My name is Élodie Marchand, Im sixtynine years old. I have two sons, three grandchildren and two daughtersinlaw. With such a family you might think Im surrounded by love and attention. In reality, the past few years have left me feeling like an orphan, living alone in my flat with a sore knee and a phone that stays silent for weeks.
After my husband died, everything changed. While he was alive my sons visited occasionallyfor holidays or businessbut once he was buried they vanished. Five long years passed without seeing them, even though they live in the same city, only a fortyminute bus ride away.
I never blamed them; I simply called for help. When the neighbours flooded my kitchenjust a little, but the ceiling was damagedI phoned both sons. They promised to come over the weekend, yet nobody showed up. I had to hire a painter. It wasnt the money that hurt, but the realization that my children couldnt spare an hour for their mother.
Later my old refrigerator broke down completely. I know nothing about appliances and feared being ripped off. 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, telling me to stay home and order groceries online. They forgot one crucial detail: I dont know how to do that. Amélie taught me how to place orders, 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 parents, her home, her husband, her daughter. Still, she was the only one who came without any reason. She brought soup, medicine, helped me tidy up, washed the windows. One day she simply stopped by for tea and to sit with me. Her little girlmy greatgrandniececalled me grandma. I hadnt heard that word in years.
So I made a decision: if my own children have forgotten me, caring only about what they can take rather than what they can give, then my flat will go to the one who is truly present. I went to the services centre to draw up a will. That same day, by chance, my eldest son called, wanting to know where I was going.
I told him the truth.
That set off a stormshouts, insults, accusations. Have you lost your mind? Its our inheritance! Shell be out as soon as you sign!
That evening both sons arrivedfor the first time in five yearsbringing a granddaughter Id never seen and a pie. We sat down together. I hoped perhaps they might change their minds, but they didnt. They tried to persuade me, reminding me 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 kick me out.
I stared at them, bewildered. Where were you all this time? Why didnt you help when I needed it? Why call only when the inheritance was at risk?
I thanked them for their concern and said my decision was final. They left, slamming the door, swearing I would never see my grandchildren again and that I should not count on them.
Know this: Im not afraidnot because Im indifferent, but because I have nothing left to lose. I have lived for years as if I meant nothing to anyone. Now its official.
And Amélie If one day she does what my sons imagine, then Ill be wrong. But my heart tells me otherwise. She asked for nothingno money, no flat. She simply showed up, reached out, and behaved like a human being. To me, that matters more than any blood tie.
