My children have stopped inviting me to see my granddaughter, secretly hiring a nanny to avoid crossing paths with me.
My own daughter refuses to speak to me. She won’t even pick up the phone. She thinks I ruined her marriage, though I’m not to blame—she was the one who asked for my help.
Emma married at eighteen. She met Andrew just after he finished his military service, and they fell head over heels. She dropped out of university, spiralling downhill, refusing to listen to any of my advice. I took them both in, not wanting them to struggle with rented accommodation. At first, things were fine, and we got along even after the wedding. Then Emma got pregnant and started picking fights—claiming the smell of my cooking made her sick. I insisted they move out.
We agreed with Andrew’s parents to chip in for a flat since the young couple couldn’t afford it alone. I tried calling Emma’s father, hoping he’d help sort the housing situation. But he said he’d paid his child support and owed us nothing.
When the baby arrived, I helped constantly, spending all my free time with my granddaughter so Emma could rest. Soon, she began exaggerating ailments, even inventing illnesses to shirk her responsibilities.
I often took the baby so they could go on dates—cinema, restaurants—even sending them on a ten-day holiday alone. I loved looking after my granddaughter, so it was no trouble. Of course, I was exhausted, but what wouldn’t I do for my daughter’s happiness?
When they returned, I suggested Andrew renovate their house. He barely lifted a finger after work, despite his flexible hours. I bought them supplies, took the baby for two weeks, and even sent a work crew so he wouldn’t overexert himself. That’s when the accusations started. Apparently, Andrew resented me “bossing him around.” But what choice did I have when he never took initiative?
After the renovations, communication died. They stopped inviting me over, quietly hiring a nanny instead. Hurt, I still gathered the family for my birthday party—only Emma and the baby came. Andrew didn’t even call. It stung. Hadn’t I helped them? Paid for everything? Did I deserve this?
Andrew shouted that he was sick of my meddling—that it was his home, and he didn’t want me there.
Maybe I overstepped, but my intentions were good. Now Emma blames me for their constant arguments. She sobs down the phone, accusing me of ruining her marriage. Andrew’s even mentioned divorce. I’m barred from seeing my granddaughter—not even a phone call.
I lived for them—what do I do now? Why do they hate me so much?
Sometimes, love means knowing when to step back—before kindness becomes control.
