Finally, I have a personal life—but my daughter thinks I’ve lost my mind and has forbidden me from seeing my granddaughter.
My whole life has revolved around my daughter. Then my granddaughter. I never complained, never asked for anything in return. But it seems they’ve both forgotten I’m not just a free nanny and housekeeper. I’m a woman—with feelings, desires, and the right to happiness.
I was twenty-one when I got married. My husband, Thomas, was a quiet, hardworking man. We didn’t have much, but we were content. When our daughter was two, he left on a job—driving a lorry to deliver goods. Did he return? No. He died. How? I was never told. Just like that, I was alone with little Emily in my arms.
His parents had already passed, and mine lived in another city. There was no one to help. The only lifeline was the home Thomas left us. I tried working from home—I’d been a teacher, so I tutored. But trust me, trying to teach while a toddler runs around screaming isn’t easy.
Eventually, my mother took Emily to live with her. For nearly two years, my daughter stayed with her grandparents while I worked myself ragged—teaching at school, tutoring in the evenings. Every weekend, I visited. Every time I left her, my heart shattered.
When Emily started nursery, I prayed she wouldn’t get sick because I couldn’t afford to stay home. Thankfully, she was tough. Then came school. Then university. I carried it all alone. Endless work to pay for her clothes, shoes, food, lessons.
When she graduated and got a job, I finally thought: it’s over. I’m free. Except freedom felt like loneliness. My parents were gone, I had no friends—just years of non-stop work. Even my cat became my only conversation.
Then Lily was born. I moved in with Emily months before the birth—helping with shopping, laundry, meals, packing the hospital bag. When she went back to work early, I took over completely.
I didn’t mind. If anything, it gave me new life. I felt needed again. When Lily started school, I picked her up after class. We had lunch, did homework, walked in the park. And on one of those walks, I met Henry.
He was a grandfather too, raising his own granddaughter. His story mirrored mine—widowed young, helping his daughter. We started talking. The conversations grew longer. Then he asked to meet… without the kids. For coffee.
Honestly? I was stunned. The last time anyone asked me out was thirty years ago. But I said yes. And just like that, joy came back. We went to films, exhibitions, took walks. I felt like a woman again.
But Emily didn’t understand. One morning, she called me:
“We want to visit friends. Can you take Lily for the weekend?”
“Sorry, love, but I’ll be away. You should’ve told me sooner.”
“Let me guess—with that Henry?” she hissed.
I was stunned. “Emily, what’s this tone? You know I’m always there for Lily. But I’m not a full-time nanny.”
“You’ve forgotten all about her! Just weeks ago you said you didn’t need a life, and now you’re running around with some man!”
“Yes, I am,” I said calmly. “Because I’m living. Because I’m happy. And I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“Happy?! You traded your granddaughter for some old bloke? Sort yourself out, Mum—you’ve lost the plot! You won’t see Lily until you come to your senses!”
I sat there, unable to believe it was my daughter speaking. I gave her my whole life. Sacrificed everything for her. Raised her alone. Supported her. Helped with her child. And now? I’m the “mad old woman” for daring to be happy?
I sobbed all evening. Didn’t tell Henry why. He just held me and said, “You have every right to live. To love. And be loved.”
But inside, my heart is heavy. I can’t imagine life without Emily. Without Lily. I’m terrified of losing them forever. I hope she cools down. I hope she understands—her mum hasn’t stopped being a grandmother. She’s just finally allowed herself to be a woman.
Haven’t I earned that much?
