My granddaughter is fading right before my eyes. She’s starting to hate both her mother and her little sister. I’m terrified I’ll have to take her in myself, or this’ll end in tragedy.
I’ve always believed a mother should love her children equally—no favorites, no comparisons, no conditions. Childhood isn’t a competition for affection. Whenever I heard stories about parents pitting kids against each other, I’d think, “That’ll never happen to me.” But now, here I am, living inside one of those stories. Only it’s not someone else’s—it’s *my* family. My daughter. My granddaughter. My heartbreak.
Laura was always ambitious, demanding, proud. She wasn’t interested in ordinary blokes—only the “promising” ones, the ones with “prospects.” She ended up marrying James, a former athlete who opened a gym in Bristol. Me and my husband gave them a two-bed flat as a wedding gift and helped him land a decent job through our connections. Everything seemed perfect—stability, security, the whole lot.
A year later, Laura got pregnant, and we were all over the moon. The pregnancy was easy, and she gave birth to a healthy little girl—Emily, named after my mum. Laura was brilliant with her—breastfeeding, putting her to bed, taking her for walks. Emily was such a quiet, well-behaved baby, barely cried even when she was teething. Laura was the ideal mum. We were all so proud of her.
But six years later, everything changed.
Laura got pregnant again. Right from the start, it was rough—high blood pressure, sugar levels all over, migraines, morning sickness. She spent half the pregnancy in hospital. The birth was complicated—ended up being a C-section. Recovery took ages. And then little Sophie arrived—just as healthy as her big sister. But it’s like Laura became a different person.
For the first few months, me and James’s mum, Margaret, did what we could to help. I took Emily more often to give Laura time with the baby, while Margaret stayed at their place. We thought we were easing things, not interfering. But then one day, I overheard Laura snap at Emily:
“Get out of my sight! I’m sick of you!”
At first, I put it down to stress, exhaustion. But it only got worse. Laura acted like Emily wasn’t her daughter anymore—just a nuisance. She’d snap over the smallest things—her hair, the way she looked, even just asking a question. “Piss off,” “Stop bothering me,” “I don’t have time for you”—those words became Emily’s daily reality. Sometimes, she’d even mutter,
“If it weren’t for you, everything would be easier.”
And once, quiet but clear as day—
“Wish you’d never been born first…”
Emily’s only seven. At that age, kids are so fragile. She’s about to start primary school, and she needs support. But instead, she’s living in a house where only *one* child gets love—little Sophie, all chubby-cheeked and giggling. And Emily? Emily doesn’t smile anymore.
She stopped playing. Stopped drawing. Just sits by the window or hides in a corner with a book. But the worst part? The things she says to me that send chills down my spine—
“Gran, why did Sophie have to be born? Things were better without her. If she wasn’t here, Mum would love me again…”
I’ve tried talking to Laura. More than once. Gently at first, then firmer. Tried to make her see—this isn’t how you treat children. You can’t play favorites. Emily needs warmth too. But she brushes me off—
“She’s seven, she’s practically grown. She’s got everything. She doesn’t need me fussing over her or kissing her. The baby needs more attention.”
No! She doesn’t need *less*—if anything, she needs *more*, because she *feels* like she’s been tossed aside. James has tried stepping in. He adores both girls, but something in Laura’s just… broken. She won’t listen. Says everyone’s against her. That Emily’s “manipulating” us, that we’re all “coddling” her.
And my girl? She’s wasting away. Fading. And more and more, she says the same thing—
“Gran, can I come live with you?”
And y’know what? I think I’m ready to say yes. Because if we wait any longer, it might be too late. Because I can’t stand watching my granddaughter be crushed by her own mother’s indifference. If Laura doesn’t wake up—I’ll take Emily. Even if I have to go to court. Because growing up with this kind of pain? That’s a wound that never heals. And I want my Emily to have more than just memories of being unloved. I want her to know *real* love. The kind only a grandmother can give.
