When I finally found a love life, my daughter called me crazy and forbade me from seeing my granddaughter.
My whole life had been devoted to my daughter, and later—my granddaughter. But it seems my family forgot that I, too, have a right to happiness beyond them. I married young, at twenty-one. My husband, James, was quiet, steady, a real worker. One day, he was offered a short-term job—supposedly good pay, transporting goods to another part of the country.
He never came back. To this day, I don’t know what happened on that trip. One day, I just got a call saying James was gone. I was left alone with my two-year-old daughter, completely isolated. My in-laws had passed years before, and my own parents lived far away. I didn’t know how to survive, how to provide for my child.
At least James left us his flat—a small one-bedroom. Without it, I don’t know how we’d have managed. I was a teacher by training, and at first, I tried tutoring from home, but teaching students while a toddler ran around was nearly impossible.
I couldn’t take a full-time job because of little Emily. How could I leave a two-year-old alone all day? One day, my mother visited, saw my despair, and took Emily to live with her. For nearly two years, my daughter stayed with her grandparents while I worked nonstop—teaching at a school, taking odd jobs, private lessons.
Every weekend, I visited her. Each goodbye tore at me. Then came nursery school, and I was terrified she’d fall ill and I’d have to stay home. But luckily, she was strong, hardly ever sick. Eventually, it was just the two of us. Then school, then university.
I worked myself ragged so she could have the best trainers, skirts, blouses. Rarely did I have just one job—always two, sometimes three. But when Emily graduated and found work, I finally breathed easy. And yet, I was devastated—because suddenly, I was no longer needed.
I no longer had to scramble for extra work. My body was tired, and my only company was our old cat. Emily visited often, but spending her weekends keeping her lonely mother company clearly wasn’t a priority. I felt discarded. Everything changed when my granddaughter Sophie was born.
Months before her arrival, I moved in with Emily and her husband, Simon. Shopping, cleaning, hospital bags—it all fell to me. And once Emily returned to work, Sophie became my world. I didn’t mind—I felt useful again.
This year, Sophie started primary school. After class, I picked her up, fed her, helped with homework, took her to the park or after-school clubs. It was there that I met Peter. He was out with his granddaughter too. We got talking. Peter had lost his wife early, just like me, and now helped his daughter with her little girl.
I never expected anything when I met Peter. Not once after James had I been on a date, out for dinner. First, there was a child to raise, then work. After Sophie was born, I proudly called myself Granny. But did grandmothers have sweethearts? Apparently, they did. Peter reminded me I was still a woman.
His first text, asking to meet—just us, no grandchildren—shocked me. With him, a new life began. We went to the cinema, the theatre, festivals, exhibitions. I remembered what it was like to truly live.
But my daughter didn’t approve. It started with a call one Saturday morning:
“Mum, we’re coming by with Sophie. Can you watch her this weekend?”
“Sorry, love, but I’ve made plans. We’re out of town. Next time, let me know ahead—I’ll be happy to help.”
Emily scoffed and hung up. By Monday, Peter and I were back, and I was glowing. Even Sophie noticed the spark in my eyes. But by Friday, another call came:
“Friends invited us out. Can you take Sophie?”
“We agreed—you’d give me notice. I’ve already got plans.”
“Off gallivanting with Peter again? He’s addled your brain!” she snapped.
“Emily, what’s got into you?” I tried to calm her.
“You’ve forgotten all about Sophie! You used to say you didn’t need love. What changed?”
“Yes, it changed! I’m alive again. I wish you’d understand—woman to woman.”
“And how’s Sophie supposed to understand? You traded her for some bloke?”
“What nonsense! I’m still with her most days. Just… forget what you said.”
“I should apologise? You’ve lost it. Sophie won’t be staying with you anymore.”
Then she hung up. I crumpled, shaking with sobs. After a lifetime of sacrifice—I was tossed aside, just like that, for daring to be happy.
I hope Emily comes around. She’ll call. She’ll understand. Because I can’t imagine life without her, without Sophie… But I’ve learned one thing: love shouldn’t mean vanishing yourself. Sometimes, the hardest lesson is realising you deserve to be seen, too.
