Celia bawled her eyes out and snot dripped down her nose . She’s never been one to sob softly into a handkerchief.

She had known that the end was close, but the news still hurt badly and tears swam in her eyes as she read the letter.

“Dear Celia, thank you for these years of love and care. For bringing warmth to the heart of an old lady. I’ve come to see you as the daughter I never had and would like to bequeath these items to you. Please accept them with all my love.”  Celia Oldham.

As usual, she had come for her visit at the hospice where she spent time keeping the old folks’ company; listening to their stories, reading to them and sneaking in an occasional toffee.

Over time the deceased became her favourite. Mrs. Oldham took to her when she learnt that they shared the same name and looked forward to the visits. She always took the pains to dress nicely in a frock, cardigan, pearl set and a gemstone ring that she wore on her third finger. Mrs. Oldham had no surviving family. Her sweetheart died during the war and she never remarried.

Inside the little box was a battered, old diary, the pearl set, the ring, a purple scarf, a bank draft for $200,000 raised in her name and the last book they had been reading – Jane Eyre.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

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Thank you, Jade for the photo and Priceless Joy for hosting this charming platform where we unleash our stories

Note: PJ please, I crave your indulgence for having overshot the word limit. I chopped and snipped the story here and there yet it refused to get shorter.