Christ, she really lost it, didn’t she?
*”Who even wants you around, you old crow? You’re just a burden, stinking up the place. If it were up to me, I’d— Ugh. Hate this.”*
Lily nearly choked on her tea. She’d just been on a video call with her grandmother, Margaret, who’d stepped away for a moment.
*”Hang on, love, be right back,”* Margaret had said, groaning as she pushed herself up from the armchair and shuffled into the hallway.
The phone stayed on the table—camera and mic still on. Lily had switched to her computer screen, and then… it happened. A voice, drifting in from the hallway.
At first, Lily thought she’d imagined it. But then she glanced at the phone. Someone had come back into the room—door creaking, unfamiliar hands coming into view, then a hip, then a face.
Olivia. Her brother’s wife. That voice was definitely hers.
The woman walked over to Margaret’s bed, lifted the pillow, then the mattress, shoving her hand underneath.
*”Sat there sipping tea… Wouldn’t it be easier if she just kicked it already? Dragging it out like this. Useless old bat, taking up space…”*
Lily froze. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
Olivia left without noticing the camera. Minutes later, Margaret returned, smiling—but it didn’t reach her eyes.
*”There we are. Oh, I never asked—how’s work, darling? Everything alright?”*
Lily nodded stiffly, still processing what she’d heard while every fibre of her screamed to march over and throw that smug cow out on the spot.
Margaret had always seemed invincible. Not loud, not harsh—just that quiet, unshakable sternness honed from decades as a schoolteacher. Forty years teaching English lit. Kids adored her—she could even make Shakespeare interesting.
When Grandpa passed, she didn’t break, but her perfect posture sagged. She went out less. Smiled less. Still, she kept her chin up: *”Every age has its joys,”* she’d say, determined to enjoy life.
Lily loved her for being safe harbour. No problem was too big—Grandma would sort it. She’d given her savings to help Lily with a mortgage, the cottage to her grandson, Jack, for uni.
When Jack and Olivia moaned about rent, Margaret offered them a room. *”Plenty of space, and company’s nice. What if my blood sugar spikes?”*
Lily helped with shopping, meds, even bills—her conscience wouldn’t let her do otherwise. She’d bring groceries: fish, meat, fruit—anything to keep her grandmother fed.
*”Your health matters. Especially with your diabetes.”*
Margaret would thank her but look away, almost embarrassed to be a *”bother.”*
Olivia had always rubbed Lily the wrong way. Sickly-sweet words, saccharine politeness, but eyes like ice. Judging. No warmth. Still, Lily stayed out of it—not her marriage. She’d just ask, *”Everything alright?”*
*”All fine, love,”* Margaret would say. *”Olivia cooks, keeps things tidy. Young, of course, but she’ll learn.”*
Now, Lily knew: a lie. Olivia played angel in public. But alone?
*”Gran… I heard everything. What the hell was that?”*
Margaret hesitated, then looked away.
*”Oh, it’s nothing, love. Olivia’s just tired. Jack’s away on contracts. She’s stressed.”*
Lily studied her like she was seeing her for the first time—every new wrinkle, the weariness in her eyes. The old spark was gone. The stubbornness remained, the exhaustion too. But something new lurked beneath. Fear.
*”Stressed?! Gran, did you even hear what she said? That’s not stress. That’s—”*
*”Lily…”* Margaret cut in. *”It’s fine. She’s young, hot-headed. I’m old. Don’t need much.”*
*”Right. Gran. Don’t take me for an idiot,”* Lily snapped. *”Either you tell me everything now, or I get in the car and drive over. Choose.”*
Silence. Then a heavy sigh, slumped shoulders, glasses adjusted. The façade cracked. This wasn’t the strong woman Lily knew—just a frightened old lady.
*”Didn’t want to worry you,”* she murmured. *”You’ve got enough on your plate.”*
Turns out, Olivia’s cruelty ran deeper. They’d arrived with grand plans to *”save for a house in six months.”* At first, Margaret was thrilled—life back in the flat! Footsteps, cooking, laughter (if forced). Olivia baked scones, made tea, even took Margaret to the GP.
Then Jack left for work.
*”First, she got snappy,”* Margaret said. *”Then… started taking the groceries. ‘Lily buys too much anyway. I need it more—got to think of the baby.’ Baby! No idea if she was even pregnant.”*
Olivia had wheedled money from Margaret—*Lily’s* money, meant for meds—and bought herself a mini-fridge. Locked her room. All the nice food Lily brought? Ended up there.
*”Took the telly. Said it’d ruin my eyes,”* Margaret whispered, wiping tears. *”Cuts the Wi-Fi sometimes. I’m stuck here… like a prisoner.”*
*”Did you tell Jack?”*
A shake of the head.
*”She said… she’d tell everyone I made her lose the baby. That I drove her to it. Everyone would pity her. Hate me.”*
Lily’s blood boiled.
*”Gran. No one gets to treat you like that. No one.”*
Margaret broke down. Lily soothed her, but inside, she knew—a storm was coming.
Half an hour later, she and her husband, James, were on the road. She filled him in. He was stunned—but knew better than to doubt her.
Margaret opened the door, twisting a dishcloth in her hands.
*”Oh! Should’ve called—I’d have put the kettle on…”*
*”Not here for tea, Gran,”* Lily said softly. *”We’re here to fix this. Where’s Olivia?”*
*”Out… Not that she tells me. Come in, then.”*
The fridge was nearly empty: off milk, eggs, mouldy pickles. Freezer just ice.
James nodded. They moved fast. Olivia’s locked room? Flimsy latch. One screwdriver later—
Bingo. The mini-fridge. Inside: yoghurts Lily had brought days ago, cheese, sausages, even fresh veg.
Lily seethed but kept cool. They waited in Margaret’s room.
Olivia stormed in half an hour later.
*”Who touched my door?!”*
Lily stepped out.
*”Me.”*
Olivia’s face dropped.
*”Who the hell do you think you are?”*
*”The granddaughter who owns this flat. Now—who are *you*?”* Lily loomed over her. *”Ten minutes. Pack. Or I toss your crap out the window.”*
*”Jack’ll hear about this!”*
*”Tell him! He’s not here. Try me—I’ll drag you out by your hair.”*
Olivia cursed but stuffed her bags. Margaret hovered, crying.
*”Lily… such a scene…”*
Lily hugged her tight.
*”Not a scene, Gran. Just taking out the trash.”*
They stayed the night. Next day, stocked the fridge, restocked the meds. Margaret cried as they left—Lily hoped not from guilt.
Jack rang later, screaming:
*”You mental?! Olivia’s in tears! Where’s she meant to go?!”*
Lily hung up. Sent a voice note:
*”Ask *her* why she starved Gran. Remember who gave you everything. Show up with that witch? I’ll skin you both.”*
Radio silence.
Olivia couch-surfed. Posted online about *”toxic in-laws.”* Jack liked them. Lily stopped caring.
Margaret’s flat felt peaceful. A fortnight later, she asked Lily to teach her streaming. Started with *”Sherlock,”* moved to comedies.
*”Haven’t laughed this hard in years,”* she admitted once, cheeks sore.
Lily just smiled.
Once, Gran had protected her.
Now, it was her turn.
