THINK I OVERREACTED? … — Who even needs you, you old hag? You’re just a burden to everyone. Shuffling around, stinking up the place. If it were up to me, I’d get rid of you… But I have to put up with you. I hate you! Polly nearly choked on her tea. She’d just been chatting to her gran, Grace, over a video call. Grace had popped out for a minute. “Hang on, love, I’ll be right back,” she’d said, creaking out of her armchair and into the hallway. Her phone was left on the table, camera and mic still on. Polly, meanwhile, was busy on her computer. And then… it happened. An angry voice, echoing from the hallway. Polly thought she misheard—until she glimpsed the phone. Judging by the sound of the door, someone had entered the room. Strange hands appeared on-screen, then a side profile and a face… It was Olivia. Her brother’s wife. Yup, that was definitely her voice. Olivia marched up to Gran’s bed and lifted the pillow, then the mattress, rummaging underneath. “She just sits here, slurping her tea… If only she’d hurry up and die already, honestly. What’s the point of dragging it out? Useless, taking up space and sucking in air…” the sister-in-law grumbled. Polly froze. For a few seconds, she forgot to breathe. Soon, Olivia left, never noticing the camera. A few minutes later, Grace came back. She smiled, but the smile never reached her eyes. “There we go, I’m back! By the way, I never asked—how’s work, darling? All okay?” Gran asked, acting as if nothing had happened. Polly nodded stiffly, still reeling from what she’d heard—her every instinct screaming to storm over and throw that nasty woman out right now. Grace had always seemed like a formidable lady to Polly. Never raised her voice, just had that teacher’s firmness refined over decades in classrooms, talking to kids and parents alike. She’d taught English Literature for forty years. The children adored her—she made the classics come alive. When Granddad died, she didn’t crumble, but her perfect posture sagged a bit. She went out less, got ill more often. Her smile wasn’t as wide. And yet, Grace’s spark remained. She always believed every age had its silver lining, and enjoyed life even now. Polly loved her gran for making her feel safe. With Gran, nothing ever seemed hopeless: she’d solve any problem. Once, Grace sold her holiday cottage to help her grandson with uni fees, and gave Polly her last savings towards a mortgage. When Polly’s brother Greg and Olivia, after their wedding, moaned about the cost of renting, Gran offered up her spare rooms herself. “It’s a three-bed, plenty of space, and you’ll be around if my blood pressure goes up or my sugar dips.” “I get lonely, anyway. And you young ones might as well have a hand,” she said cheerily. Greg was supposed to look after Gran, while Polly helped with groceries, meds, and bills. She had a decent salary, and her conscience wouldn’t let her ignore Gran’s needs. Sometimes she gave cash, sometimes bank transfers, sometimes brought food instead, knowing how Gran liked to squirrel money away “for a rainy day.” Polly bought her fish, meat, milk, fruit—everything needed for a proper diet. “It’s your health, Gran. Especially with your diabetes,” Polly would remind her. Gran always thanked her, looking away as if embarrassed to be “bothering” anybody. From day one, Polly had found Olivia slippery—overly sweet words, fake politeness, but cold, hard eyes. Always sizing people up, never a hint of warmth or respect. But Polly didn’t meddle—it wasn’t her place. She just checked in, “Everything all right, Gran?” “All’s well here, love,” Grace would assure her. “Olivia cooks, keeps the house tidy. She’s young, there’s a learning curve, but she’ll get there.” Now Polly realised it was all a lie. On the surface, Olivia was a meek little lamb—but when no one was looking… “Gran, I heard all of it… What on earth was that about?” Grace froze for a moment, then looked away. “Oh, it was nothing, love,” Gran sighed. “Olivia’s just under stress, what with Greg away on shifts all the time. She gets snappy.” Polly squinted, suddenly seeing her gran as if for the first time—every new wrinkle jumping out at her, the brightness gone from Grace’s eyes. The same quiet stubbornness remained… but now, she also saw something different. Fear. “Snappy? Gran, did you actually hear what she said to you? That wasn’t just a snap. That was—” “Polly…” Grace cut her off. “I can cope, really. So she got cross—she’s young, hot-tempered. And she’s right, I am old. I don’t need much.” “Right. Gran. Please don’t treat me like a fool,” Polly snapped. “Either you tell me everything, or I’m getting in the car and coming straight over. Your choice.” Gran fell silent for several seconds, then dropped her shoulders, adjusted her glasses, her mask finally cracking. Polly was suddenly looking at a tired, frightened old lady, not the indomitable woman she’d always known. “I didn’t want to say anything,” Gran started. “You’re always so busy—why bother you with this mess? I thought it might all blow over…” It turned out Olivia’s reign of terror had gone on far longer—and been much nastier—than Polly could ever have guessed. The young couple had moved in with huge suitcases and grand plans to save for a mortgage in just six months. Gran had actually been delighted at first: laughter and footfalls filled the flat again, chats and even baking sessions in the kitchen. For a while, Olivia made an effort—baking treats, making tea for Gran, even taking her to the GP a couple of times. But after Greg left for shift work, everything changed overnight. “At first she was just irritable,” Grace told Polly. “I figured it was missing Greg. Then she started taking the food for herself—said you always brought too much anyway. Said she needed it more, being young and planning a baby. And I suppose I do need to lose a bit of weight…” Turned out, Olivia had borrowed cash from Gran—money Polly had given for medicines—and used it to buy herself a fridge, which she locked up in her room. All the nice food Polly brought ended up there. The money was never returned. Instead, Olivia began ransacking Gran’s stashes, taking even more. “She even took the telly. Said it’d ruin my eyesight,” Gran wiped away tears. “And she keeps switching off the internet. I need that for calls, for reading the news, finding recipes… Feels like prison sometimes.” “What about Greg? Did you tell him?” Polly asked. Grace shook her head. “She threatened that if I told, she’d say I was to blame for losing the baby—that I stressed her out. I don’t even know if she was ever pregnant. But she said everyone would pity her, and blame me.” Polly was boiling inside. She wanted to scream, to curse Olivia, but instead she said quietly, “Gran, no one has the right to treat you like this. No one. Not the young, not the old, not family, not strangers.” Gran broke down in tears. Polly comforted her, knowing this was it: the time for action had come. Half an hour later, Polly was in the car with her husband, heading to Grace’s. On the way she filled him in—he was stunned, but he knew her well enough not to doubt her word. Gran answered the door right away, fiddling nervously with a scrap of cloth, avoiding their eyes. “Oh, you should have phoned! I’d have put the kettle on…” “We’re not here for tea, Gran,” Polly replied evenly. “We’re here to sort this out. Where’s Olivia?” “She’s out somewhere. I don’t get told…” Grace shrugged. “Anyway, come in.” Grace stood aside and Polly made straight for the kitchen. The fridge was practically empty: a couple of cartons of sour milk, some eggs, and a jar of cucumbers growing mould. The freezer held nothing but ice. She turned to her husband, who nodded. They acted fast. Olivia’s room was locked—but the lock was cheap, easily popped with a screwdriver. Sure enough, Olivia’s fridge was inside, packed with the yogurts Polly had delivered days earlier—plus cheese, homemade sausages, even cucumbers and tomatoes. Polly seethed, but held it together. With her husband, she retreated to Gran’s room: time for a stakeout. Olivia got back half an hour later. “WHO’S BEEN IN MY ROOM?!” she screeched, clenching her fists. Polly stepped out, calm but cold. “Me.” Olivia fell silent, eyes darting. After a beat, she tried her usual nastiness. “Who do you think you are, barging into my room?” Polly strode up, towering above her shorter sister-in-law. “I’m the granddaughter of this house’s owner. And you? You’ve got ten minutes to pack, or I’ll be tossing your stuff out the window. Understood?” “I’m telling Greg!” Olivia shrilled. “Tell whoever you want! Greg’s not here. And if I have to, I’ll drag you out by your hair myself.” Olivia sneered but dashed to her room, shoving clothes into bags, swearing at Polly, who only watched with stony calm. Gran stood in the hallway, dabbing her eyes. “Polly…was that really necessary? The neighbours will hear, it’ll be a scandal…” Polly finally softened, coming over to wrap Gran in a hug. “It’s not a scandal, Gran. We’re just taking out the rubbish.” They stayed the night, filling Gran’s fridge and medicine cabinet the next day. As they left, Gran was in tears—Polly hoped not from guilt or fear of being alone. She firmly ordered Gran never to let Olivia back in, no matter what. That same day Greg called, bellowing down the phone. “Are you insane?! Olivia’s in tears! Where’s she supposed to live now? You think you can do whatever you like just ‘cause you’ve got money?” Polly hung up. Later, she sent a voice note: “You might want to get your facts straight first. Your precious Olivia was starving Gran and nicking her food—don’t forget Gran once gave you her last penny. If I see either of you near her again, you’ll regret it.” Greg said nothing more, and Polly didn’t care. Olivia moved in with a friend, posting self-pitying status updates about her “toxic in-laws.” Greg hit the like button. Polly heard nothing else from them. Grace’s flat became cosy and peaceful, if quieter. Within weeks, she asked Polly to show her how to watch TV shows on her smartphone. They started with “Pride and Prejudice,” moved on to comedies—sometimes watching together. “Oh, I’ve not laughed this much in ages,” Gran said one day. “My cheeks ache—from all the giggling!” Polly just smiled. For once, she felt true peace. Once, Gran had protected Polly; now, it was Polly’s turn to protect her Gran.

WHAT DOES IT MATTER, SHE JUST LOST HER TEMPER

Who do you even think wants you, you old bat? You’re just a burden to everyone. You just shuffle around, stinking the place up. If it were up to me, Id have you gone. But I have to put up with it, dont I. I cant stand you!

I nearly choked on my tea. Only a moment before, Id been chatting to my grandmother, Dorothy Evans, over video call. Shed left the room for a minute.

Hold on, sweetheart, Ill just be a sec, she had said as she slowly lifted herself out of her armchair, groaning a little, and shuffled into the hall.

She left her phone on the table, camera and mic still on. I switched my attention to my laptop screen. Then it happened. A voice echoed from the hallway.

At first, I thought I was imagining things. Maybe I would have carried on believing that, but then I glanced over at the phone. Judging by the sound of the door, someone had entered the room. Strangers hands appeared onscreen, then a side, then a face.

It was Emma. My brothers wife. Same voice, too.

She wandered over to Grans bed, lifted a pillow, then fumbled under the mattress.

Sitting there, sipping her tea Wish shed just drop dead already, honestly. Whats the point of dragging it out? Youre no use, just taking up space and wasting air, Emma groaned.

I froze. For a couple of seconds, I forgot to breathe.

Emma left soon after, still oblivious to the live camera. A few minutes later, my gran returned. She smiled, but the smile didnt reach her eyes.

Here I am. By the way, have I asked lately? Hows work? All going well? she asked, as if nothing were amiss.

I nodded briskly, still trying to process what Id just overheard. Every bone in my body was telling me to storm over there and boot that foul woman straight out the door. Right this second.

Dorothy had always seemed unbreakable. She never raised her voice. She just embodied that no-nonsense, schoolteacher discipline, polished over decades of corralling kids and parents alike in English literature classrooms.

Shed been a teacher for forty years. Children adored her; Dorothy could take the driest of texts and make it come alive.

When my granddad passed away, she didnt crumble. Well, her once perfect posture faded into a gentle stoop, she stopped going out so much, and started catching more colds. Her smile wasnt as wide. But despite it all, her spirit stuck stubbornly around. She claimed every age was beautiful, and she found joy even now.

Id always cherished her for that. With her, nothing seemed scary. She could handle anything. At one point, Dorothy gave my cousin the familys old cottage so he could pay for university, and handed me her last savings so I could put down a deposit on my flat.

After my brother, Henry, complained about sky-high rent following his wedding, it was Gran who offered them a room in her place. Three bedrooms enough for everyone and, well, she said, someone should keep an eye on her. What if her blood pressure spiked or she struggled with her diabetes?

I get lonely on my own, anyway. And the young ones could use a hand, she said cheerfully.

Henry was to keep an eye on her, and meanwhile I did my part by bringing groceries, picking up prescriptions, and even covering her council tax now and then. My salary allowed it, and my conscience wouldnt let me do otherwise. Sometimes I gave cash, sometimes a bank transfer, and sometimes, knowing her habit of saving for a rainy day, Id just bring fresh food: fish, meat, milk, fruit, you name it anything to make sure she was eating properly.

Its for your health, especially with your diabetes, Id tell her.

Shed thank me, but look away, awkward about being a burden.

From the start, Emma struck me as sly. Always sweet, polite chat, but her eyes were cold, always assessing. No warmth, no respect. Still, I kept out of it not my marriage. I only asked Gran sometimes, was everything alright at home?

All fine, love, Dorothy would assure me. Emma cooks, keeps the place tidy. Shes young, mind you, but everyone has to learn.

Now it was clear: a lie. In public, Emma was all meek smiles, but out of sight

Gran, I heard it all What was that just now?

Gran froze, as if uncertain shed understood, then looked away.

Oh, nothing, darling, Dorothy sighed. Emmas just tired. Theyve had a rough patch, what with Henry always away for work. She gets snappy.

I squinted at Gran. Suddenly she looked older, new wrinkles etching her face. The spark in her eyes had faded, but stubbornness remained. There was something else now, too. Fear.

Snappy? Gran, did you even hear what she said? Thats not just being snappy. Thats

Darling she interrupted softly. I can put up with it. Shes young, hot-tempered. And I am old. I dont need much.

Gran. Dont play me for a fool, I couldnt take it anymore. Either you tell me the truth, or Im getting in the car and coming over right now. You choose.

She paused. Then she exhaled heavily, pushed her glasses up, and her shoulders drooped. The image of the ever-strong matriarch shattered. There sat a small, frightened old lady.

I didnt want to say anything. Youre so busy with work, your own worries. Why would I bother you with my troubles? I hoped it would sort itself

It turned out Emmas story went far deeper and was nastier than Id thought.

Theyd landed on Dorothys doorstep, massive suitcases in tow and grand plans to save for a mortgage in six months. At first Gran was thrilled. The flat had come alive again: footsteps in the morning, someone always cooking, laughter and chatter, even if a bit forced. Emma made an effort, baking scones, brewing Gran tea, even taking her for doctor appointments once or twice.

But when Henry left for his shift work, everything changed.

At first, she was just irritable, Gran recalled. I thought it was because Henry was away. Then she started taking my groceries, said you always bought too much. Insisted she needed it more shes younger, she might have a baby. And me? I suppose I could do with losing a few pounds.

Emma borrowed money from Gran, who handed over the cash Id given her for medicine. Emma bought herself a fridge, put it in their bedroom, and locked the door. All the tasty things Id brought would end up in there.

Nobody paid Gran back, not a penny. In fact, Emma started searching for and taking whatever savings Gran had squirreled away.

She took the television. Claimed it was bad for my eyesight, Dorothy sighed, wiping away tears. She even cuts off the internet sometimes. But I need it people call me, I read the news, I look up recipes. Some days I feel like a prisoner.

Did you tell Henry? I asked softly.

She shook her head.

Emma said if I told anyone, shed accuse me of stressing her so much she lost the baby. Im not even sure she was ever pregnant. But she said people would feel sorry for her, and hate me.

I was speechless. I wanted to scream, curse Emmas name, but instead managed,

Gran, nobody, and I mean nobody, has a right to treat you like that. Not family, not strangers, not anyone.

She broke down into sobs. I soothed her as best I could, but I knew: this had to stop. There was a storm coming.

Half an hour later, my wife and I were in the car on the way to see Dorothy. Id filled her in on the way, and although she could hardly believe it, she never doubted me.

Gran opened up instantly, wringing a bit of cloth in her hands and avoiding my gaze.

Oh, you should have called! Id have put the kettle on

Not here for tea, Gran, I said, managing an even tone. Were here for justice. Wheres Emma?

Out somewhere. Im not her keeper Well, come on in.

Dorothy stepped aside to let us through. My first stop was the kitchen. The fridge was practically empty a couple of out-of-date milk cartons, some eggs, and a jar of pickled onions sprouting mould. The freezer held nothing but ice.

I gave my wife a look. We moved quickly. Emma and Henrys room was locked, but the cheap lock was no match for a screwdriver.

Inside, sure enough, was a fridge stocked with the yogurts Id only just brought Gran days before. Cheese, home-made sausages, even fresh tomatoes and cucumbers.

I wanted to explode with rage, but forced myself to keep calm. Alongside my wife, I retreated to Grans bedroom to wait.

Emma came home half an hour later.

Who touched my door?! she screeched, fists clenching.

At that, I stepped out from behind the door.

I did.

Emma faltered, her eyes darting about. After a moment, she raised her chin and tried to bluster.

Who are you to go snooping in my room?

I walked right up to her, looking down into her eyes she was several inches shorter than me.

Im the granddaughter of this houses owner. Who are you? I glanced at my watch. You have ten minutes to pack and leave. Or well be tossing your stuff from the window. Got it?

Ill tell Henry!

Go ahead, tell anyone you like. Henrys not here. And if I need to, Ill drag you out by your hair.

Emma snorted, but rushed off to stuff her things hurriedly into a bag. She cussed me out, made snide remarks, but I just stood there, stone-faced.

Gran was in tears in the hallway.

Oh darling, why all this the neighbours will hear

Only then did I budge, going over to wrap my arms around her.

This isnt a scandal, Gran. Were just taking out the rubbish.

We stayed the night, then filled her fridge with food, and her medicine cupboard with every prescription she needed. As we left the next day, Dorothy started crying again I hoped it wasnt out of guilt or fear of loneliness. I told her firmly: do not let Emma back, no matter what.

That very evening, Henry called me, shouting so loudly I thought my phone screen would crack.

Are you mad? You left Emma in tears! Wheres she supposed to go now? Think you can do whatever you want just because youve got money?

I simply hung up. A couple of hours later, I sent a voice note:

Maybe you should get your facts straight. Your precious Emma was starving your own gran. Lets not forget Gran gave you everything she had when you needed it. If either of you set foot in her flat again, youll regret it.

Henry never replied. And that was for the best.

Emma shacked up with a friend for a while and spent her time posting dramatic statuses online about toxic family and two-faced people. Henry clicked like. I heard nothing more from either of them.

Grans flat became peaceful. Quiet, but warm. Within a couple of weeks, she asked me to teach her how to watch dramas on her phone. She started with Dickens adaptions, then moved on to comedies. Sometimes we watched films together.

Oh, I havent laughed like that in ages, she beamed one night. My cheeks ache. Can you believe it?

I could only smile. My heart felt finally at rest. Once, Gran protected me from the world now, I returned the favour.

I learnt that sometimes you cant wait for things to sort themselves out. Standing up for those you love, even when its messy and hard, is always worth it.