“The Son-in-Law Got More Than the Son”
“How is this fair?” Jeremy waved the will in front of the solicitor’s face. “The flat goes to the son-in-law, the cottage to the son-in-law, the car to the son-in-law! And what do I get? I’m the actual son, his own flesh and blood!”
“Mr. Jeremy, please calm down,” the solicitor adjusted her glasses and gave him a stern look. “Your father had every right to distribute his estate as he saw fit.”
“But it’s wrong!” Jeremy’s voice rose to a whine. “Simon married my sister just five years ago, and he walks away with more than me! Where’s the justice?”
Simon sat in the corner of the office, fists clenched. His face was pale, eyes red from lack of sleep. He stayed silent, but the discomfort on his face was just as palpable as Jeremy’s rage.
“Jeremy, stop shouting,” Emily—Jeremy’s sister and Simon’s wife—spoke quietly but firmly. “Dad knew what he was doing.”
“Oh, you shut it too!” Jeremy snapped. “Bet your hubby here sweet-talked Dad while he was ill, didn’t he?”
Simon shot up from his chair.
“Say that again,” his voice dropped dangerously.
“I will! You took advantage of a sick old man, that’s what you did! Played the dutiful son-in-law while eyeing the inheritance!”
“Jeremy!” Emily stood up. “How dare you? Simon looked after Dad day and night when he was in hospital. Where were you? Where was his *real* son?”
“I was working! I’ve got my own family, kids! I can’t just drop everything to play nurse!”
“And Simon could?!” Emily stepped closer. “Does he not have a job? A family? He used his holiday time, took sick leave, stayed up nights with Dad!”
The solicitor sighed and tapped her pen on the desk.
“May I remind you, this is not the place for family disputes. The will was drafted lawfully, and Mr. William was of sound mind when he signed it. Medical records confirm this.”
Jeremy snatched up his copy and read it again.
“Three-bed flat in Kensington—Simon Arthur Davies. Cotswolds cottage—Simon Arthur Davies. Nearly new Range Rover—Simon Arthur Davies.” His voice shook with fury. “And to Jeremy William Fletcher—a garden shed and *gardening tools*. A *spade and a rake*!”
“And fifty thousand pounds,” the solicitor added. “Let’s not forget that.”
“Fifty grand!” Jeremy let out a bitter laugh. “The flat’s worth over a million, the cottage half that, the car’s practically new! And I get *fifty grand*? Like charity!”
Simon finally spoke up.
“Jeremy, I never asked for any of this. When your dad said he wanted to rewrite the will, I told him not to. Said it should all go to his kids.”
“Oh, I *bet* you did!” Jeremy scoffed.
“What did Dad say to that?” Emily asked her husband.
Simon sighed.
“He said, ‘Simon, Jeremy’s my blood, but you’ve been more of a son. He only shows up when he needs money. You came just to see *me*.’ His words, not mine.”
Jeremy paled.
“He never said that.”
“He did,” Emily said softly. “I heard it too. Dad was hurt you never visited.”
“I had *responsibilities*! Work! Not all of us can drop everything to babysit an old man!”
“Nobody *made* Simon do it,” Emily sat back down. “He did it because he loved Dad.”
Silence fell. The solicitor shuffled papers, clearly eager to be rid of them.
“I’m contesting the will,” Jeremy finally said. “I’ll prove Dad wasn’t in his right mind.”
“Go ahead,” Simon shrugged. “It’s your right.”
“Jeremy, think about this,” Emily pleaded. “Why tear the family apart? Dad’s gone. Are money and houses worth it?”
“Easy for you to say!” Jeremy hissed. “Your husband’s rolling in it! I *counted* on that inheritance—planned to sell the flat, get a bigger place, pay for the kids’ school—”
“And you think *we* didn’t have plans?” Simon walked to the window. “You think I *like* this? That I’m happy we’re fighting?”
“Then *give it up*,” Jeremy challenged.
“No,” Simon said firmly. “Because it was your dad’s last wish. And I’ll respect that.”
Emily took her husband’s hand.
“Simon’s right. Dad was a smart man. He knew what he was doing.”
“Oh, sure he did!” Jeremy exploded. “Knew he could cheat his own son but not some outsider! Knew I’d take it because *I’m* the real son!”
“Or maybe he knew something else?” Emily said quietly.
“Like what?”
She hesitated, then met his eyes.
“Like how you borrowed £20,000 three years ago for a car and never paid it back?”
“So what? Can’t a son ask his dad for money?”
“You *promised* to repay it in six months. Three years later, nothing.”
Jeremy flushed.
“I was going to! Things came up—”
“Or how you took money to fix his bathroom, then vanished for a month?”
“I *did* the repairs!”
“After six months! And only when Dad threatened court!”
Simon stayed silent, hating every second of this.
“Emily, don’t,” he muttered. “It’s not worth it.”
“It *is*!” Her eyes shone with tears. “He should remember Dad calling before surgery—and Jeremy saying he was *too busy* to talk!”
“I *forgot*! Things happen!”
“And forgot his birthday? His anniversary? When was the last time you visited *just because*?”
Jeremy opened his mouth but said nothing.
“Simon came *every week*. Helped with chores, brought groceries, took him to doctors. Not because he had to—because he *wanted* to!”
“Fine, fine!” Jeremy waved her off. “I’m the bad son, he’s the saint. Got it. Still contesting the will!”
He grabbed his papers and stormed out.
“Jeremy, wait!” Emily called.
“What *now*?”
“We’re family. Let’s work this out. Simon, talk to him.”
Simon turned from the window.
“Jeremy, I’ll compromise. Not legally, just… as family. We could split the cottage. Or sell it, share the money.”
“And the flat?”
“I… can’t. Emily and I are renting.”
“Right. Keep the prize for yourself.”
“Jeremy!” Emily snapped. “Grow up! Simon’s trying, and you’re being impossible!”
“I’m just sick of a *stranger* getting more than Dad’s own son!”
“Simon’s *not* a stranger! He’s my husband—Dad *loved* him!”
“Exactly—*like a son*. But I *am* his son!”
The solicitor cleared her throat.
“I’m afraid I must close for the day. The documents are ready—please take them and leave.”
Jeremy snatched his copies and slammed the door. Emily burst into tears.
“Well, we’ve lost my brother,” she sobbed.
Simon hugged her.
“Maybe he’ll cool off.”
“He won’t. He holds grudges.”
Outside, a light rain fell. Simon opened an umbrella and held it over Emily.
“Emily… what if he’s right?” Simon murmured. “Should I have refused the inheritance?”
“Why? Dad chose what he wanted. He knew who really cared.”
“But Jeremy’s his son.”
“So? Being a son doesn’t *earn* you anything. You have to *deserve* it.”
At the bus stop, Emily recalled how their father had doted on Simon in his final months.
“He kept saying, ‘You’ve got a good man, Em. A proper one.’ About Jeremy? ‘I spoiled him. Thought love came with blood. But love’s *earned*.’”
The bus arrived, nearly empty. They took seats at the back.
“Know what Dad told me before he died?” she whispered.
“What?”
“‘Take care of Simon. Men like him are rare. He’ll never leave you, never betray you. Money and houses—they’re not what matters.’”
Simon swallowed hard.
“Your dad was a good man.”
“The best. And fair. He gave everyone what they deserved.”
At home, their six-year-old, Oliver, bombarded them with questions.
“Mum, Dad—did Grandpa *really* leave us the cottage?”
“He did, Olly.” Simon lifted him up.
“Why was Uncle Jeremy shouting on the phone? I heard him with Granny Martha.”
Emily and Simon exchanged glances. Martha was their mother, William’s widow.
“What’d he say?” Emily asked.
“That Dad Simon tricked Grandpa and stole Uncle’sOliver hesitated, then whispered, “He said you’re a thief and he’s going to make sure you give everything back, but Granny told him to stop being silly and remember all the times Grandpa said you were the one who really cared.”
