I looked after my mother-in-law for twelve years. When she passed away, her son promptly kicked me out of the house.
I still remember my very first day in that house. It was big, old, and smelt unmistakably of polished wood and faded stories. My mother-in-law, Aunt Margaret, greeted me with a tired smile and eyes silently pleading for help.
Stay with me, love, she said that day. This house is much too large for just me.
So, I stayed. I stayed for twelve very long years.
In the beginning, my husband, Charles, would pop in on weekends. He brought flowers, kissed his mothers forehead, and gave me a brisk pat on the shoulder, much like youd thank a particularly diligent cleaner. Then his visits thinnedonce a month, then every other month, always with excuses: work, meetings, traffic on the M25.
I evolved into nurse, cook, and companion. I gave Aunt Margaret her medication at six in the morning and again at ten at night. I brewed her the blandest soups and made herbal teas by the gallon. I helped her bathe when she could no longer manage alone, and read her the paper when her eyes gave up for the day.
Youre a better daughter to me than my own son, shed sometimes whisper, and Id simply smile.
The last three years were the hardest. Aunt Margaret lost mobility, then her speech. Yet every morning, her eyes would say thank you. I slept in the next room, door open, just in case she needed me at night. How many times did I get up, change sheets, cleancomfort?
Charles finally showed up for the funeral. Somber suit, measured tears, hearty hugs all round. If anyone asked who I was, hed introduce me as the woman who looked after Mum.
A week later, he turned up at the door. Didnt bother using his own keys.
Youll need to leave the house, he announced, eyes fixed on the floor. Im putting it on the market. Spoke to the estate agent.
I froze.
Leave? But Ive lived here for twelve years.
It was my mothers house. Now its mine. Frankly, I need the money.
And everything Ive doneall these years?
He shrugged.
Nobody made you. Youre her daughter-in-lawthat was your duty. Youve got two weeks.
That night, I began packing. Twelve years shrunk to a few cardboard boxes, when you were never given the right to plant roots.
Three weeks later, I was renting a small room, when the phone rang. It was Charles, sounding unusually frazzledand frankly, a bit furious.
What did you do? he barked without a hello.
Sorry? Whats happened?
The solicitor says I cant sell the house!
My heart did a little somersault.
What do you mean?
Mum changed her will five years ago. The house is left to the both of us! Fifty-fifty! Did you know?
My legs gave out and I sat on the bed.
No. I had no idea.
Youre lying! You mustve manipulated her while she was ill.
Five years ago she was perfectly well, and you know it.
On the other end, silence.
Youll need to sign away your rights, he finally muttered. Ill give you twenty thousand pounds. You dont deserve more.
Something inside me finally snapped. Or perhaps it just fell into place.
No.
What did you say?
I said no. This house was my home for twelve years. I kept it together and cared for your mother in every nook and cranny. If she wanted me to own half, she had her reasons.
Youre nothing but a gold-digger…
No. A gold-digger wouldve kept quiet when you threw me out like a stranger. Your mother knew what she was doing. Ill honour her wishes.
I hung up. My hands trembled, but for the first time in weeks, I could actually breathe.
Two months later, the court confirmed the will: the house legally belonged to both of us. He wanted to sell, I wanted to stay. I couldnt afford to buy him out, so we sold and split the proceeds.
But when I signed those papers, I wasnt the woman who looked after Mum. I signed as an heir. As the daughter Aunt Margaret never had by blood, but certainly had by love.
With my share, I bought a modest flat. Small, but entirely mine. In my lounge, I hung a photous in the garden, both beaming. Underneath, I wrote:
You are my daughter in heart.
Charles never spoke to me again. But I never again felt obliged to anyone.
Do you think Aunt Margaret did the right thing? What would you have done in my place?
