My name is ÉlodieMarchand, Im sixtynine. I have two sons, three grandchildren and two daughtersinlaw. With such a family one might think Im surrounded by affection and attention, yet in recent years I have felt like an orphan, alone in my flat, nursing a sore knee while my phone stays silent for weeks.
Everything changed after my husband passed away. While he was alive my sons would drop by occasionallyfor holidays or errandsbut the moment he was buried they vanished. Five long years passed without any contact, even though they live in the same city, only about forty minutes away by bus.
I never blamed them; I simply called for help. When my neighbours flooded my kitchenjust a little, but the ceiling was damagedI phoned my two sons. They promised to come over the weekend, yet no one showed. I had to hire a painter. It isnt about money; its about the sorrow of seeing my children unable to spare an hour for their mother.
Later my old fridge broke down completely. I know nothing about appliances and feared being scammed, so I called my sons againMom, there are salespeople, figure it out. In the end I turned to my brother, who sent his daughter, my niece Amélie, with her husband. They took care of everything.
When the pandemic struck, my sons suddenly remembered me. They called once a month to tell me to stay home and order groceries online. They forgot one crucial thing: I didnt know how. Amélie taught me how to place an order, arranged the first delivery, gave me a list of pharmacies that deliver, and began calling me almost daily.
At first I felt guilty. After all, Amélie has her own parents, house, husband and daughter. Yet she was the only one who came without any reason. She brought soup, medication, helped me tidy, washed the windows. One day she simply visited for tea and to sit with me. Her little girlmy greatgrandniececalled me grandma, a word I hadnt heard in years.
I then made a decision: if my own children have forgotten me, caring only about what they can take rather than what they can give, my apartment will go to the person who truly stands by me. I went to the service centre to draft a will. That very day, by coincidence, my eldest son called to ask where I was going.
I told him the truth.
What followed were shouts, insults and accusations: Have you lost your mind?, Its our inheritance!, Shell be gone as soon as you sign! That same evening both sons arrivedfor the first time in five yearsbringing a granddaughter I had never met and a pie. We sat down together; I hoped perhaps they would change their mind. They did not. They tried to persuade me, reminding me that I have children and that I have no right to give my flat to a stranger. They accused Amélie of scheming and warned that she would evict me.
I stared at them in disbelief. Where were you all this time? Why didnt you help when I needed it? Why appear only when the inheritance seemed threatened?
I thanked them for their concern and said my decision was final. They slammed the door, swearing I would never see my grandchildren again and that I should not count on them.
You know, Im not afraidnot out of indifference, but because I have nothing left to lose. I have lived for years as though I mattered to no one. Now its official.
And Amélie If someday she does what my sons fear, then Ill be wrong. But my heart tells me otherwise. She asked for nothingno money, no flat. She simply showed up, reached out, and acted like a human being. To me, that matters far more than any blood tie.
