It turns out Im now 60, living on my own in London. I have no children and no husband, although once upon a time I was married. When I was 25, I tied the knot for loves sake.
My marriage fell apart because my husband cheated. He went so far as to bring his mistress back to our flat. Unsurprisingly, I couldnt tolerate that. I packed my bags and moved back in with my parents. Only two months after the divorce, I discovered I was pregnant.
To be completely honest with myself, I never wanted to tell my ex-husband. I decided not to contact him. I made up my mind I would raise the child alone. When I gave birth to my son, the doctors delivered devastating news. Your child is very weak, but there is more, they explained. Hes got an incurable condition. Hell be terribly fortunate if he lives to see age 11 or 12.
I was lost, not knowing where to turn or what to do. I raised my son, nursed him every day, but an anxious thought haunted me: my boy would leave this world far too soon.
My son lived until he was 15. As fate would have it, both he and my father passed away within a week of each other. I lost the two most precious people to me.
My father left me his flat, which wasnt just spacious but sat in the heart of the city. Ive lived alone all these years, never drawing many men into my life. I had longed for a child, but fear kept me from risking the same heartbreak again. When I reached 45, I bought myself a laptop to stay in touch with relatives and read the news.
Word spread that I lived alone, and my family began visiting in turns. They brought gifts and little tokens, but would often ask whether Id written a will. If they found I hadnt, theyd moan about their finances. Some even tried currying favour with other relatives to look better and more deserving in my eyes. But I always knew who Id leave my flat to. Theres my friend, Alice, whose daughter Emily helps and cares for me, never asking for anything in return.
My family, in truth, just want my flat. Eventually, I stopped reaching out, but they wouldnt let up.
One day, my cousin called, rudely asking if I was still alive and who I wanted to leave my flat to. I felt so offended that I blocked every single one, making sure they couldnt write or phone me again.
Looking back, I sometimes wonder about loneliness and trust. Yet I know that kindness matters more than blood; and in the end, Im determined to leave what I can to those who truly care.
