When Grandma discovered her grandson wanted to evict her, she sold the flat without a second thought.
Why bother with a mortgage when you can just wait for Gran to kick the bucket and inherit her place? That was the charming philosophy of my husbands cousin, Tim. His wife, Emily, and their three children were living in hopeful limbo, refusing loans and dreaming of the day Grans London flat would be theirs. In the meantime, they were crammed into Emilys mums tiny two-bed in Brighton, a situation they found increasingly unbearable. Tim and Emily whispered more and more about how to handle Gran.
But GranMargaretwas an absolute gem. At seventy-five, she was bursting with energy, living life to the fullest, and in ruddy good health. Her flat in central Brighton was always open to friends. She mastered her smartphone, attended art exhibitions, went to the theatre, and even enjoyed the occasional flirt at the local retirement club dances. She radiated joy, a proper role model for embracing life. But for Tim and Emily, she was just an inconvenience. Theyd had enough of waiting.
Their patience finally snapped. They decided Margaret should sign the flat over to Tim and move into a care home. They barely hid their intentions, insisting it would be better for her. But Margaret wasnt one to be pushed around. She flat-out refused, and that was the spark that lit the fuse. Tim flew into a rage, shouting that she was selfish and should think of the childrens future. Emily fanned the flames, hinting that Gran had had her time.
Horrified, my husband and I stepped in. Margaret had always dreamed of visiting Indiaseeing the Taj Mahal, smelling the spices, wandering Delhis streets. We suggested she move in with us and rent out her flat to fund the adventure. She agreed, and soon her spacious three-bed was bringing in a tidy sum. When Tim and Emily found out, they threw an absolute fit. They claimed the flat was rightfully theirs and demanded Margaret hand it over. They even accused my husband, Simon, of manipulating her for the inheritance. Tim went as far as demanding the rental money, calling it his fair share. We told him, in no uncertain terms, that wasnt happening.
Emily started dropping by almost dailysometimes alone, sometimes with the kids, sometimes with absurd little gifts. Shed ask about Grans health, but we saw right through it: she and Tim were still banking on Margaret popping off soon. Their greed and lack of shame were staggering.
Meanwhile, Margaret saved enough and finally jetted off to India. She returned glowing, suitcase stuffed with stories and photos. We suggested she go biggersell the flat, travel more, then settle with us in comfort. After some thought, she agreed. Her flat sold for a pretty penny, and with the proceeds, she bought a cosy little studio on Brightons outskirts. The rest funded more adventures.
She explored Spain, Austria, and Switzerland. There, on a boat trip across Lake Geneva, she met a charming Brit named John. Their romance was straight out of a filmat seventy-five, she married him! Simon and I flew out for the wedding, and it was magicalseeing her radiant in a white dress, surrounded by flowers and smiles. Margaret deserved every bit of happiness. Shed worked her whole life, raised her kids, helped with grandkids Now, at last, she was living for herself.
When Tim learned about the flats sale, he hit the roof. He demanded Margaret hand over the studio, insisting shed had enough. How he planned to fit five people in it remained a mystery. But by then, it wasnt our problem. We were just thrilled Margaret had found her joy. As for Tim and Emily? Well, their storys a reminder that sometimes, money shows you who people really are.
