**Diary Entry 12th December**
*”Leave her here, let her freeze to death!”* they said, dumping the old woman into the snow. The fools didnt realise their cruelty would come back to haunt them.
Margaret Whitmore walked towards her block of flats. The ladies on the bench were gossiping about the sleek new car parked nearby.
*”Who does it belong to?”* Margaret asked.
*”No idea!”* one replied. *”Probably one of Marys lot. Fancy motors like that dont turn up round here for the likes of us.”*
*”Only ambulances come for our lot,”* another chuckled.
They carried on, moaning about the council and all the usual nonsense. Then out stepped Mary herself, the one with the expensive car. She marched off without a glance at the neighbours or the vehicle on the lawn. Margaret hurried inside.
*”Margaret Whitmore?”* a man called out in the stairwell. *”Remember me? We spoke a few days ago. Im your nephew.”*
*”Oh, Jeremy!”* she gasped. *”Why didnt you say you were coming? Is that your car on my flowerbed?”*
*”Yes, mine.”*
*”Then move it before someone complains! What were you thinking?”*
Jeremy rushed out while Margaret put the kettle on. Shed been meaning to sell the flatdidnt want the neighbours wrecking her garden once she was gone. Years ago, her uncle used to visit with his son. Then theyd drifted apart. Now here he was, all grown up. Something about him unsettled her. Smoked like a chimneyteeth already yellow. Still, at least hed turned up. Shed rather give him the sale than some estate agent. But he refused the money.
Margaret had outlived her husband and children. She fancied a cottage, somewhere quiet. Clean air had to be better than lugging shopping up four flights. A village with a gardensomething to tend while she still could. By autumn, a buyer appeared.
*”Winters coming. Lets wait till spring,”* Margaret decided.
*”Pricesll rise by then!”* Jeremy argued. *”Cold weathers best for checking the heating. And what if the buyer pulls out?”*
*”But you havent found me a house yet! Where will I live?”*
He reluctantly agreed.
Soon enough, Jeremy had options. They visited a cottage, but it needed work. Still, the flats sale would cover it. He knew builders, promised to help.
*”Im too old for renovations,”* Margaret fretted. *”I just want to move in and live properly.”*
*”Ill handle it!”* he insisted.
Something nagged at herhis hurry to sell, his push for any old place. But he stood to gain nothing, so she trusted him.
On the day of the sale, the buyer and solicitor arrived promptly. Jeremy served tea. Margarets heart achedthis flat was her life. But the papers were signed.
*”Time to move!”* Jeremy announced.
*”Now? My chinas still in the cabinet!”*
*”The buyer needs in today,”* he pressed.
Too tired to argue, she let him load her into the van. The motion lulled her to sleep. Voices flickered in and outJeremy and another man.
*”Leave her here,”* she heard faintly.
*”Let nature take her,”* he added.
Cold realisation hithed drugged her tea. The will to fight faded. She closed her eyes, ready for the end.
But a passing motorist, Emily, spotted the stopped van. Curious, she watched two men drag something into the woods. Suspicious, she noted the plate number. When they left, she investigatedand found Margaret, barely alive.
Emily called her husband. Together, they bundled the old woman into their car.
*”Where am I?”* Margaret croaked.
*”We found you in the snow,”* Emily said. *”What happened?”*
*”My nephew he tricked me.”*
They reported it. The police arrested Jeremy and his accomplice. Emily offered Margaret a room while the courts untangled the mess.
Weeks later, the flat was hers again. That spring, she sold it properly and bought a tidy cottageno repairs needed. Come summer, she invited Emily and her husband for tea. Some kindnesses, Margaret would never forget.
**Lesson learned:** Wickedness returns like a boomerangbut so does goodness.
