Elizabeth was turning sixty, a significant milestone. She had worked her entire life as a lecturer at a university and had raised her only daughter, Natalie, to be an honest, independent, and, as she believed, wise woman. After retiring, Elizabeth felt particularly lonely and, like many women her age, she began to urge her daughter: “Natalie, it’s time to have a baby. I want grandchildren.” It seemed like a harmless maternal wish. Natalie would smile and brush it off until she eventually decided to fulfill her mother’s wish.
Paul, her husband, was a successful programmer with a good income. Natalie was no slouch either—dynamic, business-minded, and always on the move. In their two years of marriage, they had started and closed an online store, traveled around Europe by hitchhiking, attended a bike festival, spent a couple of months in a hostel in Portugal, biked across England, and rung in the New Year at a campsite. Natalie was not fond of skirts or makeup and had met Paul at a summer music festival somewhere by the Thames.
When her mother brought up grandchildren again, Natalie unexpectedly didn’t object. Soon after, there was a memorable toast at Elizabeth’s birthday: “Mom, you’re going to be a grandmother!” Tears of joy were shed as Elizabeth embraced the thought. She devoted herself to dreaming about it—knitting baby booties, buying baby clothes, and reading up online about early childhood development. Meanwhile, Natalie and Paul continued with their usual life—trips, meetings, exhibitions, and new projects. Natalie refused to stay home, asserting, “I’m not sick, just pregnant.”
Trouble began when, at seven months pregnant, she was denied boarding a flight to India. Natalie was more upset about the airline’s “terrible service” than anything else.
Their son, named Jack, was born—a blonde, blue-eyed angel. Elizabeth cried with joy, but the happiness was short-lived. Even in the hospital, Natalie announced, “I’m not breastfeeding. I don’t want him to get too attached. I want to live my life.” She had already planned with an agency to find a nanny. But her mother gave her a look that silenced her. “A nanny, over my dead body,” Elizabeth stated firmly. And thus, it began.
From three months old, Jack became a daily part of his grandmother’s life. She commuted to their flat like it was a job: early mornings she arrived, late evenings she went back home. Diaper changes, feeding, bathing, putting him to sleep—everything for her grandson. Then one day, Paul received a call: some friends were selling a house in Thailand at a bargain price. A chance not to be missed. He and Natalie left, telling Elizabeth they’d be back in a week.
A week turned into a month, then two. Natalie hadn’t returned. She showed up almost a year later, spending two days with Jack before disappearing again “on business.” She kissed her son on the top of his head and handed Elizabeth some money. “We’ll be back when he’s about five. In the meantime, hire a nanny, don’t wear yourself out.”
But Elizabeth refused. She didn’t view her grandson as a “temporary burden.” He became her reason for living. She woke up with him, whispered stories into his ears, taught him his first words. Yes, it was challenging. Yes, she was getting older. But her heart stayed young.
Now, she’s with him every day—at the playground, on walks, at the pediatrician. Natalie sends photos from the beach, surfing, cocktails, her “new horizons.” Yet, Jack isn’t part of those horizons. But his grandmother is certain: one day, he will know who truly stood by him. And even though his parents are far away, he has someone who will never leave him.
Because grandchildren aren’t gifts for birthdays. They’re born to be loved.
