“What a fuss,” she flared up.
“Who even needs you, you old hag? You’re nothing but a burden. Dragging yourself around, stinking up the place. If it were up to me, I’d— But no, I have to put up with you. I hate you!”
Polly nearly choked on her tea. Just a moment ago, she had been on a video call with her grandmother, Eleanor Margaret. The elderly woman had stepped away briefly.
“Wait, my sunshine, I’ll be right back,” she’d said, groaning as she rose from her armchair and shuffled into the hallway.
The phone had been left on the table, camera and microphone still on. Polly had switched over to her computer screen. And then—it happened. That voice, drifting in from the corridor.
At first, Polly thought she was imagining things. She might have dismissed it entirely if she hadn’t glanced at the phone. The creak of the door suggested someone had entered the room. First, unfamiliar hands appeared on screen, then the side of a body, then—a face.
Olivia. Her brother’s wife. Yes, the voice was unmistakably hers.
The woman approached Eleanor’s bed, lifted the pillow, then the mattress, rummaging beneath it with one hand.
“Sitting here all day, sipping tea… Might as well drop dead already, honestly. What’s the point in dragging it out? You’re useless, just taking up space and wasting air…” the sister-in-law muttered under her breath.
Polly didn’t move. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
Soon enough, Olivia left—never noticing the camera. A few minutes later, Eleanor returned, smiling, though the warmth didn’t reach her eyes.
“Here I am! Oh, I almost forgot to ask—how’s work? Everything alright?” she asked, as if nothing had happened.
Polly nodded stiffly. Her mind was still reeling, though every instinct screamed at her to march over and throw that insolent woman out on the spot. Immediately.
Eleanor had always seemed unshakable to Polly—no, she never raised her voice, but there was that schoolteacher’s strictness, honed over decades in classrooms, dealing with children and parents alike.
Forty years of teaching literature. Her students adored her—Eleanor had a gift for making even the driest classics come alive.
When her grandfather passed, she hadn’t crumbled, but her perfect posture had sagged slightly. She grew more reclusive, fell ill more often. Her smiles weren’t as wide. Still, she kept her usual cheer, insisting every age had its joys, that even now, she cherished life.
Polly had always loved her for the safety she provided—with her, no problem felt insurmountable. Years ago, Eleanor had given her grandson the countryside cottage to help with tuition fees, and Polly the last of her savings for the mortgage.
When Polly’s brother, Gregory, complained about rent after his wedding, Eleanor offered them a room in her flat. “Plenty of space, and someone to keep an eye on me,” she’d said cheerfully. “Who knows when my blood pressure might spike?”
“It’s lonely by myself, anyway. The young ones could use the help,” she insisted.
Gregory was supposed to look after her, while Polly handled groceries, medicine, even the bills. She could afford it, and her conscience wouldn’t let her stand aside. Sometimes she handed over cash, other times transferred money directly—knowing Eleanor’s habit of hoarding for a rainy day, she often brought food herself. Fish, meat, dairy, fruit—anything to keep her grandmother healthy.
“This is for your own good, especially with your diabetes,” Polly would say.
Eleanor always thanked her but avoided eye contact, as if ashamed of being a burden.
From the start, Olivia had struck Polly as slippery. Sweet words, cloying politeness—but cold, calculating eyes. No warmth, no respect. But Polly stayed out of it. Their marriage was their business. She only ever asked Eleanor if things were alright.
“Everything’s fine, dear,” Eleanor assured her. “Olivia cooks, keeps the place tidy. Young, of course, but she’ll learn.”
Now, Polly understood—it was all lies. In public, Olivia played the meek little lamb. But behind closed doors…
“Nan, I heard everything… What on earth was that?”
Eleanor froze for a second, as if she hadn’t heard right, then looked away.
“Oh, it’s nothing, Polly darling,” she sighed. “Olivia’s just tired. Gregory’s away on contract work. She’s stressed.”
Polly narrowed her eyes, studying her grandmother as if for the first time. Every new wrinkle stood out, the lively spark in Eleanor’s eyes now dulled. The stubbornness remained—the fatigue too. But something new lurked beneath. Fear.
“Stressed? Nan, did you even hear what she said? That wasn’t stress. That was—”
“Polly, please—” Eleanor cut in. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. So what, she snapped? She’s young, fiery. I’m old. I don’t need much anyway.”
“Right. Nan. Don’t take me for a fool,” Polly snapped. “Either you tell me everything right now, or I get in the car and drive over. Your choice.”
Eleanor fell silent. Then, with a heavy sigh, her shoulders slumped. The illusion shattered. The strong, smiling woman was gone—replaced by a beaten-down old lady.
“I didn’t want to say anything,” she began. “You’ve got your work, your life. Why burden you? I thought it’d sort itself out…”
The truth about Olivia ran deeper—and uglier—than Polly had imagined.
The newlyweds had arrived with huge suitcases and grand plans to save for a house in six months. At first, Eleanor was thrilled—the flat came alive again, footsteps in the morning, cooking in the kitchen. Laughter, even if forced. Olivia made an effort early on—baking, serving tea, even taking Eleanor to the doctor.
Then Gregory left for work, and everything changed.
“At first, she was just irritable,” Eleanor explained. “I assumed it was because of Gregory. Then she started taking the groceries for herself. Said you always bought too much anyway. That she needed it more—she was young, might have a baby one day. What could I say? I don’t need much—losing weight might even do me good.”
Olivia had borrowed money from Eleanor—cash meant for medicine. With it, she bought herself a fridge, locked it in her room. Every treat Polly brought ended up there.
The money was never returned. Instead, Olivia started searching for Eleanor’s hidden savings, pocketing them.
“She took the telly. Said it was bad for my eyes,” Eleanor wiped her tears with her fingers. “Turns the Wi-Fi off sometimes, too. I feel like a prisoner.”
“Did you tell Gregory?” Polly asked.
Eleanor shook her head.
“She said if I did, she’d—she’d tell everyone I made her lose a baby. That I drove her to it. I don’t even know if she was ever pregnant. But she said people would pity her—and hate me.”
Polly’s throat tightened. She wanted to scream, to curse Olivia. Instead, she said:
“Nan, no one has the right to treat you like that. No one. Young, old, family or not.”
Eleanor broke down. Polly soothed her gently, though she already knew—war was coming. She wouldn’t stay silent.
Within half an hour, Polly and her husband were on their way to Eleanor’s. She explained everything in the car. He didn’t believe it at first, but he trusted her.
Eleanor answered the door immediately, fidgeting with a ragged handkerchief, avoiding their eyes.
“Oh! You should’ve called—I’d have put the kettle on—”
“We’re not here for tea, Nan,” Polly said calmly. “We’re here to settle things. Where’s Olivia?”
“Out, somewhere. She doesn’t tell me… Well, come in, since you’re here.”
Eleanor stepped aside. Polly headed straight for the kitchen. The fridge was nearly empty—expired milk, a few eggs, mouldy pickles. The freezer held only ice.
Polly glanced at her husband, who nodded. They moved quickly. Olivia’s bedroom door was locked, but the flimsy bolt gave way with one twist of a screwdriver.
The fridge was there, just as expected—stocked with yoghurts Polly had brought days ago, cheese, cured meats, even fresh vegetables.
Fury boiled in Polly’s chest, but she kept it in check. She and her husband took position—waiting in Eleanor’s room.
Olivia returned half an hour later.
“Who touched my door?!” she shrieked, fists clenched.
Polly stepped out.
“Me.”
Olivia froze, her eyes darting. Silence. Then, the familiar sneer.
“Who do you think you are, barging into my room?”
Polly towered over her, eyes cold.
“I”You’re the one who doesn’t belong here—pack your things and get out, or I’ll have you removed by force.”
