My mother-in-law slipped delicacies from my fridge into her own tote before departing. Are you sure we
So, you wouldn’t believe what happened at my cousin Sarahs house last weekend. It was her husband’
So, you wouldn’t believe what happened at my cousin Sarahs house last weekend. It was her husband’
Why Should It Matter Who Cared for Grandma? Legally, That Flat Should Be Mine! – My Mum Argues Bitterly With Me
My own mum is threatening to take me to court. Why? Because Grandma’s flat didn’t go to her—or even to me—but to my daughter. My mum thinks it’s a grave injustice. She insists Grandma’s flat should rightfully be hers. But Grandma chose otherwise. Why? Probably because my husband and I lived with Grandma and cared for her during her final five years.
My mum could quite rightfully be called selfish. Her wants and interests have always come before anyone else’s. She’s had three marriages but just two children: me and my younger sister. My sister and I have a great relationship. But things with Mum are a different story.
I can’t even remember my dad. He divorced Mum when I was only two. Until I was six, Mum and I lived at Grandma’s. For some reason, I thought Grandma was terribly unpleasant—maybe because Mum was always in tears. Only later, as an adult, did I learn that Grandma was actually a good person, just desperate to set her daughter straight.
Later, Mum married again and we moved in with my stepdad. That’s when my sister was born. Mum stayed with him for seven years, then divorced him too. This time we didn’t return to Grandma’s; instead my stepdad went off to work and let us stay in his flat. Three years later, Mum married a third time and we moved in with her new husband.
Obviously, he wasn’t thrilled about his new wife’s kids, but he never treated us badly—he simply ignored us. So did Mum, who was busy being wrapped up in her new relationship, riddled with jealousy and dramatic outbursts.
Every month, Mum would start packing her bags, but my stepdad always managed to talk her out of leaving. My sister and I got used to it, and eventually stopped caring. I took over raising my sister because Mum had no time. Luckily, both our grandmothers helped us a lot. I eventually left for university accommodation, and my sister went to live with Grandma. Dad always helped her, but Mum only called us at Christmas.
I grew up accepting Mum as she was—the kind of parent who never worried about us. My sister, however, could never forgive her, and especially resented that Mum didn’t show up for her graduation.
We both grew up. My sister married and moved to another city. My boyfriend and I lived together for ages but were in no hurry to wed, renting a place and visiting Grandma often. We were close, but I tried never to be a nuisance.
Then Grandma fell ill and was hospitalised. The doctors told me she needed plenty of care, so I started coming daily—bringing groceries, cooking, cleaning, and, most importantly, making sure she took her medicines. For six months, this was life. Sometimes my boyfriend came too and handled the odd DIY job. One day, Grandma suggested we move in to save money for our own home.
Of course we agreed. Grandma liked my boyfriend, and we all got on well. Six months later, I found out I was pregnant. We decided to keep the baby and Grandma was overjoyed about her great-grandchild. We had a simple wedding and took the family out to a café—my mum didn’t even show up or call with congratulations.
When my daughter was just two months old, Grandma fell and broke her leg. Caring for a newborn and Grandma was almost impossible alone, so I called Mum for help. She refused, saying she wasn’t well and would come by another time—a promise she never kept.
Six months later, Grandma suffered a stroke. Suddenly, she was bedridden. The care was gruelling, and I don’t know how I’d have managed without my husband. Grandma slowly regained some mobility and speech, and lived another two and a half years—long enough to watch her great-granddaughter learn to walk. She passed away quietly in her sleep, leaving us heartbroken.
Mum only came to the funeral. A month later, she turned up demanding that I move out so she could claim the flat as her own. She was sure she’d inherit it—completely unaware Grandma had signed the property over to my daughter after she was born, leaving Mum without a penny.
Mum was furious, demanding I hand over the flat or she’d sue.
“Look how cunning you are! You tricked that old woman out of her flat and now you’re living there yourself! You won’t get away with this! It makes no difference who cared for Grandma—the flat should be mine!”
But Mum won’t be getting that flat. I know this for sure—I’ve checked everything with the solicitor and notary. We will stay in the home Grandma gave us. And if our next child is a girl, we’ll give her Grandma’s name. Why does it matter who looked after Gran? By law, that flat should belong to me! my mother argues with me.
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