So Mrs. Jenkins is my neighbor of 82 years, right? She’s adorable, but sadly, a little forgotten by her family. Her son, Steve, lives very close to her, but might as well be on Mars given how often he visits.

Seeing her alone, had to help her: groceries, doctors appointments, etc. But here’s the scoop: I had to leave for two weeks because my mom was in the hospital. Then out of nowhere I get this call from Steve who never bothers to call me btw. He’s all angry because his mother’s milk is out.

Like, really? “Why haven’t you stocked up? Do it right or not at all! ” is he throwing me. I’m like ” Excuse me? Who do you think you are? “He doesn’t lift his little finger for her and has the nerve to interrupt me. He even throws a “You’re pathetic, you’re not doing much anyway” just to stir the knife in the wound. I hung up on the piss How dare he?

Debbie, who lives in a quiet neighborhood, grows close to her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, and begins to care for her. But when Deb’s mother has to have surgery, she has no choice but to go home and care for her mother… only to receive a horrible phone call from Mrs. Jenkins’ son Steve, accusing her of not doing enough.

Look, I didn’t want to get back at anyone, especially not for being nice to an elderly neighbor.

I live in a quiet neighborhood and my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Jenkins, is an 82-year-old widow. She is frail, lonely, and, honestly, sad. It’s like she’s been forgotten by her own family. Her only son, Steve, lives only 20 minutes away but rarely visits.

Every time I saw her on the porch, she seemed so lost, staring into space. My heart was touched by her, so I started helping her where I could.

For over a year now, I’ve been running small errands. Groceries, appointments, clearing her driveway of leaves in the fall and snow in the winter.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Debbie,” she told me one morning after I dropped off her groceries, including fresh bread for her breakfast.

“I’m here for anything you need, Marlene,” I said.

Honestly, it wasn’t much, but it felt good to know I was helping her. Especially since her real family was so far away.

“Steve?” she said one day when I asked her how he was. “That kid means the world to me, but I know I don’t mean as much to my son. That’s okay. You’re here.” »

She always smiled like I was her favorite person.

This man, who barely knew his mother’s daily routine, had the audacity to accuse me of not doing enough.

But things took a dark turn when I had to leave town for a few weeks. I couldn’t help it, my mother was in the hospital after being diagnosed with fibroids and cysts that needed to be removed.

I had to be there with her. There was no way I could do otherwise.

“I’m coming, Mom,” I said. “Don’t worry about a thing.”

“But, Deb,” my mother whined. “I don’t want to disrupt your routine. Dad’s here, I’ll be fine with him.”

“Mom, I work from home. I can work from anywhere,” I said sternly. “And besides, Dad’s idea of ​​taking care of someone is to make chicken noodle soup. That’s about it. You’re going to have invasive surgery. You need me.”

Before we left, I stocked up on groceries at Mrs. Jenkins’, made sure she had everything she needed, and asked our neighbor Karen to check in on her every now and then.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Marlene,” I said. “Don’t worry about a thing. And I asked little Josh to come check your mail. He knows that if there’s anything in your mailbox, he’s supposed to bring it right to you.”

“Thanks, honey,” she said. “You’re so good to me.”

I thought I had covered all my bases.

Ten days after I moved in with my parents, my phone rang while I was making dinner. I didn’t recognize the number, but I picked it up anyway.

“Debbie?” the voice called when I answered. “Are you the neighbor who’s supposed to be looking after my mother?”

It was Steve. Mrs. Jenkins’ son. The man who almost never came to see his own mother.

For a second, I felt nervous, hoping nothing had happened to her.

“I just got a call from my mother,” he continued, not even allowing me to speak. “She was out of milk. And you’re out of town? Why didn’t you make sure she had enough before you left?”

I was completely stunned. This man, who barely knew his mother’s daily life, had the audacity to accuse me of not doing enough.

Me?

“Steve,” I said, trying to remain calm. “I’m out of town because my mother is in the hospital. That’s where I need to be. I stocked up on milk for your mother before I left. And I spoke to Karen, our neighbor, to see how she was.”

Instead of apologizing or offering to help like any normal person, he snapped back.

“Well, that’s just not good enough, Debbie. If you’re going to take care of my mother, then you have to do it right!” I can’t run around getting her stuff every time you make a mistake.”

I almost screamed. The audacity of this man was astounding.

How could he accuse me of making mistakes when I did everything for her? Especially while he sat there doing nothing!

I took a deep breath.

“Steve, she’s your mother. You can’t expect me to do everything for her when you’re here and doing nothing! Maybe you should help her out for once.”

His response was just sad.

“You’re pathetic,” he said. “You don’t even do much for her.”

Before I could retaliate, I simply disconnected the call. I didn’t want to say something worse, and I also didn’t want to risk it getting back to Marlene and upsetting her.

Later, as I sat with my mother in her hospital room, I couldn’t help but replay that conversation. When I got home, I knew exactly what I had to do.

“Go home, honey,” my mother said when I told her about Steve’s phone call. “I’m doing great and making great progress. The doctor is really pleased with me. I told you, Dad and I are going to be fine!”

I really didn’t want to leave, but I missed my own home. And I missed working in my own space, too. So I left a few days later.

When I got home, the first thing I did was check on Mrs. Jenkins. Luckily, she was fine. It turned out that Karen had taken care of the milk situation, and Mrs. Jenkins had no idea of ​​the chaos Steve had wreaked.

“What? Really? He said that?” ” she exclaimed, shocked.

Steve had to step in. He wasn’t happy. Not at all.

I was glad Steve hadn’t told her stories about me, but I wasn’t going to let him get away with it.

The next day, I gently told Mrs. Jenkins that I couldn’t help her as much anymore.

“I have other commitments, Marlene,” I said sadly. “I also have to watch my mother more often. She’s going to need me in the next few weeks.”

She looked disappointed, but she reassured me that she understood.

A few weeks went by and Steve had no choice but to step in. Naturally, he wasn’t happy. Sometimes, while I was working from my living room, I would see him arrive at his mother’s house. He always looked irritated, as if running an errand for his mother was the greatest burden anyone could impose on him.

When I visited Mrs. Jenkins, she smiled at me and told me she relied more on Steve.

“I call him for everything,” she said. “Milk, teabags, even help with the gutters.”

One afternoon, Mrs. Jenkins asked me to help her sort through some old papers. That’s when we came across her will.

Naturally, Steve was listed as the sole beneficiary.

“It’s a shame Steve can’t spend more time with you,” I said casually. “You know, with work and all.”