“Grandma, mommy said you should go to a retirement home.” I overheard my parents’ conversation—no child would invent something like that.
Anna Perkins was walking through the streets of a small town near Bath to pick up her granddaughter from school. Her face was lit with joy, and her heels clicked on the pavement, reminiscent of her younger days when life seemed an endless melody. Today was special—she had finally become the owner of her own home. It was a bright, spacious one-bedroom flat in a new building, a dream she’d held onto for years. For nearly two years, she had been saving every penny. Selling her old cottage in the countryside only covered half the cost, while her daughter, Nina, provided the rest. But Anna Perkins had sworn to repay her. At seventy, a widow, she made do with half her pension, knowing her daughter and son-in-law needed the money more since their lives were still ahead of them.
At the school entrance, her granddaughter, Katie, a second-grader with pigtails, waited for her. The little girl ran to her grandmother, and they walked home together, chatting about trivial matters. Eight-year-old Katie was the light of Anna Perkins’s life, her most precious treasure. Nina had given birth to her late, nearly at forty, and then had asked her mother for help. Anna Perkins hadn’t wanted to leave her beloved country cottage, where every corner held memories of the past, but she sacrificed everything for her daughter and granddaughter. She moved closer and took over caring for Katie—picking her up from school, watching her until her parents returned from work, and then retreating to her cozy little flat. The property was in Nina’s name, just in case, since the elderly could easily be deceived and life was unpredictable. Anna Perkins didn’t mind; it was merely a formality, she thought.
“Grandma,” Katie suddenly interrupted her thoughts, looking at her with big eyes, “Mom said you need to go to a care home.”
Anna Perkins froze, as if doused with cold water.
“What home, darling?” she asked, feeling the chill reach her bones.
“You know, where old grandmas and grandpas live. Mom told Dad you’d be fine there, you won’t get bored,” Katie spoke softly, but every word hit like a hammer.
“I don’t want to go there! I’d rather go to a spa for a break,” Anna Perkins replied, her voice trembling, her mind spinning. She couldn’t believe she was hearing this from a child.
“Grandma, don’t tell Mom I told you,” Katie whispered, pressing close to her. “I overheard them talking at night. Mom said she’d arranged it with a lady, but they won’t take you away until I grow up a bit.”
“I won’t say a word, my dear,” promised Anna Perkins, as she opened the flat door. Her voice shook, and her legs felt weak. “I’m not feeling well, my head’s dizzy. I’ll lie down for a bit, and you change, alright?”
She collapsed onto the sofa, feeling her heart racing, her vision blurred. Those words, spoken in a child’s voice, tore her world apart. It was the truth—a harsh, relentless truth that a child couldn’t fabricate. Three months later, Anna Perkins packed her things and returned to the village. Now she rents a place there, saving for a new little home, trying to find some footing. Her old friends and distant relatives offer their support, but inside, there’s emptiness and pain.
Some people judge her, whispering behind her back: “It’s her own fault; she should’ve talked to her daughter, found out everything.” But Anna Perkins knows her truth.
“A child wouldn’t make that up,” she says with determination, staring into the distance. “Nina’s actions speak for themselves. She hasn’t even called, hasn’t asked why I left.”
It seems her daughter understands everything but remains silent. And Anna Perkins waits. She waits for a call, an explanation, even a word, but she doesn’t dial the number herself—pride and hurt bind her like chains. She feels no guilt, but her heart breaks from the silence, from the betrayal that came from her closest ones. And each day, she asks herself: is this really all that remains of her love and sacrifices? Is her old age doomed to loneliness and oblivion?”
