want to listen to another long complaint.

“Dad, I’ve got work I need to finish, let’s talk about this at the weekend,” Oliver would answer without looking up from his laptop. He knew if he let the parent go on, the call would last an hour and then he’d have to spend more time calming them down.

“Later” and “at the weekend” always got pushed back. The kids came up with reasons, studies, part-time jobs, seeing friends, and gradually the calls from the parents got less and less frequent. Sophie and Oliver didn’t feel bad about it: they were just looking after their own peace of mind and their time, knowing they couldn’t change what was going on between their mum and dad.

The twins really did have their own lives now, busy and full, a long way from their parents’ dramas. Each day was made up of their own worries, interests and plans, not waiting for the next argument from the next room.

Sophie threw herself into her psychology degree. She enjoyed figuring out how people’s minds worked, why they did the things they did, and how to help someone going through a hard time. In her third year she started volunteering at a place that supported teenagers from difficult homes. There she ran group sessions, helped the young people talk about how they felt and find ways through tough spots. Sophie saw bits of her own past in those teenagers, and she tried to give them what she’d once missed out on: proper attention, support, the feeling that someone was really listening.

Oliver had got into IT. From his first year he’d been hooked on programming, the way code worked logically, the chance to build things that actually functioned, solving tricky technical problems. He spent hours at the computer, picked up new programming languages, took part in student competitions. In his fourth year his team came third in a regional contest for building mobile apps, which gave him a real boost and showed him he was heading the right way. Oliver got a part-time job at a small IT firm where he soon proved he was reliable and good at what he did. Working on real projects taught him how to deal with colleagues, manage his time, and come up with answers when things didn’t go to plan.

The twins started making plans for the future without worrying about their parents’ rows. Sophie wanted to set up her own practice one day, helping families learn to get along. Oliver was thinking about starting his own business. They’d talk through ideas over a cup of tea in a cafe, sketch things out, write notes in their books. In those moments they felt like they had something solid underneath them. They had a direction. They had a life that was theirs alone.

When Victoria and William tried again to pull them into their problems, ringing up in tears and starting to explain how awful everything was and how they didn’t understand each other, the twins answered calmly but firmly. They’d talked beforehand about how to handle it, so they wouldn’t get pulled back into the old role of sorting things out for them.

“That’s enough, you two, deal with it yourselves,” Sophie said clearly. “You’ve got your life, we’ve got ours.”

“But you’re our children!” Victoria cried. “You should be supporting us!”

“If you acted like proper adults instead of like kids, we’d support you,” Oliver came back straight away. “You made a mistake getting married again, and you’re still making each other miserable. You can’t live together without fighting, so why keep torturing one another? Just get divorced and go your separate ways already.”

Those words might have sounded harsh, but… the brother and sister just wanted to get on with their lives in peace.