**Diary Entry: A Grandmothers Heartbreak**
Granny Margaret walked briskly through the streets of a quiet town near Bath, her heels clicking softly against the pavement, just as they had in her youth when life felt like an endless melody. Today was specialshed finally become the owner of her own flat. A bright, cosy one-bedroom in a new building, something shed dreamt of for years. Nearly two years shed scrimped and saved, every penny tucked away. Selling the old cottage in Devon had covered half the cost; the rest came from her daughter, Clairethough Margaret swore shed repay her. At seventy, a widow, she could manage on half her pension. The youngClaire and her husbandneeded it more. Their lives were only just beginning.
In the school foyer, her granddaughter Emily waited, a bright-eyed eight-year-old with plaits bouncing as she ran into Margarets arms. They walked home together, chatting about nothing in particular. Emily was the light of Margarets life, her greatest treasure. Claire had had her late, nearly forty, and asked for her mothers help. Margaret hadnt wanted to leave the cottage where every corner held a memory, but for her daughter and granddaughter, shed given it all up. She moved closer, took care of Emilycollected her from school, stayed till her parents returned from work, then retreated to her little flat. The deed was in Claires namejust in case, they said. Old folks could be swindled, and life was unpredictable. Margaret hadnt objected. It was a formality, or so she thought.
“Gran,” Emily suddenly said, her wide eyes serious, “Mum says we have to put you in a care home.”
Margaret froze, as if icy water had been thrown over her.
“What home, love?” she asked, a chill creeping into her bones.
“You know, where old people live. Mum told Dad itd be niceyou wouldnt be lonely,” Emily whispered, each word striking like a hammer.
“But I dont want to go! Id rather take a holiday, rest somewhere nice,” Margaret replied, her voice trembling. Her head spun. She couldnt believe she was hearing this from a child.
“Gran, dont tell Mum I told you,” Emily murmured, pressing close. “I heard them talking last night. Mum said shed already arranged it with some lady, but theyll wait till Im a bit older.”
“I wont say a word, sweetheart,” Margaret promised, unlocking the flat. Her legs felt weak. “Im not feeling welljust need to lie down. You go change, alright?”
She collapsed onto the sofa, her heart pounding, vision blurring. Those words, spoken in a childs voice, had shattered her world. It was the truthterrible, unflinchingand a child wouldnt make that up.
Three months later, Margaret packed her things and returned to Devon. Now she rents a small place, saving for another cottage, something to call her own. Old friends and distant relatives keep her company, but inside, theres only emptiness and hurt.
Some tut and whisper behind her back”Shouldve talked to Claire, sorted it out.” But Margaret knows better.
“A child doesnt invent such things,” she says firmly, staring at nothing. “Claires silence speaks for itself. She never even called to ask why I left.”
Perhaps her daughter understood. But Margaret waits. Waits for a call, an explanationjust one word. Yet she wont dial the number herself. Pride and hurt chain her. She feels no guilt, but her heart breaks at the betrayal from those she loved most.
Every day she wondersis this all thats left of her love, her sacrifices? Is her old age doomed to loneliness and being forgotten?
**Lesson learned:** Blood may be thicker than water, but sometimes, it runs colder too.
