My grandchildren no longer ask to see me, and my daughter has secretly hired a nanny to avoid any contact.
My own daughter refuses to speak to me. She won’t even pick up the phone. She blames me for ruining her marriage, though I did nothing wrong—she begged for my help.
Emily married at eighteen. She met Andrew just after he returned from military service. Love blossomed quickly, and she dropped out of university, spiralling downward, refusing to listen to my advice. I took them in to spare them the cost of renting, and at first, things were fine. We got along well after the wedding, but then Emily fell pregnant and became irritable, complaining that my cooking made her sick. I insisted they move out.
Her in-laws and I agreed to help them buy their own place—they couldn’t afford it otherwise. I tried calling her father, hoping he might contribute, but he said he’d paid child support and owed us nothing more.
When Emily gave birth, I helped tirelessly. I spent every free moment with my granddaughter so she could rest. Soon, Emily began pretending to be ill, making up ailments just to pawn off parenting duties on me.
I often let them go on dates, to the cinema or restaurants, even sending them on a ten-day holiday while I looked after the baby. I adored caring for my granddaughter, so it was no trouble, though I was exhausted. What wouldn’t I do for my daughter’s happiness?
When they returned, I suggested Andrew renovate their home. He barely lifted a finger after work, despite his flexible schedule. I bought materials, took the baby for two weeks, and even arranged a work crew so he wouldn’t overexert himself. That’s when the accusations started. Apparently, Andrew resented me “bossing him around.” But what else could I do when he showed no initiative?
After the renovations, communication died. They stopped inviting me over, quietly hiring a nanny instead. Hurt but unwilling to sever ties, I hosted a family gathering for my birthday. Only Emily and my granddaughter came—Andrew didn’t even call. It stung. After all I’d done, paying for their home, their comforts—did I deserve this?
Andrew later shouted that I was unbearable, that he was master of his house and didn’t want me there.
Perhaps I overstepped, but my intentions were good. Now Emily fights with him endlessly, blaming me. She sobs down the phone, listing grievances. Andrew’s spoken of divorce. I’m denied even a phone call with my granddaughter.
I lived for them—what do I do now? Why do they hate me so much?
**Sometimes, the deepest love feels like interference, and the hardest lesson is knowing when to let go.**
