“We only wanted to help our neighbour, and in return, we got reported. Is this gratitude?!”
—A social worker showed up at our house recently,— says 35-year-old Emily. —Told us an anonymous complaint had been filed, claiming our children were neglected and we weren’t providing proper living conditions. He inspected the flat, checked the fridge, spoke to the kids… Everything was fine. Filled out some forms, asked us to sign them, and left. But I still don’t understand—who would do this, and why?
Emily and Oliver have been married for over a decade. They’re raising two children—an eight-year-old son and a five-year-old daughter. The family’s well-ordered, the children well-dressed, polite, doing well in school. Neither their teachers nor their nursery carers have raised any concerns. And when the parents asked, the kids said everything was fine. So, the complaint must’ve come from outside. But who?
The answer came by chance. A week later, Emily spotted Grace in the courtyard—the granddaughter of their elderly neighbour, Granny Rose. Emily remembered how, years ago, she and Grace had clashed the moment they met. They’d never gotten along, hadn’t spoken since. But now, it all made sense.
Emily and Oliver had always been close with Granny Rose. The old woman was delighted when the young couple moved in next door. She’d often drop by for tea, bringing homemade scones, or babysit little Charlie when Emily had errands to run. In return, Emily and Oliver would help with her shopping, fetch her prescriptions, even take her to their countryside cottage in summer.
When Granny Rose fell ill, Emily visited nearly every day—tidying up, cooking, checking on her. Yes, a social worker came by too, but he barely lifted a finger. It seemed Rose had no family: no calls, no visits, no one asking after her.
—In eight years, I never once heard about a daughter or granddaughter,— Emily recalls. —We did everything we could, but we had our own family to care for. At some point, it became too much. So, I suggested to Granny Rose that we try finding her relatives, just in case.
With a heavy heart, Rose gave her the details. Emily tracked down her daughter, Victoria, and granddaughter Grace on social media. She messaged them, pleading—your mum’s in a bad way, she needs you.
Granny Rose lit up: “Will they really come? I haven’t seen them in fifteen years…” The last time Victoria visited, Grace was only seven. They’d had a terrible row—Victoria wanted to sell her mother’s flat, but Rose refused. After that, the daughter cut all ties.
But to Emily’s shock, Victoria turned up the very next day. With Grace. And then, the nightmare began.
Victoria stormed in, screaming that Emily and Oliver were only helping Rose to steal the flat. Accused them of poisoning the old woman to hurry along her death. Emily stood frozen, speechless. Oliver finally snapped—he defended his wife and told their “guests” to leave. But they weren’t done.
—We’ll make sure you rot in prison!— Grace shrieked. —You’re getting off easy! We’ll have you evicted, we’ll file complaints everywhere! You’ll pay for this, you frauds!
That’s when Emily realised who’d sent that report to social services. It was revenge.
—I only wanted to do something good,— Emily says. —Never crossed my mind that helping an old woman would blow up like this. We never wanted her flat. We just couldn’t leave Rose alone—she deserved kindness. If I’d known what her family was like, I’d never have looked for them.
Now, Emily avoids even mentioning that family. She carries on, tending to her children, trying to forget the ordeal. But the bitterness lingers.
—I won’t meddle in anyone else’s business again. No knocking on doors, no offers of help. Not because I’m scared—no. It just hurts. When you do something decent, and all you get back is filth. It hurts. And it stings.
