The irresponsible nephew and wife
THE RISK YOU MAY HAVE TO TAKE IF YOU'RE SINGLE WITHOUT KIDS AND FAMILY
An elderly lady arrived at our house to spend her final days here. More precisely, she was brought by her nephew—a large, self-important man in the prime of life—who declared in his interview:
“Let her die here—it’s what you’re used to. And by the way, she’s inadequate.”
The so-called “inadequate” lady sat quietly on a chair, swinging her legs, smiling as she gazed out the window. His wife—a heavyset woman long embarrassed by life—carried the woman’s suitcases and hovered respectfully at the edge of the room. The nephew planted himself in the middle of the living room and, without wasting his energy on empathy, laid out his “firm position.”
“My aunt has decided to spend her remaining days among her own kind,” he said, glancing at his aunt. His wife nodded and blushed.
“I respect her decision; I cannot say the same about her,” he continued, referring to her. His wife nodded again and sniffed.
“Until today she lived in our home, which is in her name,” he said with another sideways look at his aunt.
His wife blushed deeper.
“We simply can’t take care of her anymore,” he added. “We want to… ahem… but we can’t. Between our busy schedules… ahem… strained relations… and my declining health—do you understand?”
“Whose health?” I asked.
“The patient’s,” the nephew answered as he buttoned his coat.
His wife swallowed loudly. The nephew glanced at his wife; she shrunk a little. He nodded.
“We’ll visit once a week. No more. We’ll come with her bags—her clothes are all packed. They’re not brand new, but for the time she has left, they’ll do. And she doesn’t need to be dressed up anymore.”
“Pardon me, but how do you know how much time she has left or know her condition?” I asked, coldly. “Are you her doctor?”
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“I’m a broker! Real estate, I handle property!” the nephew declared proudly.
“But your aunt doesn’t deal in property,” I said, looking at the serene old woman swinging her legs by the window. “If anything, the opposite looks true.”
“She has maybe two months—six months tops,” he claimed. “If true doctors saw her, they’d agree with me!”
His wife nodded and turned pale.
“So… you, um, haven’t had doctors examine her?”
“The right doctors haven’t,” he corrected. “Besides, she’s been basically healthy until recently. Ahem!” With that, he turned and left.
“Goodbye,” his wife whispered, blushing, trailing after him.
The woman behind me sighed with relief.
“Finally,” she said. “They’re gone.”
“Excuse me,” I said softly. “This is… awkward.”
“Don’t worry—I’m used to it,” the old woman waved her hand. “He’s a fool. And his wife—she’s a timid fool. I never had kids—God didn’t give me any. But I took them in when they needed a roof. They “made themselves at home.” He thinks the house will go to him.
“Well, let him dream,” she continued. “I sold the house to the neighbors. Some of the money I’ll use myself, some I’ll leave for them. They have a wonderful granddaughter—she’s coming tomorrow. You’ll see. And for that brute… I told him nothing. Big surprise for him!”
“Strategic,” I said. “I’ll sort through your things if you like?”
“No!” she said firmly. “Everything in there—into the trash! He’s right: the stuff is junk! Only for dying would that stuff do. I packed the luggage just so he wouldn’t hassle me. Into the trash it goes. My neighbor’s bringing real clothes tomorrow. Pretty clothes! We shopped together. I’m not ready to die yet—and I will live in pretty things! Now, where can I get coffee? And a piece of pie, definitely a slice of pie!”
Adapted from the story written by Grigory Berkovich, shared by Lullaby for the soul via Facebook, posted yesterday, Friday 7 November 2025.
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| By Fauzi Kadir Chief Editor
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