At last, I had a life of my own—but my daughter thought I’d lost my mind and forbade me from seeing my granddaughter.
All my life, I gave everything to my daughter. Then—to my granddaughter. I never complained, never asked for anything in return. But it seemed they’d both forgotten I wasn’t just a free nanny and housemaid. I was a woman—with feelings, desires, and the right to happiness.
I was twenty-one when I married. My husband, Thomas, was a quiet, hardworking man. We weren’t rich, but we had peace. When our daughter, Emily, was two, he left on a business trip—hauling goods in his lorry. Did he return? No. He was killed. How, I was never told. And there I was, alone with a little girl in my arms.
His parents had already passed, mine lived in another town. There was no help to be had. The only lifeline was the house Thomas left me. I tried working from home—private tutoring, since I was a teacher by training. But believe me, giving lessons while a fussy toddler ran around was no easy task.
Eventually, my mother took Emily in. For nearly two years, she lived with her grandparents while I ran myself ragged—teaching at school during the day, tutoring in the evenings. Every weekend, I made the trip to see her. And every time I had to leave, my heart shattered.
When Emily started nursery, I prayed she wouldn’t fall ill—I couldn’t afford to take days off. She was strong, thank heavens. Then came school. Then university. I carried it all alone. I worked from dawn till dusk just to afford decent clothes, shoes, food, and lessons for her.
When she graduated and found work, I felt it for the first time—this was it. I was free. Except ‘free’ meant ‘lonely.’ My parents were gone, I had no close friends, I’d been too busy surviving. Even the cat became my only conversation.
And then little Charlotte was born. I moved in with Emily months before the birth—helping with shopping, laundry, cooking, packing the hospital bag. Then I took full charge of the baby—Emily went back to work early.
But I didn’t complain. If anything, I bloomed. I felt needed again. When Charlotte started school, I collected her each afternoon. We had lunch, did homework, walked in the park. One day, on one of those walks, I met James.
He was a grandfather too, raising his granddaughter. His story mirrored mine—widowed young, supporting his daughter. We talked. And the talks grew longer. Then one day, he suggested meeting… just us. For coffee.
Honestly? I froze. The last time a man had asked me out was thirty years ago. But I said yes. And just like that, joy returned to my life. We went to the cinema, to exhibitions, on long walks. I felt like a woman again.
But my daughter didn’t understand. One morning, Emily called:
*”Mark and I are visiting friends this weekend. We’ll leave Charlotte with you, yeah?”*
*”I’m sorry, love, but I’ll be away. You should’ve told me sooner.”*
*”Oh, what—off with that James again?”* she hissed.
I was stunned. *”Emily, what’s this tone? You know I’m always there for Charlotte. But I’m not an on-call babysitter.”*
*”You’ve forgotten all about her! Not long ago, you swore you didn’t need a life—now you’re gallivanting about like some teenager!”*
*”Yes. Gallivanting,”* I said calmly. *”Because I’m alive. Because I’m happy. And I thought you’d be happy for me.”*
*”Happy?! You’re choosing some man over your own granddaughter! Get a grip, Mum—you’re losing it! Charlotte isn’t coming over again until you come to your senses!”*
I sat there, unable to believe these words came from my daughter. I’d given her my whole life. Sacrificed everything for her. Raised her alone. Supported her. Helped raise her child. And now—I was a “mad old woman” who’d “lost the plot” just because I dared want happiness?
I wept all evening. I didn’t tell James the details. He just held me and said, *”You have the right to live. To love. To be loved.”*
But inside, my heart clenched. I couldn’t imagine life without Emily. Without Charlotte. I was terrified I might lose them forever. I hoped my daughter would cool off. That she’d call. That she’d understand—her mother hadn’t stopped being a grandmother. She’d just remembered she was a woman, finally happy after so many empty years.
And didn’t I deserve that?…
