*We only wanted to help our neighbour, and in return, we got reported. Is this gratitude?!*
*Not long ago, a social worker came to our house,* says 35-year-old Alice. *He told us an anonymous complaint had been made—that our children were neglected and we weren’t providing proper care. He inspected the flat, checked the fridge, spoke to the kids… Everything was fine. Filled out paperwork, asked for signatures, and left. But I still don’t understand—who would do this, and why?*
Alice and Edward have been married for over ten years. They’re raising two children—an eight-year-old son and a five-year-old daughter. The home is tidy, the children well-groomed, polite, and doing well in school. Neither the school nor nursery has raised concerns. And the kids themselves told their parents everything was fine. So the complaint had to come from outside. But who?
The answer came unexpectedly. A week later, Alice spotted Evelyn—the granddaughter of their elderly neighbour, old Mrs. Nora. Alice remembered how, years ago, she and Evelyn had clashed the moment they met. They never got along, and they hadn’t spoken since. Now, it all fell into place.
Alice and Edward had always been kind to Mrs. Nora. The old woman was delighted when the young family moved in next door. She often popped in for tea, brought cakes, even babysat little Archie when Alice needed to step out. In return, Alice and Edward helped with shopping, brought medicine, even took her to their cottage in the Cotswolds in summer.
When Mrs. Nora fell ill, Alice visited almost daily—cleaning, cooking, watching over her. Yes, a social worker checked in too, but he was little help. The old woman seemed to have no family—no calls, no visits, no concern.
*In eight years, I never once heard of a daughter or granddaughter,* Alice recalls. *We did what we could, but we had our own family. At some point, it became too much. So I suggested she try to track down her relatives, in case they’d reconnect.*
Nora, with sadness, gave her the details. Alice found her daughter Julie and granddaughter Evelyn on social media. She wrote, urging them to come—*Your mother’s not well, she needs you.*
Nora was overjoyed: *Could it be true? I haven’t seen them in fifteen years…* The last time Julie visited, Evelyn was only seven. They’d argued bitterly—Julie wanted to sell her mother’s flat, Nora refused. After that, the daughter vanished.
But to Alice’s shock, Julie arrived the very next day. With Evelyn. And then, the nightmare began.
Julie stormed in, screaming that Alice and Edward were only helping Nora to steal the flat. Accused them of poisoning her mother to speed things along. Alice stood frozen, unsure how to respond. Edward lost his temper—defended his wife, demanded they leave. But they didn’t go quietly.
*We’ll make sure you go to prison!* Evelyn shrieked. *You got off easy! We’ll have you evicted, we’ll report you everywhere! You’ll pay for this, you swindlers!*
That’s when Alice realised—*this* was where the anonymous complaint had come from. Revenge, plain and simple.
*I only meant well…* Alice says. *It never crossed my mind that helping an old woman could backfire like this. Edward and I never wanted her flat. We just couldn’t leave Nora alone—she deserved kindness. If I’d known her family was like this… I’d never have reached out.*
Now, Alice avoids any talk of that family. She carries on, tending to her children, trying to forget the ordeal. But the bitterness lingers.
*I won’t interfere again. No knocking on doors, no offering help. Not because I’m afraid—no. It just… hurts. When you do good, and all you get is spite. It hurts too much.*
