**Diary Entry**
Elsie hurried across the schoolyard to collect her granddaughter after class. A cheerful smile lit her face, her heels clicking against the pavement just as they had in her youth, when her heart still trusted in kindness and gratitude. Her spirits were high—she’d finally bought her own place, a snug little flat in a new build. Bright, clean, with a pristine kitchen and a view of the park, it was everything she’d worked for.
It hadn’t been easy. For nearly two years, she’d lived frugally, saving every penny, selling the old cottage she and her late husband had built together. Her daughter had chipped in a bit, which Elsie had sworn to repay. The young couple had their own expenses, after all, and Elsie got by just fine on half her pension—especially now that she had a roof of her own.
Eight-year-old Emily, her joy, her reason for living, was waiting by the school gates. A late-in-life child for her daughter, born when she was nearly forty. Elsie hadn’t wanted to move to the city but relented when her daughter asked for help looking after the little girl. Every day, Elsie fetched Emily from school, took her to the park, fed her dinner, and waited until her parents returned from work before slipping back to her own flat. Officially, the flat was in her daughter’s name—just in case—but in Elsie’s heart, it was hers.
They were walking hand in hand when Emily suddenly stopped and looked up.
“Gran… Mummy said we have to put you in a care home.”
The words hit like a blow. The ground seemed to drop beneath her. Elsie froze.
“What did you say, love?” she asked, her voice tight.
“You know… one of those places where all the old people live. Mummy said you wouldn’t be lonely there.”
Elsie felt something inside her snap. She forced a smile, but her lips trembled.
“How do you know that?”
“I heard Mummy and Daddy talking in the kitchen. Mummy said she’d already sorted it with some lady. They won’t send you straight away, though—they’ll wait till I’m older. But you mustn’t tell her I told you… please?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Elsie said, struggling to unlock the door. “I… I think I need to lie down for a bit. You go get changed, alright?”
Emily dashed off to her room, and Elsie sank onto the sofa, still in her coat. The walls blurred before her eyes, Emily’s voice echoing in her ears: *a care home… you won’t be lonely… already sorted…*
Three months later, she packed her things. No arguments, no accusations. One evening, she simply locked the door of her flat—and never returned.
Now, Elsie lives in the countryside, renting a little cottage from an old friend. The air is fresher here, the people kinder. She’s saving for a place of her own, however modest. Friends and distant relatives support her—some with words, others with deeds. Though there are those who tut and say,
“Didn’t you think to talk to your daughter? What if the child made it up?”
“A child wouldn’t make up something like that,” Elsie replies firmly. “I know my daughter. Not a call, not a letter, not a word since I left. That tells me everything. And let her wonder why I never ring. I won’t. I did nothing wrong.”
**Personal lesson:** Betrayal cuts deepest when it comes from those you’d trust with your life. But dignity is worth more than walls, and peace is found where the heart is free.
