**”So What If She Snapped?”**
“You think anyone wants you around, you old hag? You’re nothing but a burden! The stench of you, dragging yourself about—if it were up to me, I’d—” The voice was sharp, dripping with venom.
Polly almost choked on her tea. Just moments ago, she’d been laughing over video call with her grandmother, Evelyn. The elderly woman had stepped away briefly.
“Wait a moment, darling, I’ll be right back,” Evelyn had muttered, groaning as she pushed herself up from her armchair and shuffled out to the hall.
The phone had stayed on the table—camera rolling, mic still live. Polly had glanced at her laptop screen, distracted, until suddenly—that voice. Sharp. Cruel. Drifting from the corridor.
At first, Polly thought she’d imagined it. But then she glanced at the phone. There was the sound of a door creaking. Hands—not Evelyn’s—flickered on-screen. Then a hip, a shoulder, finally a face.
Olivia. Her brother’s wife.
The woman moved toward the bed, lifted the pillow, then the mattress, rummaging beneath.
“Takes all day sipping tea… Honestly, should’ve kicked it by now. Just taking up space, costing money—useless old bat,” Olivia muttered.
Polly froze. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.
Olivia left without noticing the camera. Moments later, Evelyn returned, smiling—though her eyes stayed dull.
“There we are. Oh, I nearly forgot—how’s work, love? Everything alright?”
Polly nodded stiffly. The words still burned in her ears. Every instinct screamed to march straight over and throw that smug witch out. Now.
Evelyn had always been unshakable. Not loud—just firm. Forty years as a literature teacher had honed that quiet authority. Students adored her; she could make even Chaucer fascinating.
When Grandpa died, she hadn’t collapsed—but her once-perfect posture had softened. She went out less, fell ill more. Smiles didn’t reach her eyes like before. But she carried on. Believed every age had beauty.
Polly had always felt safe with her. No problem was too big. Years ago, Evelyn gave her grandson the summer house to pay his tuition. Gave Polly her savings for the mortgage.
When Polly’s brother, Gregory, complained about rent after his wedding, Evelyn offered them a room. “Plenty of space! And company’s nice at my age.”
Gregory was meant to keep an eye on her. Polly helped with groceries, meds, bills. Sometimes cash, sometimes bank transfers—and when Evelyn refused, Polly brought food herself. Meat, fish, fruit. Everything to keep her healthy.
“Your diet matters, especially with your diabetes,” Polly insisted.
Evelyn thanked her but avoided eye contact. Ashamed of being a “burden.”
Olivia had always rubbed Polly the wrong way. Sickly-sweet politeness, eyes like ice. But she stayed out of it—until now.
“Gran. I heard everything. What the hell was that?”
Evelyn stiffened, then looked away.
“It’s nothing, love. Olivia’s just stressed. Gregory’s always away—”
“Stressed? Gran, she *wished you dead*!”
Evelyn sighed. “She’s young. Hot-headed. I don’t need much these days anyway.”
Polly’s voice turned steely. “You tell me the truth right now, or I’m driving over. Choose.”
Evelyn exhaled. The facade cracked.
“I didn’t want to trouble you,” she whispered.
The truth was worse. Olivia and Gregory had moved in with grand plans to save for a house. At first, Olivia played the dutiful wife—baking, making tea, even taking Evelyn to the clinic.
Then Gregory left for work.
“She took the groceries first,” Evelyn admitted. “Said you bought too much, she needed it more—’for the baby.’ As if I couldn’t tell she wasn’t pregnant.”
Olivia had “borrowed” money meant for Evelyn’s meds—bought herself a mini-fridge, locked it in her room. Stole the best food. Never paid a penny back.
“She took the telly. Said it’d ruin my eyes. Cuts the Wi-Fi sometimes. I feel like I’m in prison.”
Polly’s fists clenched. “Gregory knows?”
Evelyn shook her head.
“She threatened me. Said if I told, she’d blame me for a ‘miscarriage.’ Said everyone would hate me.”
Polly’s voice was quiet. “No one gets to treat you like this. No one.”
Evelyn wept. Polly held her, already planning.
An hour later, she and her husband were at Evelyn’s door. The fridge was nearly empty—sour milk, mouldy pickles. Olivia’s room? Locked.
Her husband popped the cheap latch. Inside—the stolen fridge. Yogurt, cheese, fresh fruit. All Polly’s purchases.
They waited.
Olivia stormed in half an hour later.
“Who touched my door?!”
Polly stepped out. “Me.”
Olivia paled, then sneered. “Who do you think you are?”
“The granddaughter who owns this house. You’ve got ten minutes to pack. Or I throw your things out the window.”
Olivia spat insults but packed. Evelyn hovered, weeping.
“Polly, love—what will the neighbours think?”
Polly pulled her close. “We’re just taking out the trash.”
They stayed the night. Stocked the fridge, refilled the medicine cabinet. When they left, Evelyn cried—but Polly prayed it wasn’t from fear.
Gregory called later, raging.
“You’re insane! Where’s she supposed to live now?”
Polly hung up. Sent a voice note:
“Ask your wife how she starved Gran. Remember who paid your tuition. Show up with her again, and I’ll rip both your ears off.”
Silence.
Olivia posted online about “toxic in-laws.” Gregory liked the posts. Polly stopped caring.
Evelyn’s flat grew peaceful. Weeks later, she asked Polly to teach her to stream shows on her phone. Started with *Sherlock*, moved to comedies.
“Haven’t laughed this hard in years,” Evelyn admitted one night, cheeks aching.
Polly smiled. She’d protected her protector. That was enough.
