Margaret, 83, was fiercely independent and fed up with her family’s attempts to claim her possessions. When she disappeared without a trace, leaving only a cryptic note, her children were frantic. What they didn’t expect was her bold final move.
I’m Dorothy, 80, and Margaret was my best friend. For years, we were partners in harmless mischief. Margaret, sharp and sassy, lived modestly after her husband’s death. She never relied on anyone, especially her children, Lisa and David, who had their own plans for her property.
As Margaret’s health declined, I started helping with errands, and her children began visiting more often, but their motives were clear—they wanted her house. Margaret, fed up with their demands, had had enough.
One afternoon, after a heated argument about the colonial house, Margaret disappeared. A note left on my doorstep read, “Don’t worry, I’m safe. Keep an eye on the vultures for me.”
Weeks passed with no sign of Margaret. Then, a postcard arrived, showing snowcapped mountains with a message: “I’m finally breathing fresh air. Don’t tell the vultures.”
When Margaret returned months later, she was glowing, full of stories from her travels. Soon after, she passed away peacefully, a smile on her face.
At the will reading, her children expected her properties, but the lawyer revealed they’d been sold. In her letter, Margaret left everything to me with a message: “Live boldly.”
I boarded a plane to Paris, a photo album in hand, raising a glass in her honor. “This one’s for you, Margaret.”