**”Don’t Abandon the Old Man” – A Father’s Story of Loss and Hope for Forgiveness**
William dropped by his mother’s house unannounced.
“Oh, love! You should’ve called first,” Margaret said, surprised to see her son at the door.
“I was nearby and thought I’d pop in,” he shrugged.
“Come in then, I’ll put the kettle on,” she offered, ushering him inside.
He stepped into the kitchen and sat at the table, his expression uneasy.
“William, what’s the matter?” Margaret asked, concerned.
“Mum… Dad sent me a message,” he murmured, handing her his phone.
She read it, and her blood ran cold.
*“Son, we need to talk. Come round Saturday—bring your brothers. It’s about the inheritance. Your father.”*
Years ago, Margaret had arrived at work in tears. It took a moment before her colleagues understood what had happened, but then she wiped her eyes and said,
“My husband left me and the boys for a younger woman.”
“But you’ve been together for decades! Who’d have thought?”
“Not me,” she sighed. “He told me he stopped seeing me as a woman long ago. To him, I was just the mother of his children—not his wife, not his love. He asked for a divorce.”
“Maybe you smothered him? Men don’t like that…”
“I hardly had time for him! Between the kids and work, it was all on me. He was a grown man. Just… that’s how he is. Always straying. When we were poor, he’d slink back. The minute he landed a good job, suddenly he ‘needed passion’.”
After the divorce, he moved in with a younger colleague. There were grand romances, a new life, money. Then… like a bad soap opera. His work crumbled, his money dwindled, and his “love” quickly replaced him.
“We tossed your things over the fence,” her replacement’s new bloke told Margaret. “Fetch them if you want.”
Robert, humiliated and lost, returned to his elderly mother’s tiny flat. There he stayed—no family, no possessions, just bitterness. He tried dating again, but no woman pleased his mother. She grew resentful, jealous, driving each one away. So he remained alone.
Meanwhile, his sons grew up. William, the eldest, serious and responsible—working in construction, married with children. Michael, the middle, cheerful and kind—studying medicine, wed to a fellow student. The youngest, Paul, remained single but content. “I’m fine on my own,” he’d say.
Now, their father reached out. Reluctantly, the brothers went. What they saw shocked them: filth, damp walls, Robert—pale, hunched, stripped of years and dignity.
“Come in,” he rasped. “Sit down. No point standing on ceremony—not here. Your mother’s gone. I’ve got no one. No one wants me. But you—you’re my sons. My heirs. The flat’s mine. Don’t abandon me, and after I’m gone, it’s yours. Equal shares. Or work it out between you.”
The brothers exchanged glances. *Touched* didn’t cover it. Pitying him, they promised to consider it. That evening, at Margaret’s, the truth spilled out—and chaos followed.
“You’d let me have your shares, right?” William said first. “I’ve a family, kids—I need it more.”
“Hold on,” Michael frowned. “Jane and I are planning for a child. Rent’s bleeding us dry. I’d sell my share for a mortgage deposit.”
“What about me?” Paul snapped. “Because I’m not married, I don’t count? My share’s mine—sell it, drink it, my choice!”
Voices rose. Margaret, silent till then, couldn’t believe how a promised flat had turned her boys against each other.
“Enough!” she shouted. “What’s wrong with you? There’s no flat yet, and you’re already at each other’s throats!”
“Mum, sorry…” William backed down first.
“Fine,” Michael muttered. “We’ll manage on our own.”
“I’m not greedy,” Paul added. “Just hurt—like I wasn’t part of the family.”
Then Margaret spoke.
“Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll downsize, take the extra cash, split it between you. No resentment.”
“Mum!” they cried. “No! You love this house. We’ll sort it.”
She wept—not from sorrow, but joy. Her sons were different, but their hearts were the same. And she’d fought for those hearts all her life.
At last, her fight brought peace.
