My name is Élodie Marchand, Im sixtynine years old. 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 Ive felt like an orphan, living alone in my flat with a sore knee and a phone that stays silent for weeks.
After my husband passed away, everything changed. While he was alive my sons visited occasionally for holidays or errands, but as soon as 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 my neighbours flooded my kitchenjust a little, but the ceiling was damagedI phoned my two sons. They promised to come over the weekend, yet none showed up. I had to hire a painter. It isnt the money that hurts, its the realization that my children cant spare an hour for their mother.
Then my old refrigerator broke down. I know nothing about appliances and feared being ripped off. I called my sons againMom, there are salespeople, figure it out yourself. Finally 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, urging me to stay home and order groceries online. They forgot one thing: I dont know how. Amélie taught me how to place orders, arranged the first delivery, gave me a list of pharmacies that deliver, and began calling 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 an excuse. She brought soup, medicine, helped me tidy up, washed windows, and one day simply sat with me over tea. Her little girlmy greatgrandniececalls me grandma, a word I hadnt heard 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 service centre to draft a will. That very day, by chance, 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 out of the picture once you sign!
That same evening both sons arrivedfor the first time in five yearsbringing a granddaughter I had never seen and a tart. We sat at the table; I hoped maybe they would change their minds. They didnt. They tried to convince me that I had children, that I couldnt give my apartment to a stranger, accusing Amélie of scheming and warning that she would kick me out.
I stared, bewildered. Where were you all this time? Why didnt you help when I needed it? Why call only when the inheritance felt threatened?
I thanked them for their concern and told them my decision was final. They left, slamming the door, swearing I would never see my grandchildren again and that I should stop counting on them.
Know this: Im not afraid, not because Im indifferent, but because I have nothing left to lose. I have lived for a long time as if I mattered to no one. Now its official.
And Amélie If someday she does what my sons imagine, then Ill be mistaken. But my heart tells me otherwise. She asked for nothingno money, no apartment. She was simply there, extending a hand, behaving like a human being.
To me, that means more than any blood tie.
When Only the Niece Remains for the Mother
