**Diary Entry 12th March**
I never dreamed my own flesh and blood would drag me before a judge. When my husband, Edward, passed last year, his will was plain as daythe house in Bristol, our savings, the stocksall came to me, with our son, Oliver, inheriting after my time. It was meant to keep me secure in my twilight years, something Edward had always fretted over. I never imagined that very act of care would splinter our family.
Oliver had always been a decent lad, but after his fathers death, something shifted. He left his position at the bank, claimed he wanted a clean slate, and when I didnt hand over a lump sum to bankroll his new venture, bitterness took root.
One evening, over tea, he said, Mum, that moneys rightfully mine. Dad meant for me to have it. I tried to explaingentlythat wasnt the case, not yet. His father wanted him to stand on his own two feet, to learn the weight of responsibility.
But Oliver wouldnt hear it. He accused me of being selfish, of clinging to what ought to be his. A week later, the papers arrivedmy own son was taking me to court over his inheritance. I sat at the kitchen table, hands trembling so badly I could barely make out the words. That night, I wept until my eyes ran dry.
The courtroom was colder than Id anticipatednot just the chill in the air, but the silence between us. When Oliver entered, he wouldnt even glance my way. I kept recalling the little boy whod clutch my hand in crowded markets, the pride in Edwards eyes whenever he spoke of him.
Now, we stood on opposite sides of the room like strangers.
He argued that I didnt need the funds, that theyd do more good in his hands. When my turn came, my voice nearly failed me. All I could say was that I loved my son, that this wasnt greedit was about respecting his fathers wishes.
The judges voice cut through the tension. The will is unambiguous, he said firmly. The estate remains with Mrs. Whitmore until her passing. Only then does it pass to her son.
Then he looked at us both, his tone gentler. But Ill say thisyou havent just lost a legal battle. Youre losing one another.
Something shattered inside me. I turned to Oliver. His shoulders shook, tears streaking his face. Im sorry, Mum, he choked out.
I stood and reached for him, and suddenly, the courtroom vanished. It was just usmother and sonholding tight, praying it wasnt too late to mend what was broken.
*Lesson learned: Pride and grief make poor bedfellows. Sometimes, the greatest inheritance isnt moneyits forgiveness.*
