Mum, what were you thinking when you gave away the house?
My heart ached with hurt and helplessness as I spoke to Mum over the telephone. I sat at the kitchen table, gazing out at the snow-covered garden, fighting back tears. “Mum, how could you? What on earth made you hand over half the house to Aunt Lily? And now she’s asking to move into our part as well! I’m so upset I can hardly bear it,” I blurted out. Mum stayed silent on the other end of the line, while a fury simmered inside me at the injustice of it all. Once, her kindness—something she took such pride in—had seemed nothing but natural. But now I saw where her decisions had led, and I couldn’t shake the bitterness.
It all began years ago, when my mum, Elizabeth Margaret, decided to help her younger sister, Lily. Aunt Lily had fallen on hard times: divorced, out of work, and with nowhere to live. Mum, ever the rescuer, didn’t hesitate before offering her a place in our home. It was an old two-storey house, left to us by Gran. Mum and Dad lived on the ground floor, while the upstairs sat empty. Back then, it seemed a temporary fix—Lily would stay just until she got back on her feet. But instead of finding her own place, she lingered. Then Mum did something I still can’t fathom: she signed half the house over to Lily, insisting it was only fair. “She’s my sister—how could I turn her away?” Mum would say whenever I protested.
I was young then, just starting my own life, and didn’t interfere. But I remember how Dad, William Thomas, objected. He grumbled that the house was our family’s legacy, and handing part of it to someone else—even kin—wasn’t right. Mum, though, stood her ground, hiding behind her kindness and sense of duty. Dad eventually gave way, but I saw how it wounded him. And now, years later, I found myself facing the consequences of Mum’s so-called generosity.
These days, I live in that very house with my husband, James, and our two children. After Dad passed, Mum moved to a flat in London, leaving the house to me. But the other half, signed over to Aunt Lily, became a constant thorn in my side. Lily never did secure her own home. She lives upstairs, forever complaining and asking us for money or favours. I tried to be patient—she is Mum’s sister, after all. But lately, she’s crossed every line: demanding to stay on our floor because her room is “too cold” in winter. When I refused, she lashed out, accusing me of ingratitude and listing all she’d supposedly done for our family. I was stunned—what exactly had she done? All I saw was her refusal to take charge of her own life.
I rang Mum, hoping for support, but all I got were sighs and excuses. “Now, darling, Lily’s family—we ought to help her,” she said. I couldn’t hold back. “Mum, you’ve made her think the world owes her! Why did you give her half the house? Now she acts like she owns the lot!” Mum murmured that she’d never meant for this to happen, that she’d only wanted to do right, but I sensed she was dodging responsibility. The kindness she’d once prized had now become my burden.
I don’t know what to do next. Part of me doesn’t want to quarrel with Aunt Lily—she’s family, and I do pity her. But I’m weary of her endless demands, of feeling like our home isn’t truly ours anymore. James is furious, and I don’t blame him: he works hard to provide for us, and here’s Aunt Lily acting as though we’re in her debt. We’ve even talked of selling the house and moving, but it’s not simple—my childhood memories live here, echoes of Dad, of Gran. And Mum, though she’s gone, would surely object.
Sometimes I wonder: what if Mum had never given away that half? Might Aunt Lily have been forced to sort herself out? Or am I being too harsh—should I be more patient? But then I remember how brazenly she asks to intrude on our space, and the resentment boils up again. I won’t have my children grow up in a house filled with strife. I want a home where we all feel safe and happy.
Yesterday, I spoke to Mum again, trying to make her understand my struggle. She promised to talk to Lily, but I doubt it’ll change much. Mum’s kindness once seemed her finest trait, but now I see how it can unravel into trouble. I love my family, but I must find a way to guard my home and my peace. Perhaps I’ll have to set firm boundaries with Aunt Lily, even if it’s painful. And perhaps, in time, I’ll forgive Mum and accept things as they are. But one thing’s certain: I won’t stay a prisoner to others’ choices any longer.
