**Diary Entry 12th March**
When Granny discovered her grandson wanted to kick her out, she sold the flat without a second thought.
Why take out a loan when you can just wait for Granny to pass and inherit her home? Thats what my husbands cousin, Thomas, used to say. His wife, Emily, and their three kids were counting on that inheritance. They refused mortgages, preferring to daydream about the day Grannys London flat would be theirs. In the meantime, they squeezed into Emilys mothers tiny two-bed in Brighton, suffocating under the cramped conditions. Thomas and Emily whispered more often about how to “sort out” Granny.
But Granny, Margaret, was a gem. At seventy-five, she was full of life, sharp as a tack, and healthier than most half her age. Her cosy flat in central Brighton was always open to friends. She could work a smartphone, loved gallery exhibitions, enjoyed West End plays, and even flirted at the local seniors dances. She radiated joyproof that age was just a number. To Thomas and Emily, though, she was just an obstacle. Their patience wore thin.
They finally snapped, insisting Margaret sign the flat over to Thomas and move into a care home. They didnt even hide their intentions, claiming it was “for her own good.” But Margaret wasnt having any of it. Her refusal sparked a row. Thomas flew into a rage, calling her “selfish” and demanding she “think of the childrens future.” Emily stoked the fire, muttering that Granny had “lived long enough.”
My husband and I were appalled. Margaret had always dreamed of visiting Indiaseeing the Taj Mahal, breathing in the spices, wandering Delhis streets. We suggested she move in with us and rent out her flat to fund the trip. She agreed, and soon her spacious two-bed brought in a tidy income. When Thomas and Emily found out, they erupted. They claimed the flat was rightfully theirs and demanded Margaret hand it over. They even accused my husband, Simon, of “manipulating” her for the inheritance. Thomas demanded the rental money, calling it his “fair share.” We shut that down.
Emily started dropping by almost dailysometimes alone, sometimes with the kids, always with some flimsy excuse or cheap gift. Shed ask after Margarets health, but we knew the truth: they were just waiting for her to die. The greed was staggering.
Meanwhile, Margaret saved up and finally went to India. She returned glowing, her suitcase stuffed with stories and souvenirs. We suggested she go furthersell the flat, travel more, then retire with us in peace. She agreed. The flat sold for a pretty penny, and she bought herself a snug little studio on Brightons outskirts. The rest funded her adventures.
She toured Spain, Austria, and Switzerland. There, on a boat trip across Lake Geneva, she met a charming Englishman named Henry. Their romance was straight out of a filmat seventy-five, she married him! Simon and I flew to Sussex for the wedding, and it was magicalseeing her shine in white, surrounded by flowers and laughter. Margaret deserved this. Shed worked all her life, raised her children, helped her grandkids. Now, she was finally living for herself.
When Thomas heard shed sold the flat, he lost it. He demanded the studio, insisting she “had enough.” How he planned to fit five people in a one-bed was beyond us. But it didnt matter. We were just glad Margaret found happiness. As for Thomas and Emily? Well, money has a way of showing peoples true colours.
**Lesson learned:** Never assume whats yours before its givenand never underestimate a sharp old bird with a will of her own.
