**Diary Entry 15th May**
*»She cant stay hereshes no one to us.»* I overheard my late husbands daughter, Emily, arguing with her brother, insisting I be thrown out of the house Ive called home for the last fifteen years.
*»Wait, Emily. Its not that simple. Wheres Aunt Margaret supposed to go?»* replied James, my husbands son. Ive always thought him kinder than his sister. In fifteen years of marriage, Id learned to read people well.
My husband, William, passed recently, and his children from his first marriage wasted no time dividing his estatea country house, a garden, a garage, and a car. I never laid claim to much, but I never imagined Id be pushed out so quickly.
William and I met later in life, both carrying the weight of failed marriages and grown children. I had two daughters; he had a son and a daughter. Id just turned fifty, my eldest had married, and my youngest was still at home. Our London flat was cramped, and I couldnt see a way forward.
Then William came alongfive years older, long widowed, his children settled. Hed held senior roles, earned well, and provided for them. He didnt hesitate to ask me to move into his countryside home. After careful thought, I agreed. He was a good man, and we were happy.
Together, we tended the garden, kept chickens, even raised rabbits for a time. His children and mine visited often, and we never let them leave empty-handedjars of preserves, fresh eggs, whatever we could spare. We never married officially. At first, we talked about it, but eventually, a stamp in a passport seemed unnecessary.
Those fifteen years were wonderful. No regrets.
Meanwhile, my younger daughter married, sparking a bitter feud with her sister over the flat. The eldest, settled there, refused to share. In the end, they paid the younger one off, and that was that.
But a year ago, my youngest divorced and returned home with her child. The tension was unbearable. Id hoped shed reconcile with her husband, but no luck.
Now, with William gone, Ive nowhere to go. The house is too small as it is.
*»Aunt Margaret, you can stay until we find buyers,»* James offered the next morning. I was relieveduntil Emily clarified the terms: I could remain if I maintained the property alone.
So, Id be unpaid labour in exchange for rent-free lodging? The garden, the livestockits backbreaking work, and Im sixty-five.
Do I stay, at their mercy until they sell? Or return to my daughters, to a flat thats still legally mine but where Im clearly unwelcome?
What do I do? Sometimes, its easier to see the answer from the outside.
