Margaret was 83, fiercely independent, and tired of her family circling her like vultures. When she vanished without a trace, leaving behind only a cryptic note, her children were frantic. They never imagined her bold final move would leave them stunned.
My name’s Dorothy, and I’m 80 years old. I never thought I’d have a story about my best friend, but here I am. Margaret, who I’ve known for decades, deserves to have her story told.
A smiling woman | Source: Pexels
She was the sharpest, sassiest 83-year-old I’ve ever met. She called me her “partner in crime,” though most of our crimes were eating too many donuts or gossiping over coffee.
Margaret had a modest life but a smart one. She lived in a cozy little bungalow, the kind with flower boxes under the windows. She also owned a big, beautiful colonial-style house across town. That house was her husband Tom’s pride and joy.
A colonial house | Source: Pexels
When he passed 20 years ago, Margaret started renting it out. “Tom would’ve hated it,” she’d say, “but a lady’s got to live.” The rent covered her bills, and Margaret never relied on anyone, not even her kids.
“Dorothy, let me tell you something,” she’d say, wagging a finger. “Independence is a woman’s best friend. Next to coffee, of course.”
A woman with a coffee cup on her patio | Source: Pexels
But last year, everything started to change. Margaret’s health took a downturn. She got weaker, and for the first time, she needed a little help. I started running errands for her, and her kids, Lisa and David, began showing up more often.
At first, it seemed like they cared. Then I noticed they weren’t helping. They were circling.
A brother and sister | Source: Midjourney
Lisa was always dressed like she was going to a fancy brunch. Perfect nails, designer purse, big sunglasses perched on her head. “It’s such a shame that big house is just sitting empty. A family like mine could really put it to use,” she’d say.
David was practical, but not in a good way. He’d show up with his laptop and act like Margaret’s financial advisor, even though she never asked him to.
A man with a laptop | Source: Pexels
“Mom, you’re sitting on a gold mine with that house. You know, selling it could set you up for life—or help the kids. Just something to think about.”
Margaret hated it. “I’ll decide what to do with my houses when I’m good and ready,” she’d tell them. “And don’t you dare think I’m leaving this Earth anytime soon.”
An angry elderly woman | Source: Pexels
The grandkids weren’t any better. Lisa’s oldest, Jessica, was the queen of fake sweetness. She’d bring over baked goods with little notes like, “Grandma, don’t you think a growing family deserves a beautiful home?” David’s son, Kyle, was blunt. “Grandma, it’d be a shame if the big house got sold instead of staying in the family.”
One afternoon, Margaret had enough. We were sitting in her kitchen drinking tea when we heard Lisa and David arguing in the living room.
A man arguing with his sister | Source: Midjourney
“You’ve got three kids,” Lisa said, her voice rising. “You don’t need more space.”
“Oh, please,” David shot back. “Your kids are practically grown. I’ve got college to think about, and that house could help.”
Margaret rolled her eyes and shuffled to the door. “Enough!” she snapped, stepping into the room. “You’d think I was already six feet under with the way you’re fighting over my stuff.”
An angry elderly woman | Source: Freepik
Lisa opened her mouth, but Margaret raised a hand. “No. I’m still here, and I’m not splitting my house in two just to shut you up. Go bicker in your own homes.”
David looked embarrassed, but Lisa crossed her arms. “We’re just trying to help, Mom.”
“Help?” Margaret scoffed. “If you want to help, wash the dishes. Otherwise, don’t come around here with your nonsense.”
An angry woman pointing | Source: Freepik
When they left, Margaret turned to me and shook her head. “They’re shameless, Dorothy. Just shameless.”
I patted her hand. “They’ll back off eventually.”
She smirked. “Don’t count on it. But I’ve got a plan.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked cautiously.
Two women talking in their kitchen | Source: Midjourney
Margaret didn’t answer right away. She just smiled like I hadn’t seen in years. “You’ll see,” she said simply.
A week later, Margaret was gone.
She left no warning, no calls, no explanations—just a single note on my doorstep. It was written in her neat, no-nonsense handwriting:
A note on the doorstep | Source: Midjourney
“Dear Dorothy,
Don’t worry about me. I’m safe, and I need some time to myself. Keep an eye on the vultures for me. I’ll be back when I’m ready.
Love, Margaret.”
A woman writing a note | Source: Midjourney
At first, I thought she might have gone to a nearby bed-and-breakfast or was staying with an old friend. But as days turned into weeks, it became clear she was much further than that. Her phone was disconnected, and no one—not even her children—knew where she was.
Lisa and David were frantic. They showed up at my house constantly, asking if I had heard from her.
A nervous woman | Source: Pexels
“She wouldn’t just leave,” Lisa insisted, her voice teetering between anger and worry. “This isn’t like her.”
David was less dramatic but just as concerned. “She’s punishing us,” he said flatly, pacing my living room. “That’s what this is about. She’s making a point.”
An angry confused man | Source: Pexels
I played dumb, shrugging whenever they pressed me for information. “I haven’t heard from her,” I lied, knowing full well that Margaret would’ve wanted it that way.
Then, one quiet morning, I found a postcard in my mailbox. The picture on the front was of a serene mountain scene, snowcapped peaks under a bright blue sky. The handwriting on the back was unmistakably Margaret’s:
A mountain forest | Source: Pexels
“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.
A happy woman with a postcard | Source: Midjourney
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.
A smiling elderly woman | Source: Pexels
“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.
An elderly woman smiling in her sleep | Source: Midjourney
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.
A serious woman looking up | Source: Pexels
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.
A lawyer in his office | Source: Pexels
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.
A shocked man looking at the papers | Source: Pexels
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.
A woman writing her will | Source: Midjourney
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!”
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“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.
A happy woman in a gondola | Source: Midjourney
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?”
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
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.
A woman in an airport | Source: Midjourney
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.
A laughing elderly woman | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Phil Collins reveals he can “barely hold a drumstick anymore”
He can barely walk and confessed that he can no longer sing.
With eight Grammy awards under his belt, Genesis drummer and lead singer Phil Collins is one of the most prominent musicians there are. He is one of only three musicians, alongside Michael Jackson and Paul McCartney, who have sold more than 100 million albums both as a solo act and a member of a band.
Born on January 30, 1951 in London, England to parents who possessed creative spirits, Collins fell in love with making music.
When he was just five, his uncle made him a drum kit out of tambourines, triangles, cymbals and toy drums, Collins recalled. “The old cliché is, ‘Well, at least it will keep him quiet’,” he told Interview Magazine.
Soon after, he found himself performing in shows at his parents’ boating club.
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“When I started playing seriously, the English beat thing was just happening, the Shadows and bands like that. It was the very early ’60s,” Collins recalled.
“I remember buying Please Please Me. I used to put the record player on very loud and set up my drums so I was facing the mirror, that way you don’t look at what you’re doing.
“Then when I was fourteen I went to a teacher to learn to read drum music. I figured when this rock-and-roll thing finished I would have to make a living playing in a dance band or in an orchestra pit. So I learned to read drum music, but I found that my capacity for reading was not anywhere near as good as actually playing by instinct.”
It was in the 1970 that Collin’s life changed forever. He was already playing in some bands when he came across an ad by a group called Genesis which was looking for a drummer. He decided to get in touch with them and the rest is history. In the first years of Collins being part of it, the group released five albums with singles that reached the charts.
After the founder and lead singer of Genesis left the group, Collins took his place. He was both a singer and a drummer. Speaking of his new role, he said he didn’t really feel comfortable, but as the group failed to find a singer, he simply stepped in.
Besides being a member of Genesis, Collins also had a very impressive solo career. With smash hits such as In The Air Tonight, You Can’t Hurry Love and I Don’t Care Anymore he soon became one of the best in the music industry.
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When he decided to leave the group and focus on his solo career, Collins said: “Having been with Genesis for 25 years, I felt it time to change direction in my musical life.
“For me now it will be music for movies, some jazz projects and of course my solo career. I wish the guys in Genesis all the very best in their future. We remain the best of friends.”
However, in 2017, he decided to reunite with the band. Last year, they announced a world tour, The Last Domino, but had to put it on hold because of the pandemic.
And as fans were looking forward to seeing the group on stage together, Collins gave an interview with BBC Breakfast which made many concerned about his health. He and his band mates announced that it will be Collins’ son Nicholas who would do the drumming and Collins will only sing.
“Nic is a great drummer, but he is capable of sounding like early Phil. For Mike and I, that was always quite exciting,” Genesis band member Tony Banks said.
“It means you can play some of the songs that you haven’t played with Phil as the drummer for a long time.”
Speaking of why he’s not getting behind the drums, the musician revealed: “I’d love to but you know, I mean, I can barely hold a stick with this hand. So there are certain physical things that get in the way.
“I’m kind of physically challenged a bit which is very frustrating because I’d love to be playing up there with my son,” adding that he doesn’t know if he wants to be touring any longer.
“We’re all men of our age, and I think to some extent, I think it probably is putting it to bed,” he said. “I think yeah, I think just generally for me, I don’t know if I want to go out on the road anymore.”
During the past few years, Collins experienced certain health issues which left him struggling to get on his feet. Speaking to Billboard, he revealed that after a surgery in 2009, he was left with dislocated vertebra, nerve damage. He had also suffered a foot fracture that left him feeling like he’s walking “on sticks.”
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