Father Decided to Remarry
Its been five years since Mum passed away. She was only forty-eight, and it happened so suddenly, right there in the kitchen as she watered her African violets. Dad was fifty-five back then. He didnt cry or shout, not even at the funeral. He simply sat in Mums favourite armchair, gazing at her picture as if, just by looking, he could will her back to life.
On that day, I lost not just my mumbut, in a way, my dad as well. He remained in the same flat with me, yet it was as though his body stayed, but his soul had turned into a ghost, cocooned by grief. I was twenty-three and overnight became not only a daughter but also a nurse, a counsellor. I tried everythingcooked roast dinners he never touched, washed his shirts he never wore, and I talked and talked, desperate to haul him out of the misery hed sunken into.
Dad, though, was silent. When he did speak, his words were always short, almost snapped: Dont. Leave it. Dont touch! So a thick, impenetrable wall grew between us, casting a constant shadow over our home.
***
The months ticked by. We developed a way of existing: almost like strangers, living parallel lives. Wed pass in the kitchen each morning, exchange a polite nod, then go our separate ways. Evenings, wed cross paths again, but otherwise kept to our own rooms. Communication was reduced to necessity, and I stopped fussing over him, which he seemed quietly grateful for. Gradually, each of us began adapting to this new existencewithout her.
***
Over time, Dad slowly returned to life. He began to smile at our kind neighbour Mrs Parsons, who would pop in with her famous scones. Hed go fishing with his mate Phil, rediscovered his laptop and his beloved British crime shows. With the despair gone from his posture, I thought the worst had passed, and when I was offered a summer job at a wellness retreat on the south coast, I felt safe enough to leave him alone for those months.
But when I got back home, there was something waiting for mea shock I genuinely hadnt anticipated.
***
Dad announced he was getting married.
He dropped this revelation the very second I walked through the front door, cool and certain, as if all debate had already been settled. He sat me down in the kitchen, just as we used to.
Ive met someone, he said, attempting a small, proud smile. Her names Margaret. Weve decided to make things official.
Suddenly, I went cold. It wasnt even the fact that hed met someone new. Frankly, I might have been glad if it genuinely made him happy. But my mind started to ring alarm bells: the flat!
Our flat. The one Id grown up in. Mums sewing machine still standing in the corner, her favourite mug still tucked away in the cupboard. And suddenlythat mug had been replaced by a horrid one, left dirty by some stranger.
I couldnt hide my distaste, staring at the offending mug on the table.
Dad, I said, the words knotting in my throat, dont you think this is all a bit hasty? Do you really know her? Where are you planning to live? Please tell me it wont be here. Its not just your flat. It was Mums, too
He looked at me, his eyes hard and tiredfull of cold disappointment.
Ah, so here it is, he said softly. Didnt take long. Im not dead yet, you know. Its a bit premature to start dividing up the spoils.
Im not I just want clarity! I burst out. Its only fair! Youll have a new family, and what about me, if something happens?
You can sort yourself out then, he snapped, and retreated into his bedroom.
***
Margaret came to visit two days later. Tall, elegant, with a gaze that flickered between empathy and calculation, she was almost painfully polite.
Catherine, I do understand how you feel, she cooed. Honestly, Im not after anything. I have my own place, my own life. I simply care deeply for your father.
She tried her best to seem friendly, but her questions!
So, is your cottage far from town? she asked with an innocent smile. And when did your family acquire this flat? These big council places are in demand, arent they?
Shed always say that talking about inheritance was inappropriatethat it hurt Dad and made him feel unwanted.
After the visit, my doubts didnt just growthey rooted themselves deeper. I was utterly convinced this woman was clever, cunning, and opportunistic. My relationship with Dadalready strainedcrumbled. I saw in him a stubborn old man, blinded by a late-in-life infatuation, ready to give everything away to a stranger. He, in turn, no doubt saw in me a greedy, untrusting daughter who never once thought of his happiness.
Every exchange became a skirmish. He insisted on his right to a private life; I insisted on my right to a stable future. We jabbed at each other, not realising how much it hurt us both.
***
Eventually, I couldnt take it any longer. I proposed seeing a solicitor to settle the matter of the flat and cottageonce and for all.
He resisted for a while, but eventually let out a heavy sigh and agreed.
Fine, he said, voice filled with weariness. Lets do it your way.
We walked to the solicitors in heavy silence. I fiddled with the clasp of my handbag, bracing myself for battle.
The office was quiet, almost oppressively so. Dad took a seat by the wall, hands clasped in his lap, face unreadable. The solicitor, a grey-haired woman with sharp features, opened a folder smartly.
So, were here today to she began in her clipped, professional manner.
Dad interrupted her. His voice, quiet but unwavering, made me flinch. Excuse me. Thats not why Im here.
He handed her an envelope.
She slid on her spectacles, glanced down, then looked up at him in surprise.
Youre sure? she asked. This is a deed of gift. Youre handing over all your property to your daughter? Completely, without reserve?
My breath stuck in my throat. What? Hes giving everything to mejust like that? Surely theres a catcha trapsome plan to turn it all against me?
I searched Dads face, trying desperately to guess what he was thinking.
But there wasnt anger in his expressiononly endless disappointment. And pitya deep, raw pity for me.
Well, he said quietly, getting up and sliding the signed document over to me. Here you are. Everything you were so worried about. The flat. The cottage. Its all yours now. You neednt fear that I, some old fool, will swap your precious bricks and mortar for a scrap of imaginary happiness.
He uttered the word happiness so bitterly that I recoiled.
Dad I I never meant I whispered, tears of shame welling up.
Didnt you? He gave a lopsided smile, more painful than any yell. Catherine, these last six months, not once did you ask about my healthwhether I was warm enough, if I needed anything. Your questions have only ever been about paperwork. About property. You dont see your father; you see an obstacle keeping you from what you want. You think I didnt notice?
He turned, paused by the door.
You wanted this cage? Take it. Its all yours.
He left. I sat there with the cold piece of paper clenched in my hands. Id won, hadnt I? Everything was mine. And yet, for the first time, I realised Id lost.
***
Many years have passed.
Dad and Margaret are still together. I sometimes catch sight of them in the park or the supermarket, always hand in hand. Dads older, for sure, but the way he looks at herthe light in his eyesits happiness, pure and simple.
I live alone.
In a three-bedroom flat, tastefully refurbished, sparkling with new furniture.
I spend weekends at the cottage. Everything is immaculate there, too.
And yet, somewhere along the line, happiness has slipped away.
Now I understand: Dad signed over the property not out of spite, but to give me what I chosebricks instead of family, deeds instead of love.
I traded my own father for three rooms and a cottage. And that realisation is the most bitter inheritance I could ever have received.
