‘Thank you for doing this for me… I don’t even know your name.’
‘Marcus,’ I replied.
She smiled. ‘My name is Margaret. Thank you for taking me to see these places one last time, Marcus, but I’m getting tired. Let’s go to the hospice.’
As dawn coloured the sky, I drove her to the address she’d given me. Two orderlies came out with a wheelchair as we pulled up. When Margaret tried to pay me, I shook my head.
‘But you have to earn a living,’ she protested, holding her open purse in her lap.
‘There are other passengers.’ I helped her out of the car and she surprised me by hugging me with her frail arms.
‘You gave an elderly woman some joy tonight,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, Marcus.’
A month later, my dispatcher called to say that my car had been requested at the same hospice where I had taken Margaret. When I arrived, a man in an expensive suit was waiting for me at the curb.
‘Marcus?’ – He asked. ‘I’m Margaret’s lawyer. She asked to see you before she died.’
He led me down a quiet corridor to a dimly lit room where Margaret lay in bed, looking smaller than ever. Her fingers were cold as she took my hand.
‘I knew you’d come,’ she said. ‘I don’t have much time, so listen carefully.’
Her lawyer opened a folder while Margaret explained that she was leaving me her house and savings of about $100,000.
‘Margaret, I can’t accept that,’ I said stammering.
‘Yes, you can.’ Her voice became firm, and for a moment I saw the strength that had carried her for 90 years. ‘For 20 years, my family forgot I existed. No phone calls. No visits. Nothing. You treated me like a human being. You saw me.’
I visited Margaret every day until she passed away peacefully in her sleep. When none of her relatives came for her, I organised her funeral.
But on the day of the funeral, three strangers appeared, dressed in black, their faces contorted with anger.
‘We are her grandchildren,’ one of them scoffed. ‘And who are you?’
The fourth man stepped forward, his face hard as granite. ‘And I am her son. I’m here to settle my mother’s inheritance.’
My stomach churned at the sudden interest in Margaret, but I kept silent. A week later, the court papers came to me.
The family’s expensive lawyers were accusing me of manipulation and inheritance fraud. They sat smugly in court, confident of victory. But Margaret had foreseen everything.
‘The deceased has recorded the testimony that will now be heard,’ the judge announced.
There was silence in the courtroom as Margaret’s tired but determined face appeared on the screen.
‘My so-called family,’ she began, ’I’ve been waiting for you. I hoped this would be the last time I would see you all. But you’ve ignored me for twenty years. No birthdays. No holidays. Nothing. You can’t capitalise on neglect.’
Her son scoffed, but Margaret leaned closer to the camera, her eyes fierce. ‘I was in my right mind when I changed my will. All the doctors confirmed it. All the papers are signed. And if you dare to claim I was manipulated, ask yourself why a stranger has treated me with more kindness in one night than you have in twenty years.’
The judge dismissed the case immediately, citing that Margaret had made her intentions clear and had documented everything thoroughly.
Standing outside the courthouse, I felt the weight of the last few months come over me. Margaret had won. After decades of silence, she was finally being heard.
That evening after dinner, I took my family to the park and we watched the sunset together.
I promised myself that I would honour Margaret’s memory, not only by keeping her gifts, but by treating every passenger with the same kindness I had shown her that evening.