“She can’t stay here, she’s nothing to us,” I overheard my late husbands daughter telling her brother, insisting I should be evicted from the home Id lived in for the last 15 years.
“Hold on, Eleanor. Its not that simple. Wheres Aunt Margaret supposed to go?” replied James, my husbands son. Hed always struck me as more decent and considerate than his sisterId learned a thing or two about them over the years.
My husband, William, had passed recently, and his children from his first marriage had arrived to divide his estate. It wasnt insignificanta house in the countryside, a garden, a garage, and a car. I hadnt expected much, but I never thought theyd try to push me out so quickly.
William and I had met later in life, both of us with broken marriages and grown children behind us. I had two daughters, and he had a son and daughter. Id just turned fifty, with my eldest daughter recently married and the younger one still at home in our cramped flat.
Then William came along. He was five years older, lived alone, and had already provided for his childrenboth married, settled, thanks to his successful career. He didnt waste time; he asked me to move in with him. I thought it overhe was kind, a good man, and treated me well. So I did.
We settled into his country home, tending the garden, keeping chickens and rabbitseven a cow and pigs for a while. Both his children and mine visited often, and we always sent them home with bags of homegrown produce.
We never marriedearly on, wed talked about it, but eventually decided a piece of paper didnt matter at our age. Those 15 years were wonderful, and I dont regret a thing.
In that time, my younger daughter married too, though she and her sister nearly came to blows over who should inherit the flat. The elder one, already settled there, refused to share, so she and her husband bought out the youngers share.
But a year ago, my younger daughter divorced and moved back in with a child. The elder wasnt pleased, and now the house is full of arguments again. Id hoped theyd reconcile, but no luck yet.
Then William died, and I faced returning to that chaos. But even there, I knew Id be in the way.
“Aunt Margaret, you can stay until we find a buyer,” James offered the next morning.
I was relieveduntil his sister, Eleanor, clarified the terms: I could stay if I kept up the house and garden alone.
So now Id be their unpaid labourer, just for the privilege of not paying rent? At 65, I wasnt sure I could manage the work alone.
Im torn. Stay here as their servant until they kick me out, or return to my daughters cramped flatlegally still mine, but where I know I dont belong.
What should I do? Maybe an outsider sees it clearer.
