13May
I spent the morning tidying Grandfathers old cottage in the Cotswolds, and while sifting through the attic I stumbled upon a second will. In that document everything was bequeathed to me.
The ancient stone house greeted me, Emily, with a stale draught and a deafening hush. I flung the sash windows wide, letting the gentle May sunshine and the scent of lilacs flood the rooms. Its been a month since Grandfather passed, and only now have I gathered the courage to travel back and sort through his belongings.
Grandfather Harold Whitaker meant more to Emily than the title grandfather ever could. When her parents died young, he stepped in, raised her, gave her a foothold in life. In recent years work in the city and the endless bustle meant they saw each other only on rare occasions. Now, standing in the drawingroom where every object whispered his name, Emily scolded herself for every day they failed to share.
The phone rang, cutting the silence.
Emily, have you started yet? Aunt Margarets voice sounded unusually gentle. Victor and I will be down tomorrow to help with the furniture. Dont touch anything valuable, okay?
Of course, Aunt Margaret, I replied, eyeing Grandfathers mahogany sideboard laden with seashells. Im only sorting the papers.
Good. After the probate hearing theres an odd awkwardness Dont be upset that Grandfather left you only his books and the piano. He simply wanted to split things fairly.
I tightened my lips. At the funeral the solicitor read a will that divided the house and the bulk of Grandfathers estate between his childrenAunt Margaret and Uncle Victor. Emilys share was limited to the library, a battered upright piano and a set of engraved pocket watchestreasured, but of little market value.
Its all right, Aunt Margaret. I dont need anything more.
Exactly! You have your own flat, your own life. Well need the cottage for the summerholiday season, you know. See you tomorrow!
I hung up and exhaled heavily. Grandfather had always said the house would be hers. Who else should have it but you, my dear? Only you truly understand these walls. He must have changed his mind at the very end. That was his right.
The rest of the day I spent poring over the books. Each volume held a memory: a battered fairytale collection he read to her at night, school textbooks he used when he taught her maths, even dried flowers tucked between pages, old photographs and marginal notes in his neat hand.
By evening I reached his studya modest room with a massive oak desk and shelves that scraped the ceiling. As a child Grandfather wouldnt let anyone in without knocking; he called it his creative laboratory. Here he drafted his memoirs, kept diaries, sorted archives.
I carefully turned over folders, yellowed envelopes and a stack of letters tied with twinecorrespondence from his own mother, a woman Emily had never met. Beside them lay a wellworn leather diary.
Flipping it open, I saw an entry from last year: Call S.P. about the new will. Destroy the old one.
My heart lurched. A new will? At the hearing Mr. Sergei Petrov, the solicitor, had presented only one document.
Continuing my search, I lifted a dustclad newspaper pile and uncovered an envelope stamped Will Copy. Original with Solicitor S.P. The date was a month before Grandfathers death.
Trembling, I pulled the paper and began to read. In this version Grandfather Harold left the cottage, the surrounding plot and all the valuable items to me, Emily. His children Margaret and Victor were to receive monetary compensation instead.
This decision, the will read, is not driven by favoritism but by a desire to keep the family nest intact. Emily is the only one who values this house as a repository of our story, not as mere property. I trust she will preserve it for future generations.
I sank into Grandfathers armchair, stunned. Why hadnt the second will been shown? Did the solicitor know? What now?
I lay awake through the night, turning over possibilities. Presenting the will would spark a huge dispute. Aunt Margaret and Uncle Victor had already begun planning renovations and the division of the land. Theyd never been close to Grandfather, only seeing him occasionally. Did that give them fewer rights?
Morning arrived with the clatter of an incoming car. Aunt Margaret was the first through the door, voice booming, energy high.
Emily, weve arrived with my daughter Marjorie, she said, gesturing at her teenage daughter who shuffled in looking disgruntled. Lets see what we can take right now. Victor will bring the movers later.
Good morning, I managed a strained smile. I havent finished sorting yet
Dont worry, well help! Margaret swept through the rooms, eyeing the furniture. Ill take this sideboard and the bedroom chest. You okay with that, Marjorie?
Marjorie shrugged. Whatever, Mum. Im here for Grandfathers coin collection, you promised.
The coin collection! Margaret beamed. He collected those all his life, remember? A little something for Marjorie.
A surge of anger rose in me. The numismatic set had been Grandfathers pride; hed shown it to me, explained each pieces history. Now it was to go to a niece who had barely attended the funeral.
Aunt Margaret, I began cautiously, did you speak with Mr. Petrov after the reading?
She froze, turning sharply. With Sergei? No, why?
It just seems something isnt right with the will.
What do you mean? she pressed, eyes narrowing.
I found a reference to another, later will in his papers.
A heavy silence settled. Marjorie stopped examining the sideboard and looked at us.
What nonsense is that? Margaret finally said, voice shaking. There was only one will, the one read aloud.
I think we should call Sergei Petrov, I said firmly. I have a copy of the other document.
Margarets face turned ashen.
Emily, please why stir this up? Grandfather made his choice, everything was split fairly. You got the things he loved mostbooks, piano. He knew how you love music.
Its not about the objects, I replied. Its about Grandfathers final wishes. If he changed his mind, we must respect it.
You changed his mind? Margaret snapped, bitter. He spent his whole life thinking of you! Our own children were always secondary to you.
I was taken aback by her sudden outburst.
I never asked for special treatment, I said quietly.
Of course you didnt! You were always there, while we had our own lives.
Marjorie interjected, Enough, Mum. If theres another will, let the lawyers sort it out.
At that moment Uncle Victor entered, a broad man whose face bore an uncanny resemblance to Grandfathers.
Whats all this fuss about? he asked, scanning the tense faces.
Emily found another will, Margaret blurted. She says Grandfather left everything to her.
Victor settled into a chair, sighing.
Did you know about it? I asked him.
He looked weary. Grandfather mentioned he wanted to amend his will. He said the house should stay whole because Im the only one who truly loves it.
So you kept quiet? Margaret hissed. Traitor!
Dont shout, Margaret, Victor said calmly. I didnt know whether hed finalized the new document. The cottage is old, needs constant upkeep. For us its an asset to be sold; for Emily its a memory.
Are you siding with her then? Margaret shouted, arms flailing. Wonderful! Well get nothing and be left out in the cold!
Marjorie rolled her eyes. Uncle, we dont need that house. You said youd sell it and buy a flat in town anyway.
I listened, feeling oddly detached. To them it was brick and mortar, a piece of land. To me it was an entire world of smells, sounds and recollections.
I propose this, I said finally. We call Sergei Petrov and confirm the situation. If Grandfathers last intention really was to leave the cottage to me, Ill offer you compensation for your shares, over time. The house will stay in the family, maintained, and you can visit whenever you wishsummer, weekends, holidaysjust like a true family home.
What compensation? Margaret sneered. From my librarian salary?
I could take a loan, or sell my flat if needed.
Enough, Marjorie said, laughing. If theres another will, let the lawyers handle it. No point arguing.
Soon after, Sergei Petrov arrived, briefcase in hand, and took a seat in the drawingroom.
So youve found a second will, he said after I explained. He examined the copy, checked dates and signatures.
It is genuine, he concluded. Harold did draw up a new testament shortly before he died.
Why wasnt it presented? Margaret demanded.
Petrov rubbed his eyes wearily. A week before his passing Harold called me, asked to cancel the earlier will. He intended a meeting that never happened.
So his final wish was the original version? Victor asked.
Petrov hesitated. He didnt state a reason, only that he didnt want a family rift.
Tears welled in my eyes. Even in his last days Grandfather thought of us, of keeping peace at the cost of his own desires.
Legally, Petrov went on, the most recent will that was not officially revoked is the one that stands the one giving the cottage to Emily. But if you contest it, the case could drag on for years, and no one wins except the lawyers.
The room fell silent. I stared out at the ancient apple tree Grandfather had planted decades ago, its white blossoms perfuming the garden. He used to say, As long as the apple tree blooms, the house lives.
I wont force the second will, I said abruptly, turning to them. Let things remain as they are.
Are you giving up the house? Marjorie asked, surprised.
No, I replied. I propose a different solution. The cottage stays in joint ownership. No one sells it. Ill live here, keep it in order, and youre welcome to visit whenever you like, just like a proper family home.
Why would you do that? Margaret asked, baffled. You could have it all to yourself.
Because Grandfather wanted us to be a family, I answered simply. He feared inheritance would tear us apart, and he was ready to change his final wish for that reason. I want to honour that.
Victor looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. Im in. Thats right.
Margaret hesitated, the pull of potential profit warring with a faint sense that Emily was offering something richer.
But who will pay for upkeep? she asked.
Ill cover the main costs, I said. Youll have a tidy, readymade home whenever you visit. The only condition is that no one ever pushes for a sale.
What if I need money urgently? Margaret pressed.
Ill buy out your share, gradually if necessary. The cottage will stay the cottage.
Marjorie laughed. Grandfather would have approved. He always said Emily was the wisest of us.
Petrov smiled, ready to draft the necessary agreement.
By evening, papers were signed, the tension eased, and we gathered on the veranda with tea, swapping stories of the past. Victor recounted how he and Grandfather built the veranda; Margaret recalled her mothers pies; Marjorie giggled at tales of Grandfathers childhood antics.
I watched them and realized I had gained far more than a house. I had reclaimed a family. If compromise was required, so be it.
When they left, I stepped into the garden. The apple tree was in full bloom, its white petals drifting to the ground. Birds sang above, and the cottage seemed to breathe.
Thank you, Grandfather, I thought, looking up at the sky. Ive learned the true inheritance isnt in walls or possessions. It lives in the people who remember and love each other.
I slipped the copy of the second will into my coat pocket, perhaps one day Ill show it to my own children, but not now. My priority is to preserve what truly matters: this home, the family memory, and the peace between us.
Lesson learned: the greatest legacy is not what you leave behind, but how you keep the bonds that hold you together.
