“Mum, how could you do this?”
I still can’t believe that conversation with my mum even happened. I called her just to say hello, to ask how she was doing, and suddenly found myself at the centre of a family drama that turned everything upside down. “Mum, are you serious?” I nearly shouted down the line. “I’m your only son, I have a son of my own—your only grandson—who you’ve never even met, and you’re signing your flat over to some stranger? And then you greet me like nothing’s happened: ‘Hello, love, it’s been a while’?” Mum stayed silent on the other end, and I felt a boiling mix of hurt and confusion rise inside me. How could she do this?
My name is James, I’m thirty-five, and I’m the only child of my mother, Margaret Elizabeth. Our relationship has always been complicated. When I was a boy, she worked two jobs to keep us afloat, and for that, I’ll always be grateful. But her sternness and habit of making decisions without consulting anyone often drove a wedge between us. After I married Emily and we had our son, Oliver, I hoped Mum would grow closer to our family. But she never came to meet her grandson, always citing work or her health. I tried not to push—calling once a month, sending photos of Oliver—but her replies were always brief: “Lovely, dear, happy for you.” And now I find out she’s given her flat away to some woman I’ve never heard of.
It all started when my aunt, Susan—Mum’s sister—rang to tell me Margaret had signed over the deed to her flat. At first, I thought it must be a mistake—maybe Susan had misunderstood? But she was certain: Mum had transferred the property to a woman named Natalie, someone who, according to her, “helps around the house.” I was stunned. Mum lives in a small town in a modest two-bedroom flat she and Dad bought years ago. It’s not just bricks and mortar—it’s part of our family history, the place I grew up. And now it belongs to a stranger?
I called Mum straight away to get the truth. She answered as calmly as if nothing unusual had happened. “Yes, James, I’ve given the flat to Natalie,” she said. “She’s a good woman—shops for me, cleans, even takes me to my cottage sometimes. You’re far away, you’ve got your own life.” I didn’t know what to say. Yes, Emily and I live three hours away, but I’ve always offered help! I’ve called, asked if she needed anything, offered to visit or pay for a carer if she was struggling. But every time, she’d wave me off: “Don’t fuss, I’m fine.” And now she’s saying I’m “too far,” while some Natalie has become her pillar of support?
I asked who this Natalie was and why Mum trusted her so much. Turned out, she was a neighbor who’d started popping round a couple of years ago to help out. According to Mum, she was “like a daughter”—cooking, fetching prescriptions, even driving her to the countryside. I didn’t mind Mum accepting help, but giving away her flat? That’s not a box of chocolates! I tried to explain how unfair this was to me and Oliver. “Mum, I’m your son. Oliver’s your grandson. You don’t even know what he looks like, and you’re handing everything to a stranger? How does that make sense?” But Mum just sighed and said, “James, you’re never here. Natalie is. And it’s my decision.”
The bitterness swelled inside me. Yes, I don’t visit every month—I have a job, a family, a car loan. But I always thought we were family, that she cared about our future. Oliver’s only four—he’s growing up, and I’d dreamed that flat might one day help him, maybe with university or his first home. Now it’s gone to some Natalie I’d never even heard of. I asked Mum if she wasn’t afraid this woman was taking advantage. She cut me off: “I know what I’m doing. Natalie’s a good person.”
After the call, I couldn’t calm down. Emily, seeing how upset I was, suggested we visit Mum in person. So we did—packed Oliver into the car and drove to her town. When we arrived, Mum welcomed us warmly, hugging Oliver, but I could see the tension in her. Over tea, I brought up the flat again. I didn’t want a row, but I needed to understand. “Mum, explain this to me,” I said. “If you needed help, I could visit more, or hire someone. But why give the flat away?” She looked at me, weary, and said, “James, I don’t want to be a burden. Natalie looks after me. You’re busy. I did this so no one’s weighed down.”
Those words cut deeper than I’d expected. Did she really think she’d be a burden to us? I tried to tell her we were her family, that Oliver wanted a grandmother, that I wanted to be there. But Mum just shook her head. In that moment, I realized she felt alone, and Natalie had filled that void. It hurt to admit, but I began to see things from her side.
We drove home, and I still don’t know what to do. Legally, there’s no contesting the deed—Mum’s sound of mind and well within her rights. But I can’t shake the thought that she chose a stranger over us. I’ve decided to call more, visit more, bring Oliver so he knows his grandma. Maybe, in time, she’ll see we’re her real family. As for Natalie… I hope she truly cares for Mum and isn’t just after the flat. But this whole mess has taught me one thing: don’t put off staying close to the people you love. Life’s too short to let those ties slip away.
