“Don’t tell me you’re only visiting me for the flat?” – The story of a grandmother who decided to test her grandchildren.
Grandma Margaret spent most of her life in a quiet suburban neighbourhood near Coventry. After her husband passed, she was left alone in a two-bedroom flat she’d once inherited from her mother. Her grandchildren’s parents were always busy—constantly away or working late—so her youngest granddaughter, Lily, often stayed with her.
Her eldest grandson, Oliver, had always been the family’s golden child. He was given the best toys, sent to after-school clubs, and later had his university fees paid for. Lily, on the other hand, was the quiet one—never causing a fuss, never demanding attention, growing up too fast. She studied, worked, rented a small room, and never asked anyone for anything. The only person who truly cared for her was Grandma Maggie.
Lily visited her almost every week—after work, on weekends, no matter the weather. She’d bring groceries, pick up prescriptions, or just pop in for tea and a chat. Then, one ordinary evening, Grandma Maggie met her in silence, her face unreadable.
“Why do you visit me so often, Lily?” she asked, staring at the telly. “Is it because you want to inherit my flat?”
Lily, who’d been mopping the hallway floor, froze.
“Gran, what are you on about? What flat? I promised you soup—fancy some steamed fish fingers?”
Grandma huffed but said nothing. Lily smiled, brushed off the sting of the words, and went to the kitchen. She filled the kettle, took out her grandma’s favourite chocolate spread, and started making dinner.
A few minutes later, Grandma walked in and said something that made Lily’s heart clench:
“Just so you know, I’ve already put the flat in Oliver’s name. So you’re wasting your time. You won’t get a thing.”
Lily straightened up, wiped her hands, and calmly replied:
“Good. I’m not here for the flat. You’re family—you raised me when I was little, and now it’s my turn to look after you. The flat’s just bricks and mortar.”
Grandma stayed quiet, but her expression shifted—now wary, almost uneasy. They drank tea, chatted about the soap opera Grandma loved, and didn’t mention the flat again that night.
A few days later, Lily got a call from her brother. He screamed down the phone, accusing her of “poisoning” Grandma’s mind so she’d sign the flat over to her.
“You’re just like the rest of them!” he shouted. “I don’t want anything to do with you!”
Then her mother called. Same story: “How could you do this? That’s our family home!” Lily, baffled, hung up and went straight to Grandma’s.
“Gran, what’s going on?” she asked evenly. “Oliver says you put the flat in my name. I don’t get it. I know a solicitor if you need one, but tell me honestly—did you do something?”
Grandma sank into her chair, sighed, and confessed. The neighbours had been gossiping about families only caring for the elderly for their inheritance. So she’d decided to test her grandchildren. She told Lily the flat was Oliver’s, and Oliver it was Lily’s.
“Well, now I see who’s who,” she said sadly. “You’ve stayed kind and true, Lily-love. But your brother… well, you heard how he reacted.”
Lily just shook her head. She wasn’t angry. It just confirmed what she already knew—who was genuine, and who wasn’t.
Grandma offered to let her move in, now that the flat was officially hers. But Lily refused.
“You like your peace, Gran. I’ve got my own rhythm—work, mates, life. Let’s leave things as they are. I’ll keep visiting, same as always. The flat doesn’t matter.”
Nothing changed after that. Lily still visits, brings Grandma’s favourite treats, watches telly with her, and simply gives her love. And Grandma knows: her granddaughter is the only one who truly cares. Not for the square footage, but just because she does.
