When Emma was twenty years old, she was summoned to a family meeting with an alarming agenda.
Emma’s grandmother, eighty-year-old Margaret Peterson, had suffered a severe stroke. Over the phone, Emma’s mother didn’t share much, only urging her daughter to come as quickly as possible. Emma immediately replied that she could be at her parents’ house in about an hour and a half, and her brother promised to arrive around the same time, so the family council convened swiftly. When Emma arrived, her brother James was already there, and her mother, Susan Andrews, sat by the phone, anxiously awaiting news from the hospital where Margaret had been taken.
— How’s Grandma? — Emma asked the moment she stepped inside.
— No word from the hospital yet, — Susan replied with a sigh. — I’m just sitting here, waiting…
— So, what are we going to do? — Emma asked, bewildered.
On her way over, she had thought they might need to find a good doctor or hospital, or at least gather some documents or bring Margaret’s belongings. But apparently, none of that was necessary? Why the urgent meeting, then?
— Emma, here’s the thing, — her father, Robert, began. — The paramedics told us Margaret might not survive this. We just need to be prepared.
— Oh, Dad, don’t say that! — Emma exclaimed.
— Grandma’s eighty, — James said thoughtfully.
Emma stared at her brother in shock. At Robert’s words, only Susan let out a sob. She understood the gravity of the situation but was trying not to dwell on the worst.
— Do either of you even feel a shred of regret? Even a little? — Emma snapped, indignant.
James opened his mouth to respond, but the phone rang. Susan flinched at the sound, then grabbed the receiver.
— Hello? Yes, that’s right, yes… Oh, thank God, — Susan sighed in relief, a smile spreading across her face.
“She’s going to be okay,” Emma realized.
But then Susan tensed, sitting up straight.
— Wait, I don’t understand. When will we know for sure? Okay, I see. Thank you for the update, goodbye.
— What is it? — Emma asked, holding her breath.
— Well, there’s two pieces of news. The first is that the crisis has passed. Grandma’s in intensive care, but there’s every chance she’ll pull through. That’s the good news, — Susan hesitated, biting her lip.
— But there’s bad news too? — Emma guessed.
— Yes. Her left arm and leg are completely paralyzed for now. The doctors don’t know if rehabilitation will help. They’ll have a clearer picture in about a month.
— Oh my God, — Emma pressed her hands to her mouth.
She felt awful for her grandmother. If Margaret couldn’t walk, she wouldn’t be able to bear it. She wasn’t the type to tolerate constant caregivers or depend on others for basic needs.
— That’s not all, — Susan said grimly. — The stroke caused significant brain damage. The neurologist is diagnosing encephalopathy, and they said it could drastically change Grandma’s behavior.
— What does that mean? — James asked, but Emma knew exactly what it meant.
She was training to be a nurse and was familiar with the term encephalopathy.
— She might become irritable, argumentative, — Susan shrugged vaguely. — And from what I understand, this diagnosis is final. The paralysis might improve, but this won’t.
The family fell silent, heads bowed. Emma couldn’t believe such a nightmare had befallen her grandmother. Robert was trying to think of solutions, while James, lanky and aloof, was already scheming to avoid any responsibility for Margaret’s care.
At thirty-two, James was married with a child. He had no interest in taking on the burden of caring for a paralyzed grandmother, even though he lived closest to her.
— Should we look for good paid rehabilitation specialists? — Emma asked hesitantly.
— Maybe, but we’ll deal with that later. At least after they move her out of intensive care, — Robert replied. — But someone will need to keep an eye on her regardless. Even if the paralysis improves, we’ll need to visit her more often. You never know…
— Oh, God, — Susan covered her face with her hands. — This is a nightmare. I just can’t accept it.
— Mom, don’t give up yet, — Emma said, wrapping an arm around her mother’s shoulders. — Things might still turn out okay.
— You’re right, — Susan sighed. — For now, we just have to wait.
Two weeks after the stroke, Margaret was transferred out of intensive care. The family, except for James, who claimed he couldn’t get time off work, gathered to visit her. Emma didn’t entirely believe his excuse.
She had never been fond of her brother, finding him selfish and unreliable. So, she wasn’t too upset when he texted that he couldn’t make it but would visit later.
Susan, Robert, and Emma met at the nurse’s station to find out which room Margaret was in. Emma couldn’t hold back tears when she saw her grandmother. She had never seen her once-vibrant grandma so emotionally subdued.
Margaret lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, barely registering their arrival. Susan was horrified, unaccustomed to seeing her mother in such a state. Only Robert tried to act as if everything was fine to avoid upsetting Margaret further, greeting her loudly with a smile as he approached the bed. Susan and Emma snapped out of their shock and joined him.
— Hi, Mom, — Susan attempted a smile, while Emma openly sniffled.
Just a month ago, they had been making pancakes and baking pies together, and now Margaret lay motionless in a hospital bed.
— How are you feeling?
— Awful, dreadful, hopeless… — Margaret replied calmly.
— Grandma, come on, is it really that bad here? — Emma asked, though she knew it couldn’t get much worse.
— Oh, Emma, — Margaret sighed, leaving her thought unfinished.
— We brought you some vitamins, — Robert said with a cough. — So you’ll be racing us in no time.
— I’m afraid that’s impossible in my condition, — Margaret said with a faint smile.
— How’s your arm, Mom? — Susan asked.
— I can move it, but I can’t lift a cup. Same with my legs—I can stand, but I can’t walk without a cane, — Margaret answered sadly. — And there’s this constant fog in my head. I can’t even explain it.
— At least your arm and leg are working a little, — Susan sighed.
They talked a bit more, but soon Margaret began slurring her words and said she was tired. Taking the hint, the family promised to return the next day and left the room.
Naturally, Margaret was in low spirits, and who could blame her? One day she was living her life, and the next, she collapsed, barely managing to crawl to the phone to call Susan. Mumbling incoherently into the receiver, she lost consciousness again. Susan immediately called an ambulance and rushed to her mother’s side. What would have happened if Margaret hadn’t been able to make that call? The thought was unbearable. Margaret no longer wanted to live. She felt like a burden to her family. Tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks, and she didn’t bother wiping them away. Why should she? As if anyone needed her anymore, as if she had to pretend everything was fine. Her legs barely held her, and walking independently was out of the question. Sure, James could bring groceries, but who would cook? Strangers? And what about bathing or using the bathroom on her own? Despair overwhelmed her.
Time passed, and soon it was time to discharge Margaret from the hospital. There were no significant improvements, despite the efforts of a specially hired rehabilitation specialist. He created a long-term plan for Margaret, but she saw little point in it. She had lost faith in recovery.
A few days before her discharge, the family gathered again to discuss next steps.
— I’ll get straight to the point. Someone needs to take care of Grandma, — Susan said firmly.
She seemed to have come to terms with her mother’s condition over the past month.
— Aren’t we going to hire a caregiver? — James asked immediately.
— Do you have the money for that? — Susan asked, staring at him.
— Mom, come on, I have my own family, — he said.
— Well, we don’t have the money for a professional caregiver either, — Robert added, supporting his wife. — Don’t forget, we helped you with your car.
— What, that’s all your savings? — James scoffed.
As Robert prepared to give his son a stern talking-to, Emma intervened.
— Stop it, no fighting. I’ll take care of Grandma, — she said resolutely.
Susan let out a relieved sigh. She and Robert lived in the suburbs, too far to visit Margaret daily.
— I’m glad you volunteered, Emma. Grandma left the apartment to me, but I’ll make sure to transfer it to you.
— Mom, I’m not doing this for the apartment! — Emma protested.
— I know, I know. We’re living in tough times, — Susan said, calming her. — Besides, I’m sure caring for Grandma will be hard. You deserve some reward.
— I don’t want to talk about this, — Emma said sharply. — It sounds like you’re writing Grandma off.
— I’m just trying to be realistic, — Susan sighed.
…
The whole family came to welcome Margaret home. As soon as she arrived, she asked to be taken to her bed and for the door to be closed. Emma decided to move in with her grandmother, planning to return to her dorm if Margaret’s condition improved. At first, Margaret was pleased that one of her grandchildren would stay, but then she remembered Emma wasn’t there to enjoy homemade pies—she was there to help with showers, dressing, and other necessities.
Margaret’s spirits sank, and she turned to the wall to cry quietly into her pillow. Emma saw how hard it was for her grandmother and tried to support her, but the more she did, the worse Margaret seemed to treat her.
Soon, everything was wrong in Margaret’s eyes: the food wasn’t right, the porridge was tasteless, the pillow too hard, the blanket too cold, the apartment too stuffy…
Meanwhile, Emma took a night shift job at a private clinic. The pay was decent, but the workload was heavy. The clinic specialized in addiction treatment, and patients ranged from harmless drunks to men raving in delirium tremens. Emma was exhausted from work, studying, and caring for her grandmother, who had grown increasingly despondent over her helplessness. Margaret refused to do her rehabilitation exercises. Her encephalopathy had progressed into full-blown vascular brain disease. She became weepy, capricious, and at times angry or aggressive. Years passed like this.
Susan and Robert rarely visited Margaret. James stopped by for a couple of holidays but otherwise found no time to check on his grandmother. Naturally, this hurt Margaret, making her even more upset. And Emma bore the brunt of it.
By the time Emma was twenty-six, she could finally afford to rent her own apartment and hire a professional caregiver for Margaret. Her parents refused to contribute financially, citing James’s constant borrowing, gifts for his growing son, Alex, their own vacations, and other expenses. Meanwhile, Emma hadn’t taken a single trip. Her twenties were consumed by caring for her grandmother, despite Margaret’s complaints and outbursts, which Emma understood were beyond her control. Still, six years of this had worn her down.
Margaret’s condition worsened. She rarely left her bed, required adult diapers, and bathed only a couple of times a week. She seemed indifferent to her situation but still complained about Emma, while barely mentioning the rest of the family. Perhaps she had forgotten they existed. Emma stopped expecting help from her parents or brother, realizing that even Margaret’s own daughter cared more about a new coat or a trip to Greece than her paralyzed mother. It pained Emma to see how her once-close family had abandoned her beloved grandmother.
Eventually, Emma moved out. She stayed briefly to ensure the caregiver was competent, then left with peace of mind. She visited Margaret daily, though her grandmother was rarely in a good mood or fully lucid. Often, Margaret slept or mumbled aimlessly. A psychiatrist explained that this was typical of her progressing condition. Margaret posed no danger to herself, and with a caregiver present, the doctor prescribed medication and suggested hiring a second, overnight caregiver. Emma shared the news with her family, but, as expected, no one offered financial help. James even implied that Margaret was now Emma’s “problem” since she’d been promised the apartment. Furious, Emma cut off all contact with her brother that day.
Another year passed. Emma visited Margaret regularly, chatting with her and sharing updates. The psychiatrist’s medication slightly improved Margaret’s clarity, allowing Emma to catch her grandmother in lucid moments more often. During one such evening, Emma was telling Margaret about a new coworker.
— Can you believe it, Grandma? She couldn’t even set an IV, — Emma chuckled. — The guy’s veins were like ropes. Even an intern could’ve done it! And she wants to be second-in-charge of the procedure room.
— Oh, Emma, your job is so tough, — Margaret said, patting her granddaughter’s arm with her functional hand.
— But it pays enough to live decently, — Emma smiled. — How about you? How’re you doing?
— As well as I can in this state, — Margaret sighed heavily. — Emma, I’m so sorry for all the times I snapped at you. I wasn’t myself. I know there’s no excuse. You were the only one who cared for me, and I treated you so poorly… — Tears welled in Margaret’s eyes.
Emma gently squeezed her grandmother’s hand and smiled.
— It’s okay, Grandma. I understand, honestly. I’m not upset with you at all.
— Really? — Margaret asked, almost childlike.
Emma nodded.
— Well, alright then, sweetheart. I wanted to ask you something.
— Of course. What is it?
— Could you arrange for a notary to come to the house?
— Why do you need a notary?
— I want to transfer the apartment to you.
— Oh, Grandma, — Emma hated these conversations.
They made her feel mercenary.
— No, listen to me, sweetheart. I don’t care what your mother said. She dumped all the problems of a paralyzed old woman on you and didn’t lift a finger. I don’t want to leave anything to a daughter like that. But you, Emma, you’re hardworking, responsible, honest, and kind. I want to help you, even if it’s after I’m gone.
— Grandma, what are you talking about? Stop it! — Emma protested.
— No, my dear. I can feel it, — Margaret said with a calm smile. — We old folks make peace with death. I’m nearly ninety. I’ve lived a long, happy life, and my greatest blessing was you, — she patted Emma’s hand again. — My only regret is that you spent your youth caring for a frail old woman instead of living your own life.
— Grandma, enough. First, we both have plenty of time left. And second, I don’t regret my decision one bit.
— You’re a good girl, — Margaret continued to smile. — But please, do this for me. Before they declare me incompetent.
— No one’s going to do that, Grandma. Stop, you’re upsetting me, — Emma said sadly.
— Alright, fine. But it’s stuck in my head, and I can’t shake it! — Margaret chuckled. — Will you do it?
— Okay, I’ll do it, — Emma sighed, smiling back.
A couple of hours later, Emma said goodbye to her grandmother and headed home. On the way, James called. Emma didn’t want to answer—his earlier words about Margaret still stung. But when he called again, family ties won out.
— What do you want? — she asked curtly.
— Nice to hear from you too, sis, — James replied sarcastically.
— Keep clowning, and we’re done.
— Wait, hold on. I’m calling about something serious.
— Yeah, I figured it’s not to wish me happy holidays, — Emma said, growing annoyed with his tone. He was definitely about to ask for something.
— Look, can I crash at your place tonight? — James asked bluntly.
— What? — Emma’s eyes widened.
— I’ll explain later. Just tell me, can I or not?
— I don’t know… Why aren’t you at home?
— I said I’ll explain later.
— What about Mom and Dad?
— They’re in Italy on vacation. I already called them.
— Fine, alright. Come over, you know the address, — Emma agreed, still clueless about what had happened to her brother’s supposedly happy marriage.
James thanked her and hung up. When Emma arrived home, he was already waiting in his car. She greeted him coolly and led him to her apartment. James seemed to look around with a hint of disdain, as if her modest rental wasn’t up to his standards. What did he expect, a palace? Sorry, prince.
— So, what’s going on? — Emma asked, pouring hot tea into cups.
James was furiously texting someone on his phone.
— Okay, now it’s really over, — he sighed. — I fell in love, Emma, got it?
— No, I don’t get it, — she said honestly. — With your wife?
— That’s the thing—it’s not her, — he said, giving her a pointed look.
— No way, — Emma said, stunned.
— Yeah, today she found all our texts, plus photos and even videos… — James admitted.
— Videos? Gross, — Emma grimaced.
She didn’t want to picture her brother cheating and pushed the thought away.
— That’s what people in love do, you know? — Emma glared at him. She hadn’t had a family or even a boyfriend of her own. — Okay, sorry, didn’t mean to hit a nerve.
— Sure you didn’t.
— Honestly, sorry. Anyway, now Rachel wants a divorce. And, well, she kicked me out. It’s her apartment.
— Wow, — Emma let out a whistle.
— Don’t worry, I’ll start looking for rentals tomorrow. I won’t stay long, I get it, — he paused. — How’s Grandma doing?
— She’s… okay, I guess. She was acting kind of strange today.
Wait a second, — Emma suddenly realized where this was going. James had barely visited Margaret in years. — Why are you suddenly asking?
— She’s my grandma too, you know.
— Oh, sure! Then why didn’t you ever check on her before? — Emma snapped. — It’s obvious—you’re planning to move into her apartment!
— You said you didn’t want it, — James didn’t even bother denying it.
— Here’s the deal. You can stay tonight, but tomorrow, you’re gone. I don’t care where—to the train station if you have to. But not to Grandma’s. You don’t deserve to set foot in her place. Don’t you dare argue with me! — Emma cut off James’s attempt to protest. — Goodnight.
At five in the morning, Emma’s phone woke her. Groggy, she squinted at the screen. It was Margaret’s overnight caregiver. Her heart sank.
— Hello? — Emma answered.
— Emma, I’m so sorry to wake you, but… I think… — the caregiver sobbed. — I went to check on Margaret, and I couldn’t hear her breathing. I checked her pulse… nothing. I’ve called the ambulance, police, and funeral services, but you need to come.
Emma’s thoughts jumbled together. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. No, not this! She’d just left Margaret a few hours ago! She was fine—better than usual, even.
That’s what had seemed off about her grandmother’s behavior. Some people experience a moment of clarity before death. Emma didn’t notice her phone was wet from her tears, or that they were dripping onto her blanket and skin. She sat in shock.
— Emma? — the caregiver sounded just as heartbroken. She’d grown attached to Margaret too.
— I’m on my way, — Emma rasped, hanging up. After a moment of crushing silence, she let out a scream of despair that turned into loud sobs.
James, startled awake, ran to her. Emma managed to explain what had happened while splashing cold water on her face to calm down. She dressed quickly and headed to her car, with James joining her. Despite his absence from Margaret’s life, he still loved her, and the news hit him hard. He drove, as Emma couldn’t focus through her tears and overwhelming emotions. Margaret had sensed her own death—why hadn’t that prompted Emma to act? She blamed herself for not paying closer attention. If she’d listened more carefully to her grandmother’s words, maybe she’d still be alive.
At Margaret’s apartment, the ambulance was already there, documenting the death, along with funeral services and a hearse. The police were present too, though Emma didn’t understand why. She answered questions and handed over documents, but when she glimpsed Margaret’s room, she felt faint. Despite Margaret’s serene expression—almost a smile, as if she’d found peace—Emma’s legs buckled, and she grabbed the doorframe to stay upright. James led her to the couch and handled the rest. Emma took Margaret’s death the hardest, crying for days, blaming herself, and finding no comfort.
About a week after the funeral, which Emma had organized, her parents returned from their vacation. They were shocked by Margaret’s death but hadn’t come back earlier. Emma grew to resent her family, loving only her grandmother, who was now gone. Susan and Robert seemed saddened, mournful even, but they quickly began sorting through Margaret’s affairs with a calm efficiency that baffled Emma. Perhaps, as older adults, they understood the responsibility now fell to them. There were hospital records, inheritance, and a life insurance policy Susan had set up to deal with.
Months later, as the time to claim the inheritance approached, Susan called Emma. James had been living in Margaret’s apartment since his divorce, having nowhere else to go.
— Hey, Emma, you’re not sleeping after a shift, are you? — Susan asked first.
— No, it’s my day off.
— Good. I want to talk about Grandma’s apartment.
— What about it?
— Well, you’re doing alright for yourself, but James is going through a rough patch. Where’s a guy pushing forty supposed to get the money for an apartment? I was thinking I’d transfer the deed to him instead of you. You’ll be able to get a mortgage soon and buy your own place.
Emma was stunned. That apartment again—were all city dwellers this obsessed with real estate? It might’ve been different if Margaret hadn’t explicitly said she wanted Emma to have it. Emma might’ve even let James take it if he’d ever helped with Margaret’s care, paid for a single caregiver, or even just checked on her. But James had been too busy with his personal life, costing Emma any chance at her own relationships or marriage. The thoughts swirled angrily in her mind, and she realized she truly lived in harsh times.
Emma gave a weary smile. She didn’t want to fight over a fifty-square-meter apartment on the city’s outskirts, but she needed to speak her truth.
— You know, Mom, do what you want. But Grandma asked me to call a notary before she died to transfer the apartment to me. And you know why? She said she didn’t want to leave anything to a daughter who didn’t lift a finger for her. And James did even less than you. I remember him saying Grandma was my problem. A problem, got it? And I cared for her quietly and loved her. I gave up my own life. Meanwhile, your precious James was busy juggling two women. And I, Mom, was wiping Grandma down with special cloths for bedridden patients, scraping tasteless porridge off the walls, and changing her diapers. I don’t expect gratitude from any of you—take the apartment. I’m just disgusted that you’ve all turned out to be two-faced leeches, salivating over her property. I’m sickened that her unloved grandson will live in her home. I’m done with all of you. I don’t want to talk or see you at holidays. Just remember, Mom, your own old age isn’t far off, and I can’t imagine how James will treat you then.
With that, Emma hung up. Susan never called back. Whether she was offended or Emma had hit the mark, who could say?
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