Grandma didnt have long left, and it was time to sell her house…
When 24-year-old Emily chose to stay in her grandparents home, some thought shed lost her mind.
“Young, healthycouldve settled in the city! But no, shes stuck here with the elderly, a vegetable patch, and poverty,” they muttered in the village shop.
But Emily quietly bought her groceries and walked back along the country lane. Everyone knew her herethe granddaughter of George and Margaret, the university student whod first come for the holidays, then stayed for good. George had grown frail, often forgetting where hed left his glasses or whether hed fed the chickens. Margaret held on stubbornly, but her high blood pressure and shortness of breath betrayed her age.
Emily cooked, cleaned, took George to hospital appointments, and sat up with Margaret at night when her chest tightened. The house was falling apartthe roof leaked, the stove crumbled. But with a bit of remote work and Georges modest pension, Emily began repairs. The locals sometimes pitched in. They fixed the roof. Then someone rebuilt the stove. The next year, she put up a small outbuilding in the back garden and moved in herself. On hard days, shed stroke her cat, Biscuit, warm her hands by the stove, and think.
One evening, George gazed out the window and said, “Youre like a light in the window, Em. You wont leave us, will you?”
“Where would I go, Grandad?” she replied.
He pulled an old folder from a drawer and handed it to her.
“Got this sorted. The house, the land. So those others cant take it.”
Emily opened ita will, properly registered at the council office. Witnessed by two neighbours and the village head. She nodded and tucked it away.
George passed away in early March. The funeral was quiet, just locals shedding quiet tears. Emilys mother, Helen, lived in the city and rarely visited. But her uncle, David, turned up unexpectedlywith his wife, Charlotte, and gifts in hand. Hed long lived in a posh cottage in the county, remembering his parents only at Christmas, if at all.
Emily was digging in the greenhouse when David stepped out of his car in designer trainers and a thin jacket. Charlotte followed, manicured and shivering, arms folded.
“Mum!” David cried, rushing to Margaret, who stood on the porch with a broom. “Were here at last! Couldnt stay away.”
He hugged her, kissed her cheek. She smiled awkwardly.
“Come in, then. Teas on.”
Emily followed. David gave her a dismissive nod.
“Still here, eh, Em?”
In the kitchen, Charlotte kept her coat on.
“Cosy place, Mum. But freezing. No radiators?”
“Just the stove. Always been that way,” Margaret said.
“Honestly, how do you manage alone?”
“Emily helps,” Margaret waved her off. “Keeps it all running.”
David glanced at Emily.
“Good on you. Butyoure young. Dont you get sick of it? Its not even yours.”
Emily met his gaze.
“Funny, Ive been putting money into it like it is. Never saw you lift a finger.”
Charlotte scoffed.
“Oh, please. Working remotely hardly counts as an investment. Buying groceries isnt a contribution.”
“I rebuilt the roof. Fixed the stove. Put up that outbuilding.”
“Unauthorised,” David snapped. “Who said you could?”
He set his cup down.
“Mum, lets be honest. This place is too much for you. Its the middle of nowhere. Sell it. Well find buyers. Youll have money to live oncould even stay with us. Were family.”
Emily set her tea down slowly.
“You didnt visit for five years. Just texts at Christmas. Now suddenly youre all heart?”
David smirked.
“Not your place to judge. Youre just the charity case Grandad took in.”
“Charity?” Emily stood. “I sat up nights when he couldnt breathe. Changed his sheets when he couldnt move. You didnt even call!”
“That doesnt give you rights to the property, understand?”
Margaret cut in sharply.
“Enough. Im still alive. Nothings being divided.”
But David was riled now.
“Mum, its yours. You own it. Emilys just… squatting. What happens next?”
Emily turned to Margaret. The old woman faltered.
“Hes my son. He wants to help. I… I dont know. Dont pressure me, Em.”
Charlotte chimed in sweetly,
“Really, Em, how long will you stay? Wasting your youth on chickens and medicines? Its not right.”
Emily walked out.
They stayed for tea.
Days later:
“Whats this?” Emily asked.
“Papers. Ive sold the land.”
Emilys ears rang.
“To who?”
“Buyers from the next county. David sorted it.”
“Thats where my house is!”
“The buildings not registered. Doesnt exist. The lands mine.”
Emily was silent a long moment.
“You signed because he whispered in your ear?”
“He cares. Hes my son. Youre just”
“Just what?”
Margaret turned away, as if forgetting all Emily had done.
“Im too tired for this. Go.”
“Gran, you trusted me! I looked after you both!”
“And you lived here rent-free!”
Emily tried reasoning, showed her the will. Margaret waved it off.
“George wasnt in his right mind. Its worthless. The house is mine. Prove otherwise.”
“I live here! Its my home now!”
The village solicitor was blunt:
“Tough, but not hopeless. The wills legal if properly witnessed. Prove you maintained the property, invested in it. Witnesses matterneighbours, receipts, the nurse who visited.”
Emily had them all.
At the hearing, Davids lawyer argued:
“No deed. The will wasnt notarised. The property belonged to Margaret.”
“But did the claimant reside and invest in it?” the judge asked.
“Well… out of kindness. No legal obligation.”
“Who paid for repairs? Who lived there? Who provided care?”
Two months later, the court sided with Emilyupholding the wills share of the land. The sale was void. David had to refund the buyers.
As for Margaret…
“Em… forgive me. I didnt know he was mixed up with crooks. I meant well…” She never grasped the full scheme.
“You sold my house, Gran. If youd talked to me, not the ones who forgot you for twenty years”
“Lets make it right. Ill sign it over. Properly. Just… dont hold it against me.”
They went to the council office. It was done quickly.
Emily resumed repairs. The council ran a gas line. Margaret sat by the window, stroking Biscuit.
“Youre strong, Em. Not like my son. Thought he was clever. Turned out rotten. Raised him wrong, I suppose.” Tears welled in her eyes.
Two weeks later, David turned up with papers.
“Im contesting the transfer. She wasnt competent. Im her sonI have rights.”
The case was swift. Emily produced a doctors note: Margaret had been sound of mind, signing willingly. The court dismissed Davids claim.
Emily stepped onto the porch, gazing at the house, the garden, the cherry tree. Shed always felt it was home. Now her heart was at peace.
She smiled and tied her scarf.
So much still to do.
