Standing on the balcony, Emily watched her mother-in-law with pity as the elderly woman sat alone on the bench below, shrouded in the evening dim. Should she call out to her? If she did, Margaret Elizabeth would likely lift her face and shake her headjust a little longer, shed insist. Margaret only ventured out for fresh air when the bench was empty, avoiding the chatter of other pensioners about council tax, rising grocery prices, and the like. Shed spent her entire life in the countryside, and now, for two years, shed been living with her son and daughter-in-law in their cramped flat.
“Shes really fading,” Emily sighed, turning to her husband. “Its time we made her wish come true.”
“Just a bit longer,” he replied. “Not everythings ready yet.”
Two years ago, Margarets cottage had burned to the ground, leaving nothing but the foundation. The blaze had taken everythingthe shed, the chicken coop, even the little greenhouse. Shed been at the market that day, selling cucumbers and tomatoes from her garden. No one knew if it was faulty wiring or an appliance left on, but the wind had spread the flames fast. By the time she returned, there was nothing left. Neighbors still shuddered remembering her running through the blackened yard, covered in soot, shrieking with grief. Shed lived aloneonly the chickens had been lostbut that cottage had been her lifes work.
After her stroke, her son William and his wife Emily had taken her in. For months, she lay half-paralyzed, but gradually, she learned to walk again.
“Mum, you should rest more. Too much movement isnt good for you,” Emily would say.
“No, I need to stretch my legs. Soon Ill go back to my village,” Margaret would reply.
Everyone assumed shed lost her senses. Did she not remember what had happened? They tiptoed around the subject, probing gently.
“You think Ive gone mad?” Margaret would chuckle. “No, I remember it allthe fire, the hospital. Ive been thinkingIll stay with Polly, my neighbor. Shes alone too. Ill help with chores, save my pension, and rebuild bit by bit. I know youre not well off, and Im just taking up little Lucys room. Im in the way here.”
No one had the heart to tell her Polly had passed months ago, her own cottage now locked in a bitter family dispute. They feared the shock might bring another stroke. Polly had been her closest friend, the only one nearby. Her younger sister, Annie, lived up north, where the weather was too harsh. Her two sonsWilliam and the younger one, Thomaswere all she had, though Tom was always at sea, working as an engineer on cargo ships.
What weighed on Margaret most was living in her granddaughter Lucys room, knowing the girl couldnt even invite friends over. In her mind, girls ought to gather at home, sipping tea and chatting.
“Gran, its not like that anymore. We talk online!” Lucy would explain.
“What sort of friendship is that?” Margaret would mutter. “No tea, no laughter.”
Beyond burdening Lucy, she hated imposing on William and Emily. She saw how they struggled, tried to help with cleaning and cooking, but her stiff legs and weak left arm made it hard. When she learned of Pollys death, she wept for days, then announced:
“Dont be cross, but Ive made up my mind. Put me in a care home. William, youve got my power of attorneyI signed it in hospital. Sort it out for me. Please. At least there, Ill have company. If its too dear, sell my land. It wont fetch much, but itll help.”
Emily, William, and Lucy were horrified, but over time, Margaret wore them down. William claimed hed started the paperwork, even sold the land, but bureaucracy dragged on. Hed slipped the care home director some cash, but the man kept stalling, insisting they wait their turn. Months passed, autumn loomed, and Margaret grew impatient.
One evening, after her usual stroll, she marched in and declared:
“William, if you dont take me to that home on Monday, Ill go myself! Ill march right in and demand my bed. The state owes me that much!”
All weekend, William was mysteriously absent. He returned late Sunday, whispering urgently with Emily before telling his mother to packher room at the care home was ready.
The next morning, they set off in Williams battered Rover. Margaret frowned as he took the road toward her old village instead of the care home.
“Theyve dug up the main road,” William said. “Got to take the long way.”
Fine.
Familiar lanes rolled by, then the village itself. Margaret shut her eyesshe couldnt bear to see her old streets, the plot shed believed sold. The car slowed, turning through gates. When she opened her eyes, they were on her land. But instead of ashes, a red-brick house stood proud, and there, smiling by the gate, was her sister Annie. Margaret swayed, the world spinning.
When she came to, wrapped in Annies arms, the truth spilled outhow theyd nearly ruined the surprise.
“Mum, we never sold the land,” William laughed. “We took out a loan, Tom sent moneyyou shouldve seen the builders! Three bedrooms, a big kitchen with a sunroom, proper plumbing. And Aunt Annies been here six months, fixing it up. Shes staying for good. Wed have finished the shed and coop in two weeks, but you rushed us! Toms due home soon tooyou nearly spoiled it all!”
Margaret wept and laughed, hugging each of them in turn. How could she ever thank them? Whod have guessed such a surprise was coming? All that secrecynearly gave her another stroke from joy! What luck, to have family like this.
