somebody

The lives and times of the famous are recorded in every detail, yet there are countless lives that become nothing more than names and dates on a government census form. One such person is Henrietta Marie Triplevitz, my great grandmother. I have very limited information about her, passed down by family members long since gone. But I still find the brief knowledge of her story intriguing.
Henrietta was born in Belgium in the mid nineteenth century.
Sometime during adulthood she immigrated to the Isle of Wight where she married James Bond. I know nothing about Mr Bond, other than the namesake of a modern fictional counterpart, but I do know he fathered two boys with Henrietta and that he died young.
After James’s death, Henrietta settled in Hackney in London with my great grandfather, Robert Palmer, a publican and unlike his modern counterpart, he wasn’t addicted to love, he was addicted to alcohol.
When her mother died in Belgium, Henrietta bought a ticket to sail for the reading of the will. Having inherited a comfortable sum, Henrietta knew that Robert would squander the money, so she bought an ornate grand piano in Belgium and had it shipped home.
Back in London, Henrietta’s demise was quite sad. She’d collapsed in the streets of London and the nearest medical facility was the St Marylebone Workhouse where sadly, she died of a brain aneurism
The shortest story, with the smallest of information, if told right, can raise at least a modicum of interest.