“Gran, Mum said you’re going to be sent to a care home.” I eavesdropped on my parents — a child couldn’t make that up.
Anna Walker was strolling down the streets of a small town near Cambridge, on her way to pick up her granddaughter from school. Her face was beaming with joy, and her heels clicked on the pavement like in the distant years of her youth when life seemed an endless melody. Today was a special day — she had finally become the owner of her own flat. It was a bright, spacious one-bedroom apartment in a new building, something she had dreamed of for years. For almost two years, she saved every penny she could. Selling her old house in the countryside provided only half the amount; the rest was contributed by her daughter, Nina, but Anna Walker vowed to repay her. At seventy, as a widow, half a pension was enough for her, while the young couple — her daughter and son-in-law — needed money more, as their whole life lay ahead.
In the school lobby, her granddaughter, Katie, a second grader with pigtails, was waiting for her. The girl rushed to her grandmother, and they walked home together, chatting about trivial things. Eight-year-old Katie was the light of Anna’s life, her most treasured possession. Nina had given birth to her later in life, nearly at forty, and that was when she asked her mother for help. Anna didn’t want to leave her beloved country home, where each corner held memories of the past, but for the sake of her daughter and granddaughter, she gave up everything. She moved closer, took on the role of caring for Katie — collecting her from school and staying with her until her parents returned from work — before heading back to her small, cozy apartment. The flat was registered in Nina’s name as a precaution because elderly people are easily deceived, and life can be unpredictable. Anna didn’t mind; it was just a formality, she thought.
“Gran,” Katie suddenly interrupted her thoughts, looking up with large eyes, “Mum said you’re supposed to go to a care home.”
Anna froze, as if she had been doused with cold water.
“What home, sweetheart?” she asked, feeling chilled to the bone.
“You know, where the old grannies and grandads live. Mum said to Dad that you’d have a good time there and wouldn’t be lonely,” Katie spoke softly, but each word hit hard like a hammer.
“But I don’t want to go there! I’d rather go to a spa and relax,” Anna replied, her voice trembling, her mind in a whirl. She couldn’t believe she was hearing this from a child.
“Gran, don’t tell Mum I told you,” Katie whispered, snuggling close. “I overheard them talking at night. Mum said she already made arrangements with some lady, but they won’t take you just yet, only when I’ve grown up a bit.”
“I won’t tell, my dear,” promised Anna, opening the flat door. Her voice shook, and her legs felt weak. “I’m feeling a bit unwell, my head’s spinning. I’ll lie down for a bit while you change, alright?”
She collapsed onto the couch, feeling her heart pounding in her chest, as everything seemed blurry before her eyes. Those words, spoken in a child’s voice, shattered her world. It was the truth — a terrible, merciless truth that a child couldn’t fabricate. Three months later, Anna packed her things and returned to the country. Now, she rents a place there, saving up for a new little house to find some stability. Her old friends and distant relatives offer support, yet inside, there’s emptiness and pain.
Some people judge her, whispering behind her back, “It’s her own fault; she should have talked with her daughter and clarified everything.” But Anna stands firm in her knowledge.
“A child wouldn’t make that up,” she declares with conviction, staring into the void. “Nina’s actions speak for themselves. She hasn’t even called or asked why I left.”
Apparently, her daughter understands but remains silent. And Anna waits. Waits for a call, an explanation, even a single word, but she doesn’t dial the number herself — pride and hurt hold her like chains. She doesn’t feel guilty, yet her heart breaks from this silence, from the betrayal by the ones she loved most. And every day, she questions herself: Is this all that remains of her love and sacrifices? Is her old age doomed to loneliness and oblivion?”
