“We just wanted to help our neighbour, and in return, we got reported. Is that gratitude?!”
“Recently, a social worker turned up at our house,” says 35-year-old Alice. “They said an anonymous complaint had been made—that our children were neglected and we weren’t providing proper care. They inspected the flat, checked the fridge, spoke to the kids… Everything was fine. Filled out some forms, asked for signatures, and left. But I still don’t understand—who would do this, and why?”
Alice and William have been married for over a decade. They’re raising two children—a son, eight, and a five-year-old daughter. The family is well-ordered, the kids are tidy, polite, and doing well in school. Neither the teachers nor nursery staff have raised concerns. When we asked the children, they said everything was fine. So, the complaint must’ve come from outside. But who?
The answer came unexpectedly. A week later, Alice spotted Evelyn—the granddaughter of their elderly neighbour, Grandma Edith. She remembered how, years ago, she and Evelyn had clashed the first time they met. They’d never gotten along and barely spoken since. Now, it all made sense.
Alice and William had always been close with Grandma Edith. She was delighted when the young couple moved in next door. She often dropped in for tea, brought cakes, and babysat little Freddie when Alice needed to pop out. In return, Alice and William helped with shopping, picked up prescriptions, and even took her to their cottage in the Cotswolds in summer.
When Edith fell ill, Alice was there nearly every day—cleaning, cooking, keeping an eye on her health. Yes, a social worker visited too, but they weren’t much help. Edith seemed to have no family—no calls, no visits, no one checking in.
“In eight years, I’d never heard of her daughter or granddaughter,” Alice recalls. “We did everything we could, but we had our own family to look after. At some point, it became too much. So, I suggested Edith try reaching out to her relatives—maybe they’d reconnect.”
Edith reluctantly gave her the details. Alice found her daughter, Juliet, and granddaughter, Evelyn, on social media. She messaged them, urging them to come—explaining that Edith was in a bad way and needed support.
Edith was overjoyed: “They’re really coming? I haven’t seen them in fifteen years…” The last time Juliet visited, Evelyn was just seven. They’d had a huge row—Juliet wanted to sell Edith’s flat, but she refused. After that, the daughter cut all ties.
To Alice’s shock, Juliet arrived the very next day—with Evelyn in tow. And that’s when the nightmare began.
Juliet stormed in, screaming that Alice and William were only helping Edith to steal the flat. She accused them of poisoning the old woman to hasten her death and claim the property. Alice stood there, stunned, unsure how to react. William stepped in, defending his wife and demanding the “guests” leave. But they didn’t go quietly.
“We’ll make sure you end up behind bars!” Evelyn shrieked. “Consider yourselves lucky for now! We’ll file complaints everywhere—you’ll be evicted, you’ll pay for this, you frauds!”
That’s when Alice realised—it must’ve been them who reported them to social services. Now she knew who’d “thanked” them this way.
“I was only trying to do something kind,” Alice says. “It never crossed my mind that helping an old lady would backfire like this. We never wanted her flat. We just couldn’t leave her alone—she deserved better. If I’d known what her family were like… I’d never have reached out.”
Now, Alice avoids even talking about them. She carries on with her life, caring for her kids, trying to forget the whole ordeal. But the bitterness lingers.
“I won’t get involved like that again. I won’t knock on doors or offer help. Not because I’m afraid—no. It just hurts. When you try to do good, and all you get is dirt thrown back at you. It hurts. It stings.”
