I cared for my mother-in-law, but she left the apartment to someone else

Bring me some water, my throats bone dry! Ive been shouting for hours and all you do is clatter saucepans are you making noise on purpose so you dont hear me?

The cantankerous, cracked voice echoing from the back bedroom made Eleanor jump and nearly drop her ladle. She drew a deep breath, counting silently to ten a habit forged over the last three years in this domestic warzone. The kitchen smelled like boiled chicken and enough medications to stock a chemist a blend that had seeped right into the wallpaper and curtains. Eleanor turned off the hob, poured just the right temperature tap water into a glass (cold is forbidden, hot is dangerous), and braced herself for the marital battlefield that was her mother-in-laws room.

Edith Phillips reclined on a stack of high pillows, resembling a discontented old bird. Her watery, sharp eyes tracked Eleanors every move, hawk-like. On the bedside table, lost among the vials, pill packets, and a pile of crosswords, there sat a thick brown envelope conspicuously new.

There you are, Edith, water for you, Eleanor offered the glass, keeping her tone as neutral as possible. Sorry, the extractor fan was going. The chickens done, Ill mash up the veggies as the doctor ordered.

Edith sipped daintily, as though Eleanor had slipped her vinegar, then pushed the glass away.

Youve always got excuses, she grumbled, dabbing her mouth with a corner of the sheet. Its always the fan, or the vacuum, or youre on the phone. Husbands mother may as well die of thirst, eh?

Please dont say that, Im always nearby, Eleanor replied, letting the rebuke wash over her as usual. She reached to adjust the duvet and her eyes once more landed on the envelope. The corner of a document with an official seal poked out.

Whats this? New orders from the doctor? she asked, nodding towards the table. Shall I check, see if we need anything from the pharmacy?

Ediths hand whipped out and covered the envelope faster than someone whod recently claimed she couldnt lift a spoon.

Dont touch it! she snapped. Mind your own business. Theyre my papers.

Eleanor was taken aback. Normally Edith wanted her to read every medical printout, every utility bill, even the letters from the pension office. This secrecy was thoroughly odd.

I was only asking Eleanor began, but then the front door slammed and heavy footsteps sounded in the hall.

Olivers home! Ediths face transformed instantly, adopting a saccharine smile. Come to mummy, save me from this jailer!

In walked Oliver, Eleanors husband. He looked exhausted his suit rumpled, tie askew. He managed a department and lately spent as many hours as possible at the office, avoiding the household of hospital smells and ceaseless complaints.

Hi, Mum. Hi, El, he muttered, pecking his mother on the cheek without even glancing at his wife. Whats up now? Jailers? Eleanor runs after you like a nurse.

Runs, does she Ediths lips pursed. Shes just waiting for me to die and free up space. Think I dont notice? Cold eyes, empty, no love, just duty.

Eleanor felt a lump of hurt rise in her throat. Three years ago, after Edith had a stroke, they faced the question: nurse, or care home? No money for a good nurse, care home dismissed what would people say, sending your own mother away? So Eleanor, with a heavy heart, left her cherished job at the local library, moved Edith from her flat into their house, and rented out that flat to cover the costs of medication and therapy.

Ill lay the table, Eleanor murmured, retreating.

At dinner, Oliver poked at his pork chop with little enthusiasm.

Is it nice? Eleanor hoped for a crumb of warmth.

Its fine, he didnt look up. By the way, Mum says she wants Harriet over. Says she misses her.

Harriet was Ediths niece daughter of her late sister. Mid-forties, loud, heavily made up, and utterly useless at practical things. She turned up twice a year with a bargain cake, sat by Ediths bed for an hour chatting about disastrous romances, and vanished, leaving behind a whiff of sweet perfume and a mountain of dirty dishes.

Why? Ediths blood pressures all over the place she needs rest, Harriets a tornado. Shell just set her off again.

Edith insisted. Said shes got something important to discuss. Let her come tomorrow, just put up with it an hour.

The next day Harriet arrived at noon. She swept in, shoes still on, tramped over Eleanors pristine carpet and sang out,

El, darling! Are you bigger? Your dressing gown makes you look thickset. Wheres Aunt Edith? Ive brought her treats!

She waved a bag of marshmallows Edith absolutely mustnt have.

Eleanor simply pointed to the door. Harriet vanished inside, and immediately animated whispers and Ediths sobs erupted. Eleanor retreated to the kitchen, distractedly sorting lentils but unable to shake her anxiety. That envelope on the bedside table haunted her.

An hour later, Harriet emerged, beaming, the brown envelope now stuffed into her giant handbag.

All done, El! Im dashing. Business, you know! Aunt Ediths asleep, dont wake her. Youre amazing, you know, taking care like this. So spotless. Though Id change those curtains theyre prehistoric.

And just as swiftly, she left.

That evening, as Eleanor changed bedding a feat requiring muscle given Ediths considerable weight and complete refusal to help she found the courage to ask,

Edith, what were those papers you gave Harriet? Do you need copies? Is it something for social services?

Edith suddenly squinted. The look was smug, triumphant, almost gleeful.

That, Eleanor dear, is my token of thanks. Harriets my only true soul, who loves me purely not for a flat, not for an inheritance, just for being me. Blood is thicker than water.

Eleanor felt ice run through her gut.

What flat do you mean? The one we rent out its for your care. We agreed it would pass to the grandchildren, Olivers and my kids, whenthe time comes.

Edith cackled dryly.

They agreed, did they? Dividing the loot before the bears dead! Well, I decided differently. The solicitor came today, while you were out shopping. I signed it over. Gift deed. To Harriet.

Eleanor froze, sheet in hand, world spinning.

Whata gift deed? To Harriet? After all, shes never given you even a glass of water. She doesnt know your tablets!

But she doesnt nag me! Edith shrieked. You walk about all day with a sour face, acting like youre doing me a favour! Think I dont notice you waiting to inherit? Well, tough! Harriets the owner now. Officially. Section 572 of the Civil Code, dear. Gift deed. No backsies.

Eleanor slowly sank onto the edge of the chair. Her legs gave out. Three years vanished, lost. Injections, pads, tantrums, sleepless nights. Career sacrificed. All for what? To be called a greedy outsider?

What about Oliver? she managed. Does he know?

Hell find out in time. Its my property I give to whomever I please. Now go, warm up my soup, Im hungry. And fix my pad, its biting.

Eleanor got up, ears ringing, left the room, grabbed her coat, her bag and simply walked out. She just needed some air.

She wandered around for hours, freezing to the bone, mind whirring with only one thought: betrayal. Not just from Edith shed never expected love there. Betrayal from Oliver. The solicitor wouldnt show up on his own, would he? Someone had to open the door, hand over documents.

When she returned, Oliver was at home. He sat in the kitchen, eating soup straight from the saucepan.

Where have you been? he snapped. Mums yelling, pads drenched; Im not changing her! Im a bloke, I cannot deal with this!

Eleanor looked at him. For the first time in twenty years, she saw him clearly, all illusions stripped. Not a loving husband, not a rock, but a selfish child, comfortably settled.

Oliver, she said quietly. Your mother signed the flat to Harriet. Gift deed. You knew?

Oliver choked, coughed, flushed.

What gift deed? Are you hallucinating?

No, she told me herself. Harriet took the documents today. Solicitor came when I was out. Who let him in? Youve got a spare set of keys, didnt you swing by at lunch?

Olivers eyes darted everywhere but hers. He crumbled bread, twitched.

Wellyeah, I stopped by. Mum wanted me to. Said she needed to sort the pension or something. I let him in, nice chap, I didnt really go into details! I had to get back to work!

You didnt go into details? Eleanors voice shook. Your mother just deprived our kids of their inheritance, gave the flat to some random woman, and you didnt go into details? Who will pay for Ediths medicines now? The rent stops; Harriet will take or sell the flat. On your wages? Or do you expect me to work again, supporting someone who just spat in my face?

Dont start screaming! Oliver slammed the table. Mums ill, probably confused! Well contest it, get her declared unfit if needed!

Unfit? Eleanor laughed bitterly. You only say that when shes not praising you. The solicitors not stupid he must have had a note saying shes competent. Harriets no fool.

From Ediths room, a shrill call rang out:

Is anyone alive? Im soaked! Eleanor! Come and wash me!

Oliver grimaced.

El, just go. Well sort it out later. She cant lie in filth.

Something snapped inside Eleanor. The final, thin thread of patience and duty. She looked at her hands red, rough, from endless cleaning. When was the last time she visited a hairdresser? Shed dreamed of a seaside holiday, but where would we park Edith?

No, she said.

What do you mean, no? Oliver blinked.

I wont go. I wont wash her anymore. I wont cook those mashed soups. I wont listen to insults. Shes now got a flat owner Harriet. According to the Civil Code, a gift is a no-strings-attached deal, but morally If Harriet got the asset, let her take on the responsibility. Ring her. Tell her to pop over.

Youve lost your mind! Oliver shot up. Harriet wont pick up this late! She doesnt know how to do it! Eleanor, shes my mother!

Exactly. Your mother. Not mine. And she gave her flat to her niece. Im a stranger the jailer as she called me.

Eleanor turned and headed into the bedroom not Ediths, but hers and Olivers. She fetched her suitcase.

What are you doing? Oliver stood in the doorway, pale, frightened.

Leaving. Moving in with my mum. Its a squeeze in her bedsit, but at least the air is fresh.

Eleanor, stop! Edith made a mistake, she was upset! Well fix it! Dont abandon us! How will I cope alone? I work!

Hire a nurse. Oops, no moneyflats gone. Means you do it, after work. Evenings. Nights. Weekends. Welcome to my world, Oliver.

She flung clothes haphazardly in the case: jumpers, underwear, books. Tears ran down her cheeks, but she kept packing.

Eleanor, youre not going! Youre my wife! You promised through thick and thin!

Ive been through thick, Oliver. Three years of it. Joy, I havent seen. And, by the way, she zipped her case and stood up straight, Im filing for divorce.

Because of the flat?! Youre so materialistic!

Not because of the flat, idiot! she yelled in his face. Because you let them turn me into a slave! Because you opened the door to the solicitor and betrayed me! Because instead of apologising, youre worrying wholl change Ediths pad next!

She rolled her suitcase towards the hall. From Ediths room came moans:

Oliver! Shes left me! She’s trying to kill me! Bring water!

Oliver ran between wife and mothers room, lost.

El, pleasejust stay tonight!

Ill leave the keys on the cupboard, Eleanor said icily. Goodbye.

She left, caught the lift, pressed her forehead to the cold mirrored wall and burst into tears relieved tears, at last.

The first week at her mothers was a fog. Eleanor slept twelve hours a night, ate well, strolled in the park. She switched phones, got a new SIM just for close friends. News kept coming, though.

Through a mutual friend, she heard that Oliver tried to ring Harriet. Harriet ignored him, then announced, A gift is a gift, no obligations to care in the deal. She said she intended to sell the flat for quick cash to expand her business, and told the tenants they had two months to vacate. Most amusingly, she suggested Edith could apply for a state care home if her son cant cope.

Oliver took unpaid leave. Then sick leave. Then began ringing their children son and daughter at uni in other cities. Tried emotional blackmail to get them home for Edith. The children phoned Eleanor.

Mum, Dad says youre a traitor, said their son, Jack. But we know how hard you worked. We wont come. Weve got exams. And anyway, Edith picked Harriet herself.

Eleanor was proud. The kids understood everything.

A month passed. Eleanor got her library job back. Wage modest, but peace and the scent of books healed better than anything. She filed for divorce; Oliver never showed for hearings.

One evening, after work, she saw Oliver waiting outside her block. Hed aged ten years; unshaven, dirty shirt, smelling of booze and something sour the sourness of disablement she knew too well.

El he shuffled closer. Help. I cant manage. She screams all day. Harriets sold the flat, you know? To dodgy agents, for peanuts. Rent moneys gone. Cant afford a nurse. I got fired

Eleanor looked at him and felt nothing but disgust.

Whats that got to do with me, Oliver?

You know how its doneyou’re good at it. Please, come back. Ill forgive everything. We could sell Mums house, buy smaller, get someone in.

Youll forgive? Eleanor repeated. Got your wires crossed? Im the one supposed to forgive. But Im not interested.

Edith keeps crying. Remembers you. Says Eleanor made the best porridge.

She shouldve remembered earlier. When the solicitor called.

But Harriet betrayed us shes a crook!

She did what she was allowed to. Edith tried to buy love with property. Deal done. No complaints accepted.

Youre heartless now, Oliver whispered.

Im free, Eleanor corrected him. Go, Oliver. Dont come back. Courts next week. Lets hope for a quick divorce.

She skirted him, unlocked the block.

El! he yelled after her. What if I send Edith to a state care home? Theres a queue, paperwork, I dont know what to do! Help with the forms, at least!

Eleanor stopped, turned.

Try Google, Oliver. You were a manager youll figure it out. My shift is finished.

She shut the door behind her.

Upstairs, she gazed out of the window. Oliver still lingered below, small, pitiful, crushed by responsibility hed always handed to others. Eleanor closed the curtains.

The kettle was whistling. Mum was baking cabbage pies.

Who was that, Ellie? Mum called from the kitchen.

Wrong address, Mum. Just the wrong address.

Eleanor sat, took a hot pie, and bit in. Tasty. For the first time in three years, food had flavour. Life rolled on and it belonged only to her now. Edith Phillips got exactly what she deserved: a favourite niece with bank notes and a son finally growing up, if a bit late. Justice, served cold, but satisfying all the same.