The Presumption

It was a winter night. Johnathan was getting sick of tossing and turning in his bed, unable to fall asleep. His body temperature was on the higher side, the room was a little too chilly for his preference, he must have checked the heater a dozen times already.

An hour passed and then two, the sound of the ticking clock grew louder and so did the howling wind knocking on his window every once a while. He surrendered his wish to sleep and poured himself a cup of coffee, and sat on his desk facing the window. The steam from his cup rose up and touched his face, he observed the snow piling in the yard. It had been snowing relentlessly since evening, he could only imagine the horror people might be facing on the roads and was rather glad he wasn't outside.

As his health declined, he retreated to his cabin away from his family and had been enjoying his stay for over a month. His mind traced off to all the vacations he had spent there with his late wife Mary and their three kids– Mark, William and Rose, when they were young.

Remembering those good old times, the echoes of laughter that once filled the room, brought a smile on his face. He fondly caressed Mary's portrait resting on the desk. A lone tear escaped his eyes in her memory but it wasn't long before it disappeared.

The cup of coffee was now halved, John still lost in his thoughts as his eyes traced nothing but the snow in the dark night. For the first time in his whole life he was saddened by the thought of bidding goodbye to winter. Prior to that moment the thought of a season bidding farewell was connected to the thought of a new season settling in. It always brought a sense of hope to him but not on that night, not in that moment when he was struck by the realisation that his life was at its end and he might not live to see what lies beyond those cold days.

He gulped down the remaining of his bitter coffee and spread out the empty sheets of paper in front of him, with a pen in his hand, he was a determined warrior prepared to write what might turn out to be – the most important piece of paper he has ever written in his life. And thus, John forgot how sleepless the night was and tasked himself with writing his will before dawn.

The wind grew violent with the night, it was 3am, a storm was brewing in the distant skies as John sat with his third cup of coffee in his hands and the paper was still blank. He pondered hard and long about it but he couldn't, not for the piece of his mind, find a reason to distribute his assets to his children.

John was a hard-boiled businessman; he didn't need a lawyer to help him through the process. He knew what had to be done, it was something else that didn't sit right with him. Something that always bothered him but he never quite said it out loud all these years.

For most of his married life he spent his days in his office making money so his family had everything they needed. He never let them down or made them settle for less. Mary always disciplined their kids, so they wouldn't rely on their fortune, she raised them into decent human beings who would value people over money. And so they did, and so they did, but what was the underlying feeling that was eating up at John?

In Mary's last years, John noticed the slight ill behavior of their children towards her. She may have been bedridden but by no means did that give them the right to treat her badly. She couldn't control her illness after all. But he never gave it another thought at the time. Because whatever it was, Mary would have never wished for a feud in the family, not for the sake of justifying John's suspicions.

One doesn't stop to think about these things when life is moving at a high pace but when everything is at a standstill, the reality hits in the face. The things that could have changed, the things that could've panned out differently if actions were taken in due time.

Alas, what happened could not be changed, not anymore. But he could, however, make a difference with a mere sheet of paper. And with that mindset the first drop of ink pierced the blank paper.

John had already surrendered his business to Mark and Rose but he still held the reins. William was never interested in it, always so rebellious, he picked the path he wanted. And no, John didn't mind, he admired his efforts to make his own path. And like a good father he always had their backs.

Mark was the oldest son and Rose was the only sister to her two big brothers. All three of them were married with a single child. Mark and Rose were residing at the mansion, they had spent their entire childhood there. As far as John could tell, they weren't ever planning to move out.

For a moment, John wondered why William moved out after Mary's death. The mansion was huge enough to accommodate 15-20 people without suffocating anyone's personal space. Though it was always Mary who tied everyone together. And John couldn't care less at the time, for his loss was enormous. He knew he might have to face it one day but no one told him it would be so hard. No one understood his loss, he was all alone in the world. His beloved wife had abandoned him, if that wasn't cruel, he didn't know what else was.

Dragging his wandering mind back to the present, he went on to pen down a few words on the paper:

If I die, I want this to be read out aloud in the presence of all my family.

My dear children, I have grown old, my bones are weak and my body is fragile. I do not know how long I have to live, but I am delighted by the thought of being able to reunite with Mary. Dying is scary, the scariest thing I have ever faced in life is death, whether it's my own or of someone I once held dear. But when I remember Mary's smile everything falls in place. It was unfair of her to leave me alone, but nonetheless it won't be long before I crossover to her and complain about it. In the wake of this realisation, I, Johnathan Hughes, am writing this will with a conscious mind and after my death it shall be implemented without any dispute.

The wind was banging on the window now, dawn was getting closer. John grew restless by the sound of the incoming storm. He wanted to kick the heater because whatever it was doing it definitely wasn't helping him stay warm. He instantly discarded the idea of kicking after thinking about what it would do to his foot. Instead, he fetched a coat from the closet and poured another cup of coffee.

He never imagined himself as a coffee addict but on that night, it was his best friend. The aroma reminded him of Mary, ever so often she would be covered in the aroma of coffee beans. She was quite the collector, she knew of every variety that existed out there and had an entire storage room filled with nothing but coffee to prove the same. John wondered if anyone was cleaning the room in his absence, it was Mary's treasured space after all, he had personally seen to it that it was well managed after her death.

He thought about writing a straightforward will and pardoning his dear children of the pain. Wouldn't the loss of their father be enough to make a dent on their hearts? Why would he need to topple it with a twisted will? He questioned his intentions, was his sick mind somehow derailing him from a rational mindset? But those thoughts dissipated, never to be surfaced again when his eyes fell on his phone and he couldn't remember when was the last time any of them called to ask about his wellbeing. Certainly, no one is too busy to make a simple phone call to see if their sick old man is still breathing. And to think that it took him a month to notice something so simple, and Mary used to live with them 24/7, did they treat her the same way? Or were they even worse to her? He was filled with rage that died shortly after as the coat failed to warm him up.

Once again, he pledged to finish writing it before dawn – which was give or take an hour away – but this time without the self-doubt and so the ink flowed again:

I will start with the distribution of my properties —

The mansion should be donated to start an old age home which should be named after Mary.

I name William to be entirely entitled to the cabin. He may keep it or sell it however he deems fit.

The business run by Mark and Rose is to be dissolved entirely within three months, 30% of the proceedings to be distributed equally amongst them. 40% should be deposited in the bank that all my grandchildren would be equally entitled to claim 15 years later. The remaining should be donated to charities.

The three apartments in the south are to be transferred to Iris (Mark's wife), Robert (Rose's husband) and Anna (William’s wife), one to each, with the condition that for the next 20 years they cannot sell it or transfer the ownership and they cannot reside there unless their marriage is dissolved.

John stopped writing midway, using coffee as an excuse to catch his breath that was wearing him down, his hands shivered as he poured the cup.

The thought of his children sitting in a room reading this piece of paper caught up to him. He could imagine it all unfolding before his eyes.

William's disinterest for starters, he never cared for the money, but he would certainly be pleased to have the cabin, some very fond memories are tied to this place. Anna would be indifferent to it; family politics was never amongst the things of her interest.

Mark's frustration would be visible on his handsome face, his arrogance won't let him accept it so easily, he might try to weasel his way out of it. In fact, he wouldn't think twice before starting a war with his siblings if it meant he can keep it all for himself. His greed always undid every good thing about him. And Iris being his counterpart would break a few good windows after learning how little she was given and not to mention she would never get over the loss of the mansion.

Rose's obedience will compel her to put on her best smile and she would school everyone if need be, but only to wreck her room when no one's looking. She always thought she outdid her parents, but John's eyes never missed on all the mischievous achievements she bagged. And Robert might prepare to divorce her, for he only loved her money, her business and her fortune, never her; she was well aware of the fact before marrying him.

John didn't take another sip of his coffee, he couldn't, he wanted this to be over. He wanted to go back to his bed and sleep, he steadied his hand, picked up his pen and continued:

The cash in my bank account should be transferred to Mary's sister Emily. And the vacation house near the beach to her brother Tim.

Lastly, all my bonds and investments should be liquidated, 10% of which should go to Thomas, 5% to William and the rest should be distributed to charities.

I kindly ask Thomas Greene, our family lawyer and my dearest friend, to carry out my last wishes on my behalf, as I have penned them down in this letter.

—Johnathan Hughes

He let out a sigh of relief as he signed the paper and sealed it away. He was not happy, far from it. He was giving away a fortune which would help thousands of people in need, it was a good deed. But that wasn't what he was trying to do. He wasn’t trying to help, he was trying to punish his children. No, they were too old to be punished.

If their mother's death couldn't move them, he was certain his death wouldn't either. But that piece of paper lying right in front of his eyes would shake them up, it would kill them and hopefully they will remember what their mother always taught them – to love people not money, to have humanity not greed. But he could only imagine the hatred in their eyes.

Least of all, he was relieved that he had no relatives of his own, just the two siblings of Mary. John was an orphan and had seen some very bitter days in his childhood. For the same reason he wanted his children to have everything they wanted.

But at the end of his life, he was ready to snatch it all away. Why? Only to teach them a lesson? No, that wasn't it, he wanted to be remembered, he wanted his wife to be remembered. No one ever talked about her since her demise, no one spoke of her, not a single word. Where was the love she showered on them? Did they not miss their mother? Didn’t she mean anything to them? Would he mean nothing to them after his death?

Maybe. Maybe that would have been the case. But after what he had just sealed away, even if it was out of hatred, that piece of paper would never let them forget. He would be remembered for a long time to come. After all, it is only natural for children to think, to presume that they own everything their parents ever worked for. But there is always more to it than that.

It was past 6am, the storm refused to settle, the sun was hiding above the clouds that loomed over the town. John felt even colder than before, all the while staring at the roaring winds and the white snow that violently brushed against the window. The cold was slowly but surely pushing him into a deep slumber after a long sleepless night.

The End