Granny Anne sat on a bench outside the quaint old house where she had spent her entire life. Now it belonged to strangers, and she lived there at their mercy. How it had come to this, Anne couldn’t comprehend. She believed she had lived a virtuous life, never wished ill upon anyone, and had raised her only son.
But her son hadn’t turned out as she’d hoped. Granny sat, mulling over her life, breaking it down into fragments, as bitter tears streamed down her cheeks. Her memories began with her wedding to her beloved John. A year later, their son Paul was born. Later, she gave birth to twins—a boy and a girl—but they were frail and did not survive the week. Soon after, John died of appendicitis—doctors failed to recognize it in time, leading to peritonitis, and then it was too late. Anne mourned her husband deeply, but tears couldn’t change fate, and life marched on. Though she had suitors, she never remarried, fearing a stepfather might not be good for her son. She devoted herself entirely to raising and caring for Paul.
Paul grew up and chose his own path, moving to the city, away from his mother. He got a job there, married, and moved on with his life. Granny Anne stayed alone in the little house John had built right after they wed. She lived there until old age. Occasionally, Paul visited his aging mother to chop wood, carry water, and help out. But each year, it became harder for Anne to manage the household alone. She kept only a goat and some hens, but even they required attention.
One day, Paul arrived with a stranger.
“Hello, Mum,” Paul greeted her.
“Hello, Paul,” she replied.
“This is my friend, Eugene,” Paul introduced. “He wants to look at your house to buy it. And you shouldn’t be living here alone. You’ll come to the city with me.”
The news made Anne slump into her seat from shock.
“Don’t worry, Mum. My wife doesn’t mind. We’ll take care of you, keep you warm and well-fed, and you can help with the grandchildren. They keep asking when Granny Anne will visit.”
It was decided without Anne’s input. What could she do at her age? She could no longer manage the household, at least she could look after her grandkids.
And so Granny Anne’s house was sold quickly, without fuss. Before leaving, the elderly lady said a long goodbye to the house. She lingered in every nook that conjured memories of the past. In the garden, behind the barn, silence greeted her, tightening the grip on her heart. Not long ago, the cows had lowed, pigs had snorted, the goat had bleated, and hens clucked. Now there was emptiness.
On her way back from the garden, she took a handful of earth, the soil she had toiled over day and night. It was excruciating for Anne to say farewell to her roots, the village where she had been born and lived her whole life. Neighbors wept as they bid Anne goodbye, promising to pray for her well-being in her new life.
She took one last look at the house before getting into her son’s car. What choice did she have? Such is the harshness of old age…
Initially, living with her son was fine. There was little to do—no fireplace or livestock in the apartment, everything automated and at arm’s reach. Granny Anne played with the grandkids, watched TV. Soon, her son used the money from selling the house to buy a car. Anne tried to argue that spending so fast wasn’t wise, but Paul stopped her mid-sentence, making it clear that the topic was closed for her; she had everything she needed—a warm apartment and everything ready for her, and that should be enough! Hurt by his abrupt words, Anne dropped the subject, though a deep-seated resentment simmered within her. With the car’s purchase, her son’s and daughter-in-law’s attitude towards her changed, and the grandchildren weren’t as courteous or warm as before.
Family began to ignore Granny Anne. They didn’t seem to care whether she ate, rested well, or needed anything. It got worse: they wouldn’t even call her to meals and stopped speaking to her. They might snap at her or yell if she said or did something wrong.
Life became hard for Anne. Had she known she would become so unwanted, she would never have agreed to sell the house and move. Better to face cold and hunger in her own home than live like this, beside her own son in his luxury, feeling less welcome than a stranger.
Every day, Anne longed for her cottage. If it were possible to return, she would leave without hesitation. But the house was sold; strangers lived there now.
One day, unable to bear it, she said to her son,
“I never thought, Paul, that my old age would be so bitter, living in your home. It seems money meant more to you than your own mother. I’m leaving you, leaving you all…”
Paul looked down and said nothing. Only when Anne, with a small bundle, crossed the threshold did he call after her,
“If you find yourself struggling out there, Mum, you can come back.”
Anne closed the door quietly and let her tears flow on the landing. It hurt deeply that her son never tried to stop her, hug her, or offer comfort. The only words he could find were so hurtful, just to get rid of her.
Granny Anne took more than a day to return to her village. She slept at the station and hitched rides. Her eyes were constantly wet with tears. She only calmed down when she saw her old home. The new occupants had fixed it up, painted it, and it almost looked like it did when she first moved in with John.
Anne didn’t think about the house no longer being hers. She quietly made her way to the loft in the barn and decided to live there. The most important thing was being within familiar walls.
Her only fear was that the new owners would find her and kick her out, much like her own son had. Then she would truly have nowhere to go, except perhaps into the ground itself.
Anne didn’t hide in the barn for long. The very next morning, the owner came with pig feed. He looked up and said,
“Come down, Granny Anne, we need to talk.”
Surprised at being found out so soon, Anne didn’t know what to do. She had to talk to the owners, whatever happened. It was all in God’s hands.
Anne didn’t expect what the new owner said:
“Granny Anne,” addressed Eugene—the man Paul had once introduced to her—in a kind and calm voice. “My wife and I know about your situation. Your son called and warned us you might turn up. We also know you didn’t adjust to his family. After thinking it over, we’d like to offer you a place to stay with us, since your own son couldn’t find space for you. Living in a barn isn’t right, especially as this house was truly yours. You and your husband built it, cared for it over decades. There will always be a place for the original mistress of the house! For now, get warm, freshen up, and we’ll feed you. My wife makes amazing stew!”
Granny Anne hadn’t expected such kindness. Once again, tears flowed, this time in gratitude towards the new homeowners. Strangers showed more compassion and empathy than her own blood.
As she stepped across the threshold, Anne could barely hold herself up. Everything smelled of her life. She realized that because of her own son, she had become homeless in her own house. The heart of an old mother wept, and her lips silently prayed for God to spare Paul…
