From life. “In my old age I discovered that my children were planning the division of my estate behind my back”

Granddaughter left her phone in the kitchen.

I was sitting in the living room, trying to crochet. I had been doing it for years – it calmed me down and gave me a moment of respite from the worries of the day. But that day my thoughts were too scattered and my hands were too shaky to create anything. In my head I could still hear fragments of the conversation I had accidentally overheard.

My granddaughter had left her phone in the kitchen. I was on my way to get some tea when it started ringing. I didn’t want to answer, but the screen lit up and I saw a message that caught my eye. From: my daughter, Beata. The message: „I told Jarek that the plot of land in Masuria should be mine. An apartment in the city for you. That’s fair, right??”

Plot in Masuria? Apartment in the city? I couldn't believe what I was reading. These were my properties, which I had earned all my life through hard work, saving every penny. My husband and I bought the plot in Masuria before he died. We were supposed to spend our old age there, but after he left, I never decided to do it. The apartment in the city was my home, my refuge, a place full of memories. How could they share them already, as if I wasn't here?

I decided not to say anything. I wanted to make sure I understood correctly. However, the following days brought more than confirmation of my fears. Beata and Jarek, I call them my son, visited me more and more often, but these visits had a different character than before. Instead of asking how I felt, I was increasingly asked about my finances, my will, what I wanted to do with my estate.

– Mom, have you thought about what will happen to the plot of land in Masuria? – Beata asked one day, sitting at the kitchen table. – You know, I always dreamed of living there.

– Yes, and living in the city would be perfect for my family – Jarek added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I felt the blood drain from my face. They were so direct, so confident, as if they didn't notice I was still here. As if my opinion on the matter didn't matter.

– I'm still alive, kids – I said finally, trying to control the tremor in my voice. – Are you really already planning what to do with my stuff when I'm gone??

There was silence. Beata lowered her gaze, Jarek cleared his throat nervously.

– Mom, don't say that– Beata began, trying to adopt a gentle tone. – We just want everything to be sorted out. It's for your own good, after all.

– For my own good? – I repeated, feeling the anger rising inside me. – What about my opinion? Does what I want matter to you at all?

They didn't answer. Their silence said more than I wanted to hear.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. I've worked for my family my whole life, making sure they have the best. I've never said no to helping them. And now, in my old age, I have discovered that in their eyes I am just an obstacle on the way to the wealth they consider theirs.

I look at the photos on the shelf – the smiling faces of my children when they were little, our holidays together, birthdays. Were those smiles sincere? Was the love they showed me real?

I wonder what to do. Should I confront them with how I feel? Should I write a will that shows them that their plans are not invisible to me? Or maybe I should just accept that in my old age I have become a means to an end?

One thing is for sure – what I discovered changed everything. My family, who I considered my greatest achievement, turned out to be completely different than I thought. And I, in my own home, feel lonelier than ever before.

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