**Monday, 12th June**
*”Mum, how could you do this?”*
I still can’t believe that conversation with my mother even happened. I rang her just to say hello, ask how she was, and suddenly found myself in the middle 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’ve got a lad of my own—your only grandson, whom 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, long time no hear’?” Mum stayed silent on the other end while I felt anger and confusion boiling inside me. How could she do this?
My name’s William, I’m thirty-five, and I’m the only child of my mother, Margaret Elizabeth. We’ve always had a complicated relationship. When I was young, she worked two jobs to keep us afloat, and I’ll always be grateful for that. But her stubbornness and need to handle everything herself built a wall between us. After I married Emily and our son James was born, I’d 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—called once a month, sent photos of James—but her replies were always short: “Lovely, dear, happy for you.” And now I find out she’s handed her flat to some woman I don’t even know.
It all started when my aunt, Rebecca, Mum’s sister, called to say Margaret had signed the flat over. At first, I thought it was a mistake—maybe she’d got the wrong end of the stick? But she was insistent: Mum had transferred ownership to a woman named Charlotte, who, she claimed, “helps her around the house.” I was stunned. Mum lives in a small town, in a two-bed flat she and Dad bought years ago. It’s not just bricks and mortar—it’s where I grew up, part of our family’s story. And now it belongs to a stranger?
I rang Mum straight away. She answered calmly, as if nothing was amiss. “Yes, William, I’ve given the flat to Charlotte,” she said. “She’s a good sort—does the shopping, helps clean, takes me to the garden centre. You’re busy with your own life.” I didn’t know what to say. Sure, Emily and I live a few hours away, but I’ve always offered help! I’ve asked if she needed anything, suggested visits, even offered to pay for a carer. But she’d always brush me off: “Don’t fuss, I’m fine.” And now she claims I’m “too far,” while some Charlotte is her lifeline?
I asked who this woman was. Turns out, she’s a neighbour who started popping round a couple of years ago. To Mum, she was “like a daughter”—cooking, picking up prescriptions, even driving her to the countryside. I’ve no issue with Mum accepting help, but giving away the flat? That’s not a box of chocolates! I tried to explain how unfair it was to me and James. “Mum, I’m your son. James is your grandson. You don’t even know what he looks like, and you’re handing everything to a stranger?” She just sighed. “William, you’re never here. Charlotte is. It’s my decision.”
The hurt cut deep. Yes, I can’t visit every week—I’ve work, a family, a mortgage. But I thought we were still family, that she cared about our future. James is only four; I’d dreamed that flat might one day help him—uni, maybe, or his first home. Now it’s gone to some Charlotte I’d never heard of. I asked if Mum worried she was being taken advantage of. She snapped, “I know what I’m doing. Charlotte’s good people.”
After the call, I was furious. Emily, seeing my state, suggested we drive up. So we did—bundled James into the car and went. Mum hugged us all, but I could see the tension in her smile. Over tea, I brought up the flat again. I didn’t want a row, but I had to understand. “Mum, explain,” I said. “If you need help, I’ll visit more, I’ll hire someone. But why give it all away?” She looked tired. “William, I don’t want to be a burden. Charlotte looks after me. You’ve your own life.”
That stung more than I expected. Did she really think she’d be a burden? I told her we were her family, that James asks about his gran, that I *want* to be there. But she just shook her head. Then it hit me: she’s lonely, and Charlotte’s filled that gap. Painful as it was, I saw it from her side.
We drove home, and I’m still lost. Legally, there’s no contesting it—Mum’s sound of mind, and it’s her right. But I can’t shake the hurt that she chose an outsider over us. I’ll call more, visit, make sure James knows her. Maybe, in time, she’ll see we’re her real family. As for Charlotte… I hope she’s decent. But this taught me one thing: never put off the people who matter. Life’s too short for regrets.
