Dad’s Getting Married: A Heartbreaking Story of Love, Loss, and a Daughter Who Chose Inheritance Ove…

Father Decided to Remarry

Its been five years since my mother, Carol, passed away. She was only forty-eight. Her heart failed while she was tending the violets on the kitchen windowsill. My father, Peter, was fifty-five at the time.

He didnt cry or shout. He simply sat in Mums favourite armchair, staring at her photograph, as if he could will her back by the sheer force of his love.

That day, I lost more than just my mother. In many ways, I lost my father as well. He still lived in the same flat, but it felt as though only his body remainedthe rest of him was locked away in his own grief, unreachable.

The first year was agonising. At twenty-three, Id unexpectedly become both daughter and caretaker, as well as counsellor for my dad. Id make shepherds pie he wouldnt touch, wash shirts he never wore, and talk endlessly, trying to lead him back from the abyss.

But Dad never really answered, and when he did, his responses were curt, like a cold slap on the wrist: Dont interfere! Leave me alone!

Gradually, an impenetrable, grey wall rose between usuncrossable.

***

Time crept on. We lived beside each other but not together.

Wed bump into each other in the kitchen in the morning before heading out, and again in the evening before retreating to separate rooms. Our conversations were brief. Real communication, nonexistent.

I stopped fussing over him, and he seemed grateful for it. Eventually, we each settled into our own version of this new life.

No Mum. No wife.

***

With time, Dad began to come back to life.

Hed smile at Mrs. Collins, the neighbour notorious for spoiling us with her Victoria sponge. He went on the odd fishing trip with a mate from the allotment. He even dusted off his laptop and watched his old favourite comedies.

I thought the worst had passed and felt comfortable enough to accept a summer job at a seaside retreat, leaving him on his own for the first time.

When I returned, I was met with quite a shock.

***

Dad announced, very matter-of-factly, that he was getting remarried.

He said it as soon as I came through the door, with a steady, resolved voice. There was no room for question; the decision had been made.

We went into the kitchen, and he sat opposite me at the table.

Ive met someone, he began with a calm smile. Her name is Susan. Were getting married.

A chill ran through menot because hed found someone new. I honestly would have been glad to see him happy again. But straightaway my mind started blaring a red alert: The flat!

Our flat! The place Id grown up in! Mums sewing machine was still in the corner, her favourite mug still tucked away in the cupboard. And now here was this strangers teacup left dirty on the worktop!

I glared at the unfamiliar mug.

Dad,my words faltereddont you think this is all rather sudden? Do you even know her? And where will you live? I hope not here! This isnt just your flat, you know. Its Mums, too

He looked up at me slowly. His eyes held only exhaustion and a touch of icy disdain.

So this is what its about, he said quietly. That didnt take long, did it? Im not even gone yet and already youre talking about dividing the spoils.

Im notI just want transparency! I snapped. Surely its only fair! If you set up a whole new family, what am I supposed to do if something happens to you?

Well, you can worry about that if it ever does, Dad grumbled and shuffled off to his bedroom.

***

A few days later, Susan came to visit. Tall and elegant, with kind yet doleful blue eyes, she was almost offensively polite.

Emily, I understand this must be difficult for you, she insisted, and I want you to know Im not after anything. I have my own life, my own place. I just care about your father.

She tried her best to be warm, but her questions made my skin crawl.

Is your cottage far from here? she enquired with feigned innocence. How long have you had this flat? These old terraces are quite sought after, you know.

She also insisted it was wrong to discuss inheritance so early, claiming it pained Dad and made him feel unnecessary.

After that visit, my doubts multiplied. I became absolutely convinced Susan was cunning, just waiting to pounce. Dad and I, already strained, drifted further apart. I began to see an old fool blinded by late-blooming romance, ready to surrender everything to a stranger; he, in turn, mustve seen only a grasping daughter uninterested in his happiness.

Every talk ended in a row. Dad insisted he had a right to his own life. I insisted on my right to a secure future. We managed to wound each other at every turn, not realising we were only hurting ourselves.

***

In the end, I couldnt take it anymore and suggested we see a solicitorto resolve the matter of the estate once and for all.

Dad resisted for a long time, but at last, with a sigh, he conceded.

All right, he muttered, sorrowfully. Well do it your way.

We travelled to the solicitors office in silence. I fidgeted with my handbag, preparing myself for a battle.

Inside, it was quiet. Dad sat well away from me, hands folded calmly in his lap. His face gave nothing away.

The solicitor, a silver-haired woman with a stern manner, opened her folder.

So, were all here today because she began briskly.

Just a moment, Dad interrupted. His voice was gentler than Id ever heard, but resolute. I have another reason for being here

He slid a document across the desk.

Here.

The solicitor donned her glasses, scanned the page, then looked at him in shock.

Are you certain? This is a gift deedyoure leaving your entire property to your daughter? No payment, nothing in return?

I was stunned. He was giving me everything? For free? Was it some kind of trap? Was he going to turn round and say Id pressured him?

I searched his eyes for a sign, anything to help me understand.

But the look he gave me chilled me to the bone. There was no anger or bitterness. Just an infinite, weary disappointmentand pity. Pity for me.

There, Dad said softly, placing the signed document before me. Take it. All that you wanted so badly. The flat. The cottage. Everything. Now you neednt fear that your old man will trade it all for some kind of fairy-tale happiness.

He spat out happiness as if it were poison.

Dad I I never meant I whispered, feeling utterly humiliated as tears stung my cheeks.

Didnt mean to? he smirked. That smirk cut deeper than any shouting. Emily, in half a year youve not once asked after my health. Not whether Im warm enough or need tablets. Every questions been about paperwork, about square footage. You no longer see me as your father, just a burden standing in the way of what you want. Did you think I wouldnt notice?

He stepped towards the door, glancing back.

Is this the cage you dreamed of? Well, take it. Its yours.

He left. I just sat there, clutching that cold, lifeless piece of paper. I had won! Taken it all! And suddenly realisedId lost completely.

***

Many years have passed.

Dad and Susan are still together. Sometimes I spot them at the supermarket, or walking through the park, fingers entwined. Dad is older, but his eyes shine with happiness when he looks at her.

I live alone.

In a pristine three-bedroom flat, with expensive fixtures and brand-new furniture.

My cottage is in excellent order too; I drive out weekends to tend the garden.

And yet, happiness seems to have wandered off somewhere beyond my reach.

Looking back, I know Dad didnt hand me the flat out of spite or malice. He gave me exactly what Id chosen myselfwalls instead of a person, documents instead of love.

I traded my father for three rooms and a weekend retreat. And that is the darkest inheritance I could have received.

If theres anything this has taught me, its that you can gather all the houses in the world, but at the end of the day, its the people, not the possessions, that make a home.