Five Years Without a Visit, But a Change to the Will Brought Them Running
Ive got two sons, three grandchildren, two daughters-in-law and I live like an orphan. For years, I clung to the belief Id raised decent men whod look after me someday. Life, of course, had other plans. Not since my husband passed five years ago has either of them set foot in my house. No calls, no letters, no pop-ins. Then one day, I casually mentioned, “Im leaving the flat to my niece.” And just like thatpoof!they materialised.
Id always thought sons stayed closer to their mothers, that Id never be lonely in my old age. My husband and I scraped and saved to give them love, education, a leg up in life. While their dad was alive, theyd drop by now and then. But once we buried him, it was as if Id vanished off the face of the earth.
They live in the same city, a forty-minute bus ride away. Both married with families of their own. Three grandchildren Ive never met. After a nasty fall, Ive struggled to get about, but theres never time in their busy schedulescalls go unanswered, promises to ring back evaporate. Ive learned not to hold my breath.
When the neighbours upstairs flooded my kitchen, I rang the eldeststraight to voicemail. The younger one swore hed come, but never did. All I needed was someone to patch the ceiling. In the end, I hired a decorator. Not the cost that stung, but the realisation two grown men couldnt spare an hour for their mum.
Then the fridge packed up. I rang again, just asking one of them to come with me to buy a new onedidnt want to get swindled. “Mum, dont fuss,” they said. “The salesmanll explain everything.” In the end, my brother and niece went with me instead.
Then came the pandemic. Suddenly, they remembered I existed. Monthly calls began: “Dont leave the house,” “Order groceries online,” “Be careful.” But I hadnt a clue how. My niece taught meset up the apps, brought medicine, stayed with me when I fell ill. Every night, shed ring: “Auntie Margaret, you alright?” We grew closer than Id ever been with my own children.
I started spending holidays with my brothers family. My nieces little girl calls me “Granny.” And one day, it hit me: I may have sons, but my niece became my family. She asks for nothing. Just turns up. Looks after me. Helps.
So I decided: if my boys forgot me, the flat goes to the one who stood by me. I rewrote the will in her name. She doesnt even know. Seemed only fairgive to those who give back.
But someone, somehow, blabbed. That same evening, my eldest rang. Voice tight, words sharp. “Is it true youre giving the flat away?” When I said yes, he shouted, “Have you lost the plot? Thats familys inheritance!” I hung up.
That night, a knock at the door. Both of them stood there. With a cake. With the granddaughter Id never met. All smiles and sweetness. Then it started: “You cant do this,” “Shell chuck you out,” “Were your blood,” “Youre handing everything to a stranger.” I let them finish. Then said, “Thanks for the concern. But my minds made up.”
They left, slamming the door. Threatened that if I signed the papers, Id never see the grandchildren again. Darling boys, I havent seen hide nor hair of you in yearsjust indifference. Five years it took you to visit, and only because you smelled what you stood to lose. Not your mother. The flat.
No regrets. If my niece ever turns her back on me, so be it. But I doubt it. Shes kind, decent, true. And you? Well, live with your consciencesif youve still got them.
