In the Haze of a Grandmother’s Devotion
— I only wanted to help my children, to hold my grandson. I knew they struggled, so I let my daughter-in-law work, — sighed Eleanor Whitmore with bitterness.
She was fifty-five, retired early due to illness. Her pension was meagre, but she scraped by. Her eldest son was long grown, while her younger daughter studied at university, juggling part-time work to lend a hand.
— My son’s been married six years. Right after the wedding, he and his wife took out a mortgage. I suggested a one-bed flat—something manageable—but they insisted on two. I couldn’t help; I was barely keeping afloat myself. His in-laws didn’t chip in either, tangled in their own troubles, — Eleanor confided, her home nestled in the quiet town of Pinehaven.
She knew her daughter-in-law, Charlotte, came from humble means. It didn’t bother her, but Charlotte’s family brought nothing but strife.
— Charlotte’s grandmother never held a job, yet raised five children. Lived off the land, kept livestock, but always in want. Only her mother, Margaret, clawed her way up. The rest? Downhill all the way, — Eleanor recalled.
The eldest son drank himself to death. The middle daughter sat in prison for theft. The youngest son had vanished without a trace. And Charlotte’s elder sister, Beatrice—seven years older—still leeched off their mother.
— Beatrice married some feckless bloke. No children. He’s in prison now—three years down, three to go. But she’s young, wants a life, — Eleanor explained.
While her husband was free, he’d racked up debts, now paid by Margaret, Charlotte’s mother. Beatrice herself had slunk back home, claiming disability benefits just to scrape by. She worked, but her wages barely covered rent and bread.
Margaret had begged Beatrice to divorce him, to shunt the debts onto his shoulders. But she refused—she’d follow him into the abyss, love-blinded. Then came the next blow:
— Our children were doing alright, or so I thought. Then Margaret drops it on me—she’s divorcing my son, — Eleanor’s voice trembled.
— I was stunned. Decades together, and this? Turned out her husband had left her for a younger woman with three kids, abandoning them all, — she muttered, shaking her head.
Soon after, Charlotte came pleading—money was tight, her husband, William, had lost his side job. A part-time position had opened, and she begged Eleanor to watch their son, Oliver.
— Who else would help? Margaret works, my daughter studies, the rest only care for themselves. I told Charlotte I was afraid I couldn’t manage—Oliver’s a whirlwind. But she burst into tears! — Eleanor sighed.
In the end, she agreed—but only at her own home. A ground-floor flat, a fenced garden for walks. The in-laws lived close; fetching Oliver wasn’t hard. Eleanor swallowed her painkillers and carried on.
Then Oliver fell ill, and Eleanor stayed at the children’s flat. Peering into the fridge, she gasped—bare as a wasteland. Just then, William rushed in to change.
— Charlotte’ll be back soon, ta! — he called.
— Where are you off to? — Eleanor frowned.
— Extra shift. Covering for someone.
— That’s when it struck me like lightning, — her voice quivered. — They’d all lied! Charlotte wasn’t working for the mortgage—she was paying off her sister’s debts! William slaved at two jobs, I wrecked my health minding Oliver, and my daughter-in-law was bailing out her wretched family!
Eleanor was livid. She confronted her son, but he defended Charlotte—claimed she did it for *their* family. How could she lie so brazenly?
She knew the row would sour things. Might even lose Oliver. But she wouldn’t swallow Charlotte’s deceit. Her heart ached, but the truth mattered more.
