“Dear Dorothy,
I’m finally breathing fresh air. Wish you were here—but don’t tell the vultures. I’ll write again soon.
Love, Margaret.”
I stood on my porch, clutching the card, tears stinging my eyes.
Margaret wasn’t just gone. She was free. And as much as I missed her, I couldn’t help but feel a little envious.
When Margaret returned, she looked like a new woman.
Her cheeks were rosy, her step lighter, and her eyes had a spark that had been missing for years.
“Well, don’t just stand there gawking, Dorothy,” she said, grinning as she breezed through my door with a small suitcase. “I’m back, and I’ve got stories to tell. Put the kettle on.”
I couldn’t stop staring.
She looked ten years younger. There was a calm, almost radiant energy about her.
“Where were you, Margaret?” I asked, half-laughing and half-serious.
She wagged a finger. “A lady never reveals all her secrets.
Just know that I went where I needed to go.”
A few days later, Margaret passed away peacefully in her sleep. I found her in bed, a small smile on her face, as if she’d simply drifted off into a dream.
The day of Margaret’s will reading was overcast, and the lawyer’s office was packed. Lisa and David sat on opposite ends of the room, their spouses and grown children huddled close, whispering and casting suspicious glances at one another.
The air buzzed with anticipation.
I sat quietly in the corner, clutching my purse. Margaret had shared enough with me that I knew what was coming, but that didn’t make it any less thrilling.
The lawyer, a composed man with a sharp suit and a no-nonsense demeanor, began with the formalities. Margaret had left some sentimental items to friends, small donations to charity, and a few keepsakes to her grandchildren.
The family’s polite nods were a thin veil over their growing impatience.
Finally, the lawyer paused and looked up. “Now, regarding the properties,” he said, flipping to the next page.
Lisa’s head shot up. David leaned forward, elbows on his knees.
“The large house and the bungalow have both been sold,” the lawyer announced.
“What?” Lisa’s voice cracked as she shot out of her chair.
“She sold them? Without telling us?”
David looked equally stunned, his face turning a deep shade of red. “She… what did she do with the money?” he demanded.
The lawyer remained calm.
“She traveled extensively, fulfilling a lifelong dream. She left a note for her family.” He opened an envelope and read aloud:
“To my beloved children and grandchildren,
Thank you for reminding me that life is short and my happiness is my own to claim. I hope you learn from my example: spend what you’ve earned, enjoy what you’ve built, and live while you can.
The houses are gone, but the memories I made will last forever.
Dorothy, the money I’ve left is yours. Don’t spend the rest of your life tied to this street. Use it to see the world, just like I did.
Live boldly.”
The room erupted.
“She what?!” Lisa shrieked. “That house was supposed to stay in the family!”
“This is insane!” David thundered. “Who spends everything without leaving something behind?”
Jessica, Lisa’s eldest, flipped through the photo album the lawyer handed over, her jaw dropping.
“Is this… Grandma on a gondola? In Venice?”
I couldn’t help but chuckle. Margaret would’ve loved this.
As the lawyer flipped through the album, he narrated some of Margaret’s escapades: riding a Vespa, sipping wine in a vineyard, and dancing in a village square.
Each photo was more joyful than the last, a testament to her unapologetic embrace of life.
“She used us,” Lisa hissed, glaring at me. “Did you know about this?”
I raised my tea cup, smiling. “All I know is Margaret did what made her happy.
Isn’t that what you wanted for her?”
A month later, I stood at the airport with her photo album tucked into my carry-on. My first destination was Paris.
As the plane soared above the clouds, I pulled out the album and flipped through the pages. There was Margaret, laughing in the sunshine, raising a glass in some charming café.
“This one’s for you, Margaret,” I whispered, raising a tiny plastic cup of champagne.
Source: amomama
