Father Decided to Remarry
My wife, Emily, passed away five years ago. She was just forty-eight when her heart gave out, right there in the kitchen as she watered her African violets. I was fifty-five then.
I didnt cry, didnt shout. I simply settled into her favourite armchair and stared at her photograph, willing her to come back to life by sheer force of love.
That day, my daughter Alice lost much more than her mother. In truth, she lost her father as well. I remained in the same flat, but it was as though I had become my own shadow. A ghost locked away in a cocoon of grief.
That first year was a wretched one for both of us. At twenty-three, Alice had to become my daughter, nurse, and therapist rolled into one. She tried to make me shepherds pie, which I barely touched, washed my shirts, which I left hanging unworn, and spoke and spoke desperate to pull me out of the abyss into which Id sunk.
I hardly replied. When I did, it was with flat, blunt answers. Each one sent a clear message: Dont interfere! Let me be! Leave me alone!
A heavy, impenetrable wall began to form between us.
***
Time passed. We got used to living beside one another, not exactly with each other.
Wed cross paths in the kitchen in the morning, then go our separate ways. In the evenings, wed bump into each other in the same kitchen, then drift off to our own rooms. Conversation was minimal. Proper communication was non-existent.
Eventually, Alice stopped fussing. I was quietly grateful for this. Each of us, in our own way, learned to accept our changed reality.
Without a wife. Without a mother.
***
In time, I started to come back to myself.
I began smiling at our neighbour Mrs. May, who often brought us freshly baked scones. I went fishing with my old mate, Peter. I remembered my laptop and started rewatching my favourite detective series.
Alice seemed relieved, seeing my hunched figure looking less haunted than before. I suppose she thought the worst had passed. She even accepted a job for the whole summer at a health resort, leaving me on my own for the first time. I managed.
When she returned, she was in for a surprise.
***
I announced that Id met someone and intended to remarry.
I told her the moment she crossed the threshold. Calmly. As if the decision had already been made and was completely ordinary.
We sat in the kitchen, facing each other at the table.
Ive met someone, I told her, smiling. Her name is Margaret. We plan to get married.
Alice went pale. Not because Id found someone newin truth, I think she wanted to see me happy again. But the words our home must have flashed like a neon warning in her mind.
Our flat! The very place shed grown up! Emilys sewing machine still stands by the window, her favourite mug remains in the cupboard! And now some strangers teacup sits in the sink, dirty and out of place!
Alice glared with open contempt at that foreign object on our table.
Dad, she said, choosing her words carefully, dont you think this is all rather sudden? Do you really know her? Where do you two plan to live? I hope its not here. This isnt just your flat. Mums still everywhere in this place…
I looked Alice dead in the eye, feeling drained and a little disgusted by her coldness.
Ah, so thats it, I said quietly. Here we go. Quick off the mark, arent you? Im not dead yet… Youre getting ahead of yourself dividing up the spoils.
Im not dividing anything! Alice snapped. I just want clarity! Its only fair! With a new family, what will become of me if something happens to you?
You can cross that bridge when you come to it, I muttered, and went to my room.
***
Margaret came round a couple of days later. Shes tall and slender, with kind but melancholy eyes, and kept her tone almost painfully polite.
Alice, I do understand your worries, she said. But Im not after anything. I have my own life, my own flat. I simply care for your father.
Margaret tried to be pleasant, but her questions made me uneasy.
So, is your cottage far from London? shed ask innocently. And how long have you owned this flat? These 1930s three-beds are terribly sought-after.
She didnt think it healthy to discuss inheritance in advance and said these sorts of talks only hurt me and make me feel unwanted.
After her visit, Alice was more suspicious than ever. Convinced Margaret was cunning and calculated, she withdrew from me entirely. To Alice, Id become a gullible old man, blinded by late-blooming affection and willing to hand over everything to the first woman who smiled at me. To me, Alice was now a greedy, suspicious daughter, who cared for bricks and deeds more than for my happiness.
Every conversation became an argument. I insisted on my right to a personal life. Alice insisted on her right to a peaceful future. We lashed out, not realising we just wounded ourselves.
***
Finally, Alice lost her patience and demanded we visit the solicitor to settle the issue of the property, once and for all.
I resisted, then, with a weary sigh, agreed.
All right, I said. Have it your way.
We walked to the solicitors office in silence. Alice fidgeted with her bag, steeling herself for battle.
Inside, the atmosphere was tense. I sat away from her, hands clasped in my lap. My face must have been stony.
The solicitor, a silver-haired woman with a no-nonsense expression, opened her file.
So, today were here to she began.
Excuse me, I interrupted. My voice was quiet, but firm enough that Alice startled. Im actually here for something else.
I handed her a document.
She pulled on her glasses, studied the page, and looked up in surprise.
Youre sure? This is a deed of gift. Youre transferring all of your propertycompletelyto your daughter? No compensation?
Alice turned white as a sheet. What? Hes handing it all over? Just like that? Is this a trick? Will he later claim I forced him?
She stared at me, trying to read my intentions.
I looked at her with a face full of quiet heartbreakno anger, just profound disappointment and… pity. Pity for her. For Alice.
There you are, I said softly, standing and placing the signed document before her. Everything you wantedtake it. The flat. The cottage. Its all yours now. No need to worry that your old man will swap your future for anything as silly as happiness.
When I said happiness, I loaded it with bitter sarcasm, and Alice flinched.
Dad I I didnt mean she stammered, tears streaming down her face.
Didnt you? I gave a cold, joyless laugh. Alice, in the last six months, not once have you asked after my health. Or if I was warm enough, or needed anything. Your only questions were about papers, property, square footage. You didnt see a fatheryou saw a burden, blocking you from your inheritance. Did you really think I didnt notice?
I moved to the door, glanced back.
You wanted this cage? Well, here it is. Yours, for what its worth.
Then I left. Alice just sat there, clutching the cold slip of paper. She had wonshed got everything. And in that instant, she realised shed lost.
***
Years have gone by.
My life with Margaret continues. Occasionally, Alice and I cross paths in the high street or in the park. Im older, no longer sprightly, but Margaret and I still hold hands. When I look at her, my face probably radiates the happiness I once thought was lost.
Alice lives alone.
In a beautiful three-bedroom flat, with expensive furnishings and the latest kitchen.
At weekends, she heads to her cottage. Everythings in order there, too.
Yet happiness, somehow, has gone missing
Alice knows, now, that I didnt sign the home over out of anger or spite. I simply gave her what she chosewalls instead of a person, papers instead of love.
She swapped her father for three rooms and a cottage. And thatrealising thats her inheritanceis the heaviest burden of all.
Looking back, Ive learned: theres far more to life than bricks and deeds, and when we love things more than people, we can lose everything that matters most.
