Five years without a visit from my children, but the news of a changed will brought them rushing back.
I have two sons, three grandchildren, two daughters-in-law… and yet I live like an orphan. For years, I believed Id raised men who would one day be my support. But life showed me a different truth. Since my husband passed five years ago, neither has set foot in my home. Not a call, not a letter, not a visit. Then one day, I made it known: “Im leaving my flat to my niece.” And just like that, as if by magic, they appeared.
I once thought myself lucky to have two boyspeople say sons stay closer to their mothers. I believed Id never be alone in my old age. My husband and I worked hard to give them love, education, a start in life. While their father was alive, they still dropped by now and then. But the moment we buried him, it was as if I ceased to exist.
They live in the same city, just forty minutes by bus. Both married with families of their own. I have two grandsons and a granddaughter Ive never met. After a fall, I struggle to walk, but they never have timealways busy, letting calls go to voicemail, promising to ring back but never doing so. Ive grown used to their empty words.
When the neighbours flooded my flat, I called the eldestno answer. The younger one swore hed come but never did. All I needed was someone to paint over the stain on the ceiling. In the end, I hired a decorator. The money wasnt what stungit was realising my own sons couldnt spare an hour for their mother.
When my fridge broke, I rang them again. I just wanted company to buy a new one, afraid of being swindled. Their reply? “Mum, dont fuss, the salespeople will explain everything.” In the end, my brother and niece went with me.
Then the pandemic hit. Suddenly, they remembered me. Monthly calls began: “Dont leave the house,” “order groceries online,” “be careful.” But I didnt know how. My niece taught meshowed me the apps, brought medicine, stayed when I fell ill. Every night, shed ring: “Auntie Margaret, are you all right?” We grew closer than I ever was with my own children.
I started spending holidays with my brother and his family. My nieces little girl calls me “Gran.” And one day, it hit me: I may have sons, but my niece has become my family. She asks for nothing. Shes just there. She cares. Helps.
So I decided: if my sons have forgotten me, let the flat go to the one who stood by me in the hard times. I left it to her in my will. She doesnt even know. I only wanted to do whats fairto give to the one whos always given to me.
But someone must have talked. That same day, my eldest rang. His voice sharp, words brittle. “Is it true youre giving the flat away?” When I said yes, he shouted, “Youre mad! How could you? Thats family property!” I hung up.
That evening, they knocked on my door. Both of them. With a cake. With the granddaughter Id never seen. Smiling. Sweet. Then came the pleas: “You cant do this,” “shell throw you out,” “were your sons,” “youre giving our home to a stranger.” I listened in silence. Then I said, “Thank you for your concern. But my decisions made.”
They left, slamming the door. Warned me if I signed the papers, Id lose their help and never see my grandchildren again. But dearest boys, Ive seen nothing from you for years but indifference. You came after fiveand only because you feared what youd lose. Not your mother. The flat.
I dont regret it. If my niece turns her back one day, so be it. But I dont believe she will. Shes kind. Honest. True. And you? Now live with your consciences. If you still have them.
