“Grandma, Mum said that you need to be put in a care home.” I overheard my parents talking—no child could make something like that up.
Anna Walker was walking through the streets of a small town near Bath, heading to pick up her granddaughter from school. Her face was lit up with joy, and her heels clicked loudly on the pavement, reminiscent of her youth when life felt like a never-ending melody. Today was special—she’d finally become the owner of her own place. It was a bright, spacious studio apartment in a new building, something she had dreamed about for years. She had been saving every penny for nearly two years. Selling her old house in the countryside covered only half the cost; her daughter, Nina, contributed the rest, but Anna swore to repay her. At seventy, a widow, half of her pension sufficed for her, while the young—her daughter and son-in-law—needed the money more, as they had their whole lives ahead of them.
Her granddaughter, Katy, a second-grader with pigtails, was waiting for her in the school lobby. The girl ran to her grandmother, and they walked home together, chatting about trivial things. Eight-year-old Katy was the light of Anna’s life, her most treasured possession. Nina had her late, nearly at forty, and then asked for her mother’s help. Anna didn’t want to leave her beloved rural home, where every corner held memories of the past, but she sacrificed everything for her daughter and granddaughter. She moved closer, took on the responsibility for Katy—picking her up from school, staying until her parents returned from work, then retreating to her cozy little apartment. The property was in Nina’s name, just in case, as older people are easy to deceive and life is unpredictable. Anna saw it merely as a formality.
“Grandma,” Katy suddenly interrupted her thoughts, looking up with big eyes, “Mum said you need to go to a care home.”
Anna froze as if doused with ice water.
“To which home, dear?” she asked, feeling a chill down to her bones.
“Well, the place where old grannies and grandpas live. Mum said to Dad that you’d be happy there, wouldn’t get bored,” Katy whispered, but each word felt like a hammer blow.
“I don’t want to go there! I’d rather go to a resort and relax,” Anna replied, her voice trembling, mind swirling. She couldn’t believe she was hearing this from a child.
“Granny, please don’t tell Mum I told you,” Katy whispered, hugging her. “I overheard them talking at night. Mum said she’s arranged something with a lady, but they’ll take you later, once I’m a bit older.”
“I won’t tell, darling,” Anna promised, opening the apartment door. Her voice shook, legs wobbling. “I’m not feeling well, my head is spinning. I’ll lie down a bit, and you change, alright?”
She collapsed onto the sofa, feeling her heart pounding, vision blurring. Those words, spoken in a child’s voice, shattered her world into pieces. It was real—an awful, relentless truth, beyond a child’s imagination. Three months later, Anna packed her things and returned to the countryside. She now rents there, saving up for a new little house, seeking some semblance of stability. Old friends and distant relatives support her, yet inside, there’s an empty void and pain.
Some criticize her, whispering behind her back, “It’s her own fault; she should’ve talked to her daughter, sorted things out.” But Anna knows her truth.
“A child wouldn’t make that up,” she says firmly, staring into the distance. “Nina’s actions speak for themselves. She hasn’t even called, hasn’t asked why I left.”
It seems her daughter understood everything but remained silent. Anna waits. Waits for a call, an explanation, a word, but pride and hurt bind her like chains, keeping her from dialing. She feels no guilt but her heart breaks from the silence, from betrayal by those closest. And every day, she wonders: is this all that’s left of her love and sacrifices? Is her old age doomed to loneliness and oblivion?
