When Grandma Found Out Her Grandson Wanted to Evict Her, She Sold the Flat Without a Second Thought
Why take out a loan when you could just wait for Grandma to die and inherit her flat? That was the twisted logic of my husbands cousin, Richard. He had a wife, Emily, and three children, all of them counting down the days until they could claim the property. They refused to deal with mortgages, preferring to dream of the day Grandmas Chelsea flat would be theirs. For now, they squeezed into Emilys mothers cramped two-bedroom in Brighton, right by the sea, and it was painfully clear how much it gnawed at them. Richard and Emily whispered more and more about how to “handle” the problem of Grandma.
But Grandma, Mrs. Evelyn Whitmore, was nothing short of remarkable. At seventy-five, she brimmed with energy, lived joyfully, and never complained about her health. Her home in central Chelsea was always full of friends. She mastered her smartphone, attended gallery openings, went to the theatre, and even indulged in harmless flirtations at senior socials. She radiated light, her life a masterclass in savouring every moment. To Richard and Emily, though, this wasnt pride-worthyit was infuriating. They were tired of waiting.
Their patience ran out. They decided Mrs. Whitmore should transfer the flat to Richards name and move into a care home. They didnt even bother hiding their intentions, claiming it would be “better for her.” But Mrs. Whitmore wasnt one to roll over. She refused flatly, and that lit the fuse. Richard exploded, screaming that she was “selfish” and “should think of her grandchildren.” Emily stoked the flames, murmuring that Grandma had “lived long enough.”
When my husband, Thomas, and I found out, we were horrified. Mrs. Whitmore had always dreamed of travellingseeing the Taj Mahal, breathing in the spice markets of Delhi, losing herself in Goas winding streets. We suggested she come live with us, rent out her flat, and save for the trip. She agreed, and soon her spacious three-bed in the city centre was bringing in a steady income. When Richard and Emily discovered this, they threw a fit. They acted as if the flat was theirs by right, demanding Grandma let them move in. They even accused Thomas of “manipulating” her for money. Richard went so far as to demand the rental income, calling it his “fair share.” We shut that down.
Emily started turning up at our house nearly every daysometimes alone, sometimes with the kids, always with ridiculous gifts. Shed ask about Grandma, but we saw right through it. She and Richard were still waiting for Mrs. Whitmore to “kick the bucket” and leave them the inheritance. Their greed was staggering.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Whitmore saved enough and set off for India. She returned glowing, her suitcase packed with stories and photos. We suggested she go furthersell the flat, keep travelling, and live out her days with us in comfort. After some thought, she took the leap. The flat sold for a handsome sum, and with the money, she bought a cosy studio in the Surrey countryside. The rest went into new adventures.
She toured Spain, Austria, and Switzerland. In Switzerland, during a stroll by Lake Geneva, she met a Frenchman named Pierre. Their romance was like something from a filmat seventy-five, she married him! Thomas and I flew to France for the wedding, and it was magical. Seeing her in a white dress, surrounded by flowers and smilesshe deserved every bit of happiness. Shed worked her whole life, raised children, helped grandchildrennow, at last, she lived for herself.
When Richard learned shed sold the flat, he lost it. He demanded she hand over the studio, claiming she “had enough.” How he planned to fit five people in there was beyond us. But it didnt matter anymore. We were just glad Mrs. Whitmore had found her place in the sun. As for Richard and Emily? Their story is a reminderwhen moneys involved, sometimes the closest people show their true colours.
