“While We Sell the Flat, Go Stay in the Care Home,” Said Her Daughter: How a Late Marriage, a Selfish Husband, and a Dreadful Choice Doomed One Mother’s Final Years

While were selling the house, why not stay at the care home for a bit? my daughter suggested

Margaret married rather late in life. Truth be told, her luck with men had always been rather poor, and by forty shed mostly given up hope of finding, as she saw it, a decent man.

Then along came Edward, aged forty-five, something of a charmer. Hed been married a few times, with three children from previous marriages and in the end, the courts had recommended that he give up his flat to his children.

So, after spending a couple of months shuffling about in rented bedsits, Margaret had to bring her husband to her mother, Mary Smith, now turned sixty.

From the moment he walked in the door, Ed couldnt hide his disapproval. He scrunched his nose, making it quite clear he was put out by the smell of the place.

Stinks of old age in here, he muttered, wrinkling his nose. Honestly, could do with opening a window.

I know Mary heard every word, but she pretended not to notice.

So, where are we supposed to sleep? Ed asked, sighing heavily, clearly unimpressed with the new living situation.

Margaret immediately began fussing around, desperate to please her husband, and took her mother aside.

Mum, Ed and I will take your room for now, she whispered. Would you mind moving into the little box room?

That very day, Mary was unceremoniously relocated to that poky little space, a box room really, barely fit for living in. No one helped her move her things Ed flat out refused to lend a hand.

From then on, Marys days were hard. Ed was impossible to satisfy: he griped about the food, about Margarets cleaning, even the colour of the wallpaper.

But it was the smell that irked him most. He kept insisting the house smelt musty, and was convinced it was triggering his allergies.

Every time Margaret came home, Ed would start with his theatrical coughs.

I cannot bear this anymore! Something must be done! he blurted to her, full of frustration.

We cant afford a flat of our own, Margaret replied, looking hopeless.

Get rid of your mother, Ed growled, pulling a face. Its impossible to breathe in here.

Where would I send her?

I dont know, work something out! No use trying to fix this place, you might as well sell up and buy somewhere proper, Ed muttered. Yes, thats the ticket! Speak to your mum!

What am I supposed to say to her? Margaret asked, anxious.

Figure it out! After shes gone, the flat would come to you anyway. Wed just speed things up a bit, Ed shrugged, quite shamelessly.

I dont know, it just feels wrong…

Look, who do you care about more, me or her? Didnt I take you on when you were forty already, and who else would have bothered? Ed pressed her. Leave me and youll be on your own again, and whod pick you up then?

Margaret shot him a resentful glance but went over to her mother, now shivering in the cold little box room.

Mum, you must be finding it tough in here, arent you? she started, hesitant.

Are you moving me back into my room? Mary asked, voice trembling with hope.

No, Ive got another idea. Youre planning to leave this flat to me, right? Margaret said, fishing for reassurance.

Of course, dear.

So lets not wait. Lets sell up and buy somewhere nicer, in a better part of town.

Perhaps you could just renovate this place instead?

No, Id rather get a bigger one.

Where shall I go, love? Marys lips were trembling.

Well, just for a bit, you could stay at a care home, Margaret revealed, almost cheerily, but its only for a short while, I promise. Well come get you as soon as were settled.

Really? Mary asked, clinging to the promise.

Absolutely! Well sort all the paperwork, fix up a new place, and bring you back home, Margaret assured her, giving her hand a squeeze.

With little choice, Mary had no reason not to believe her. She signed everything over.

Once the papers were sorted, Ed clapped his hands with glee.

Pack up her things! Lets get her to the care home.

Already? Margaret asked, guilt gnawing inside.

Whats the point of waiting? Shes not even worth her pension now. The hassles outweighed the help for ages. Shes lived her life; lets get on with ours, Ed said, businesslike as ever.

But we havent even sold the flat yet

Do as I say, or youll end up alone, Ed warned, deadly serious.

Two days later, Mary and her belongings were bundled into the car and off to the care home they went.

On the way, Mary silently brushed away tears. I could tell her heart was uneasy, though she tried to hide it from her daughter.

Ed didnt come. He claimed hed be airing out the flat, finally ridding the place of all the old folk smell.

Mary was swiftly admitted at the home, and Margaret, barely able to meet her mothers eyes, mumbled a hasty goodbye.

You will come back for me, wont you, love? Mary called out one last time, hopeful to the end.

Of course, Mum, Margaret mumbled, looking away.

She knew Ed would never, ever let her bring Mary back.

Once the property was out of their hands, the pair didnt dally long. They sold it, quick as you like, and bought a new flat. Ed insisted it should be in his name, telling Margaret she couldnt be trusted.

After a few months, Margaret tried to bring up her mother. Ed exploded, slamming the idea down and threatening to throw her out if she ever mentioned Mary again.

Margaret said nothing. The threat was too real.

A few times she thought of visiting her mother; but each time, the memory of Marys disappointed tears held her back.

For five long years, Mary waited every single day, hoping her daughter would come for her.

But Margaret never returned. Mary, unable to bear the loneliness, eventually passed away.

Margaret only learned a year later, after Ed kicked her out and she had nowhere else to go. In that moment, the weight of her guilt was unbearable.

She ended up at a convent, seeking forgiveness for all that shed done wrong.

This whole tale has left me with one lesson, something I suppose you could call the true cost of turning your back on family: no amount of comfort or luxury is worth the price of your own conscience.