Father Decided to Remarry
Its been five years since Joans mother passed away. She was only forty-eight at the time. Her heart gave out suddenly as she watered the violets on the kitchen windowsill. Joans father was fifty-five then.
He didnt cry or collapse. Instead, he simply sank into his wifes favourite armchair and gazed at her photograph. He stared at it as if sheer willpower might bring her back.
That day, Joan lost more than her mother. In truth, she lost her father too. He lingered in their flat, but the man who remained was but a shadow; a silent wraith cocooned in his sorrow.
The first year was all but unbearable. At twenty-three, Joan found she had to be not just a daughter, but a nurse and a confidante as well. She cooked stews he wouldnt eat, washed shirts he refused to wear, and endlessly tried to speak, to pull him back from the abyss where hed slipped.
But her father barely spoke. When he did, his sharp, curt answers stung like slaps: Dont interfere. Dont touch. Leave me be.
Gradually, a thick, impenetrable wall rose between father and daughter.
***
Time passed. They drifted along, living parallel lives.
Their mornings overlapped in the kitchen before heading out. Evenings brought them briefly together again before they retreated to their separate rooms. Words were few; genuine conversation, nonexistent.
Joan stopped fussing over her father, and he was quietly grateful. Each of them slowly grew used to a new worldwithout a wife, without a mother.
***
With time, her father began to come alive again.
He would share a kind word and a smile with the neighbour who brought over her famous scones now and then. He started making fishing trips with an old friend, and even rediscovered enjoyment in his favourite television dramas on the laptop.
Joan, noticing a glimmer of his old self, allowed herself to hope the very worst was over. That summer, when an unexpected post at a seaside retreat was offered, she agreed to leave him alone for a few months.
Upon her return, she was greeted by a revelation.
***
Her father announced he was to be married.
He declared it the moment Joan set foot in the hallwaya flat, decisive tone, as if the matter had already been settled.
They sat across from one another in the kitchen. Her father looked her in the eyes and smiled, speaking calmly: Ive met someoneher names Margaret. Were planning to marry.
A chill ran through Joan, not from jealousy but from panic. An alarm blared in her mind: The flat!
Their flat! The very place shed been raised! Where her mothers sewing machine still stood in the corner, and her favourite mug remained in the cupboard! Not this random chipped cup, left unwashed on the table by a stranger
Joan looked at it with undisguised contempt.
Dad, she began, struggling to choose her words, isnt this a bit sudden? Do you know her well? Andwhere do you plan to live? Here? This isnt just your home. Its Mums too
Her father lifted his gaze slowly. He seemed drained, his eyes hard and cold with disappointment.
So, thats it, he replied quietly. Weve arrived already. Quicker than I thought. And heres me, still breathing… A bit early to be dividing up the spoils, isnt it?
Im not dividing anything! Joan flared. I just need to know whats going on! Its reasonable, isnt it? If youre starting a new family, what about me? What happens if something goes wrong?
You can worry about that when it happens, he muttered, before slipping away to his room.
***
Margaret appeared a few days later. She was tall and slender, with mournful, piercing eyes and an over-polite manner.
Joan, I do understand how you feel, she said. I assure you, I want nothing from you. I have my own life, my own home. I just care very much for your father.
Margaret was unfailingly pleasantalmost to a fault. Still, her questions prickled.
Is your cottage far from town? she asked sweetly. How long have you had this flat? These Victorian terraces are ever so valuable nowadays.
Margaret insisted that discussing inheritances prematurely was quite unseemly, saying such talk wounded her father, making him feel unwanted.
Joan left that visit with her suspicions doubled. She was sure Margaret was calculating, so her already strained bond with her father grew even more brittle. Joan now saw only an irritable old man, blinded by late-in-life romance and ready to throw everything away for the first woman who came along. Her father, for his part, must have seen only a greedy, distrustful daughter who cared not for his happiness.
Every conversation became a skirmish. Her father insisted he had a right to live his own life. Joan insisted on her right to a secure future. They hurt each other with every argument, never realising they hurt themselves most of all.
***
At last, Joan snapped. She suggested they go to the solicitor and settle the fate of the property for good.
Her father resisted for some time, but finally he sighed and agreed.
Very well, he said with a weary sadness. Lets do it your way.
The trip to the solicitors office was made in silence. Joan fidgeted with her bag, bracing herself for battle.
Inside, her father sat apart, hands folded on his lap, his face unreadable.
The solicitor, a stern older woman, opened her folder briskly.
Well, were here today to she began.
One moment, her father interrupted. Though his voice was quiet, it rang with such certainty that Joan jumped. Thats not why Im here.
He handed her a document.
The solicitor slipped on her spectacles, scanned the page, and then peered at him in surprise.
Are you certain? This is a deed of gift. Youre transferring everythingyour entire estateto your daughter. Gratis?
Joan couldnt breathe. What? He was giving her everything? Just like that? Was this a trap, for him to claim later that she forced his hand?
She searched his eyes for a clue. But in his gaze there was no bitterness, just endless disappointment, and pitypity for her.
Here, he said softly, standing and placing the signed document in front of her. Take it. Everything you wantedthe flat, the cottage. All of it. Now you neednt worry that I, an old fool, might trade all your bricks and mortar for a bit of fairy-tale happiness.
The way he spoke the word happiness was so bitter, Joan shuddered.
Dad, II didnt mean she stammered, tears of humiliation streaming down her cheeks.
Didnt you? He gave a short, mirthless laugh; more chilling than any outburst. Joan, in the past six months, not once have you asked about my health. Not once did you see if I was warm or needed medicine. Every question you had was for paperworkjust about square footage and deeds. I was never your father; I was the weight that kept you from your inheritance. Did you think I hadnt noticed?
He turned to go, then glanced back.
You wanted this cage so much? Then take it. Its yours.
He left. Joan sat frozen, clutching the cold sheet of parchment in her hands. She had won. Everything was hers. And in that moment, she understood she had lost.
***
Years have passed.
Her father and Margaret are still together. Every so often, Joan glimpses them in the grocers or walking in the park, nearly always arm in arm. Her father looks older, but his whole face lights up when he glances at Margaret.
Joan lives alone now.
In a well-appointed three-bedroom flat, newly redecorated and elegantly furnished.
Her weekends are spent at the cottage, where everything is perfectly in order.
Yet somehow, happiness seems to have lost its way to her door…
Joan now knows her father gave her the flat not out of anger, nor resentment, but because she herself had chosenstone walls over a parent, documents over love.
Shed traded her own father for three rooms and a cottage. That realisation is the harshest legacy he left her.
