The children stopped inviting me to see my granddaughter, secretly hiring a nanny just to avoid me.
My own daughter refuses to speak to me. She won’t even pick up the phone. She blames me for wrecking her marriage—as if any of it was my fault. She begged for my help at the time.
Emily married at eighteen. She met Andrew right after he came back from his military service. Love blossomed fast, recklessly. She dropped out of uni, ignored my warnings, and spiralled. I took them both in to spare them renting some dismal flat. At first, everything was fine—we even got along after the wedding. Then Emily got pregnant. Suddenly, everything I did grated on her. *The way I cooked made her sick.* I insisted they move out.
Her in-laws and I agreed to chip in for a house—they could never afford it alone. I tried calling her father, hoping he’d help sort the mess, but he just said, *”I paid my child support—I owe you nothing now.”*
When the baby came, I did everything. Stayed up nights, looked after little Sophia so Emily could rest. But soon she started faking ailments—anything to shove motherhood onto me.
I sent them off on dates, to the cinema, even a ten-day holiday—anything to keep them happy. I adored my granddaughter. It exhausted me, but what wouldn’t I do for my daughter?
When they returned, I suggested Andrew fix up the place. He barely lifted a finger after work, despite his flexible hours. I bought the materials, took Sophia for two weeks, even sent over a crew so he wouldn’t strain himself. That’s when the accusations poured in. Apparently, *I* was too controlling. Well, what choice did I have? He wouldn’t lift a finger unless told.
After the renovation, they froze me out. No more invites—just a hired nanny to keep me away. I was hurt, but I still hosted a family gathering for my birthday. Emily showed up alone with Sophia. Andrew couldn’t even be bothered to call. After everything—the help, the money—was this what I deserved?
He screamed that he was done with my *interference,* that it was *his* house, and I wasn’t welcome.
Maybe I overstepped. But I only wanted the best for them. Now Emily’s marriage is crumbling, and she blames me. She sobs down the line, hurling accusations. Andrew’s talking divorce. They won’t let me see Sophia—not even to hear her voice.
I lived for them. What do I do now? Why do they hate me so much?
