One morning, I stepped into my garden and noticed an elderly woman sitting under the awning at my neighbor’s house. Hunched over, she seemed to have dozed off in the fresh air. It struck me as odd—my neighbor had no family. She and her late husband had never had children, and he had passed away a year ago after a long illness. Of course, she was lonely and grieving, but she wasn’t so old as to despair. She had accepted her fate.
Curious, I went over to ask about the woman. The elderly lady, Mrs. Edith, was polite but reserved. My neighbor confided that she was under strain—her son had disowned her, so it was best not to bother her.
Mrs. Edith had spent her life working at the Royal Opera House. Her husband, a university professor, had carried on affairs with his students, but she’d turned a blind eye to keep the family intact. Her only son and her music pupils had filled her days.
When her son grew up, married, and had a daughter, she adored her granddaughter. Then her husband left her for another woman—though he refused to divorce.
Her son and his wife were busy building their business, so visits were rare. Still, they let the granddaughter stay with her. Age crept up suddenly. Her husband, cast aside by his lover, returned—only to find his wife aged and unappealing. He couldn’t bear being near her, still hoping for someone younger.
By then, her son owned a large, spacious home. His father begged him to take his mother in. The son agreed—his daughter loved her grandmother. But his wife?
She refused to share their home with “some old woman.” At first, the son argued—it was his mother, after all. Then his wife set a condition: the father must sign over his flat to their daughter, lest he remarry and leave them nothing.
To please his wife, the son negotiated the deal. Mrs. Edith moved in. The countryside air, the family—it seemed ideal. Her husband didn’t mourn long; he found a new lover but still avoided divorce.
The wife, however, grew cruel. She mocked and shouted at Mrs. Edith, even raising her hand. The grandmother stayed silent, but the granddaughter soon copied her mother’s contempt. One day, Mrs. Edith broke down, demanding to return home.
Her son called his father, who flatly refused—he had moved on. His wife and daughter insisted the grandmother live elsewhere. So, he decided to take her to a care home.
My neighbor, who’d known Mrs. Edith for years, couldn’t bear it. She offered to take her in instead. The son promised to visit often and send money. Whether he will remains to be seen.
Such is life when family casts aside their own. Remember—what goes around comes around. Care for your parents while you can. Kindness, not cruelty, is what truly binds us.
