The Grandmother from Nowhere
Milly was sleeping as though she’d worked three back-to-back shifts when a harsh buzz at the door jolted her awake.
“Good Lord, who on earth is ringing this early?” she grumbled, rolling onto her side. But the buzzing didn’t stop—persistent, impatient, as if someone outside was racing against time.
Irritated, she flung on her dressing gown and peered through the peephole. A frail old woman stood there, clutching a massive, fluffy cat. Her face was pale and exhausted, as if life had drained from her.
“Who is it?” Milly called sharply, with no intention of opening up. Stories about such old women weren’t always kind. But suddenly, the woman gasped, slumped, and slid down the wall. The cat wriggled free and circled her with pitiful meows.
“Why me…?” Milly sighed and yanked the door open.
“Gran, are you okay? I’ll call an ambulance—don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” she whispered, helping the woman inside. She guided her to the sofa and dialed for help.
The cat, oddly alert, perched nearby, watching every move.
“What’s your name, love?”
“Agatha Whitmore… my papers are in the bag,” the old woman rasped, gesturing weakly.
Milly dug through the bag and pulled out the documents. Before she could ask another question, Agatha murmured, “But I won’t go to hospital, dear. My grandson’s waiting. If I don’t bring him money, he’ll throw me and the cat out…”
“The doctor will decide if you’re fit to go anywhere. Don’t worry about the cat—I’ll look after him. Why are *you* giving *him* money?”
“Best not to ask, love,” Agatha said, turning away with sadness in her eyes.
Another buzz—the paramedics arrived. After examining her, they insisted: she needed to go to St. Mary’s Hospital immediately.
“I’m not going!” Agatha protested.
“You must,” Milly urged. “I’ll visit—promise. The cat and I will be just fine.”
The next morning, Milly woke early, one thought nagging her: *Why does life keep dragging me into other people’s messes?* But her heart whispered that this wasn’t pointless. There was something familiar about Agatha.
Milly barely remembered her parents—they’d died when she was 13. Bad vodka. After that, her life spiraled. Foster care. Only one neighbor, old Margaret Hayes, had brightened her childhood—but she too passed when Milly turned 16. Since then, she’d been utterly alone.
Now 23, Milly was tough and self-sufficient. Yesterday, she’d spotted Agatha’s address in the documents. Today, she headed there.
The house on Mulberry Lane was unremarkable. Two elderly women sat outside, and within minutes, Milly knew Agatha’s whole story.
Years ago, she’d raised her orphaned grandson. But as he grew older, he fell in with a rough crowd. Now he demanded money, threatened the cat, and rented out his parents’ flat while crashing at his girlfriend’s. The police? Useless—*family matters*, they’d said.
Fuming, Milly stormed upstairs and knocked. A bleary-eyed man reeking of beer answered.
“You vile little rat! How *dare* you throw out an old woman?!” She shoved past him, fists clenched. “Pack your things and get out—*now*. Or I’ll make you regret it!”
The man barely muttered a word. Fifteen minutes later, he fled with a duffel bag. Milly cleaned the flat, fed the cat, and went to the hospital.
Agatha wept when she saw her.
“Food, supplies, and your grandson’s gone. No arguments—elders shouldn’t sleep on the streets.”
“Thank you, love. Thought I’d die out there…”
“I need you. So does the cat. Rest—I’ll visit tomorrow.”
A week later, Milly brought Agatha home.
“It’s so clean… so lovely… How can I ever repay you?”
“Can I call you Gran?”
“Of course, my dear. You’re like family…”
The cat purred at their feet, finally at peace. The fear was gone.
A year passed. Milly became the granddaughter Agatha never had. The grandson never returned. Milly moved in, renting out her own flat and giving all the earnings to Agatha.
“Gran, I couldn’t live with myself otherwise. You treat me like royalty.”
Soon, news came—the grandson had died in a drunken brawl. Milly felt no joy, only grief: *He could’ve chosen kindness…*
Two years later, Milly fell in love. By chance—the new GP at the clinic, kind and attentive. Peter. The way he cared for Agatha melted her heart.
“Don’t let him slip away, dear,” Agatha whispered.
When Peter proposed, Milly burst into tears. A year later, their first child was born—and Agatha became the proudest great-grandmother.
They had twelve more years together. At 95, Agatha passed quietly in her sleep, her mind sharp till the end—folding baby clothes, telling stories.
Milly grieved fiercely. But Peter and the children kept her strong. The old cat was gone, but a new stray had taken his place.
When clearing the flat, Milly found an envelope.
*”My darling Milly. You brought me more joy than you’ll ever know. You gave me back my daughter, Victoria. Without you, I’d have had half these years. Thank you. Look in the sideboard—you’ve earned this, my beloved granddaughter.”*
Tears streamed down Milly’s face. *Beloved granddaughter*—those words pierced her heart.
Peter pulled out a bundle from the sideboard—a deed to the flat and a thick envelope of cash.
*”The deed was signed long ago—no arguing. The money is everything you ever gave me from your rent. It’s yours. You’ll know what to do.”*
Milly and Peter lived a long, happy life, surrounded by children, grandchildren, and later great-grandchildren. And always, at the heart of their home, stood a cherished photo—Agatha’s warm smile beside a great, fluffy cat.
