The heir by Jorge Aldegunde

Picture taken from Pinterest

Those fools keep stalking me. I fear they find out where I live and show up at my place to sniff around with their lofty noses. They are but a bunch of spoiled, greedy kids who failed to make a living by themselves and resorted to their rich mum when in trouble –only too often–. Poor old Mrs. Schmidt was so unfortunate. She only had herself to raise her children, but the mean streets posed too great a challenge: they got lost along the way.

I started working for her when she was already grey and old. By that time, her vital strength would slowly –yet inexorably– abandon her. I always treated her with respect. When I was done with homely chores, she would sit in her settee, knit with her worn-out needles, and tell stories of bygone times. At some point, she somehow realised she had little time left and asked me to keep her sewing box.

There was a collected atmosphere at her funeral. However, her offspring acted pretentiously, as though they had finally won a long-standing war. Tears ran down my face as I thought of the great void her parting left.

Back at home, I found her box and dusted it off. Inside, a neatly organised array of beautiful thimbles stood out. I could not believe my eyes at the sight of what these hid within.


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