My daughter called me mad and forbade me from seeing my granddaughter the moment I finally found a personal life.
I’d spent my whole life devoted to my daughter, and then to my granddaughter. But it seems my family forgot I also have a right to happiness—one that isn’t just about them. I married young, at twenty-one. My husband, James, was quiet, hardworking, the kind of man who never cut corners. One day, he was offered a two-week job hauling freight to another county—decent pay, he said.
He never came back. To this day, I don’t know what happened on that trip. One evening, I just got a call telling me James was gone. I was left alone with a two-year-old daughter, completely isolated. His parents had passed years before, and mine lived in another town. I didn’t know how I’d survive, how I’d raise a child on my own.
At least James left us his one-bedroom flat. Without that, I don’t know how we’d have managed. I was a teacher by training, so at first, I tried tutoring from home, but it was nearly impossible with a toddler running around, fussing, needing attention.
I couldn’t take a proper job because of little Emily. How could I leave a two-year-old alone all day? One afternoon, my mother saw how desperate I was—and took Emily to live with her instead. For almost two years, my daughter stayed with her grandparents while I worked nonstop. Teaching, odd jobs, private lessons—anything to make ends meet.
On weekends, I’d visit Emily. Every goodbye tore me apart. Eventually, she got a spot at nursery, and I worried I’d have to stay home again with a sick child—but luckily, she was strong, barely ever ill. Over time, it was just the two of us again.
I worked myself ragged so she could have the best trainers, the nicest skirts, the neatest blouses. Rarely just one job—always two, sometimes three. But when Emily finished uni and started working, I finally breathed again. At the same time, it hit me—now, no one needed me.
I didn’t have to chase every spare shift. My body was already worn down, and my only friend left was my cat. Emily visited sometimes on weekends, but spending a whole day humouring her lonely mother clearly wasn’t her idea of fun. I felt discarded.
Then my granddaughter, Lily, was born. Months before she arrived, I moved in with Emily and her husband, Mark. Shopping, cleaning, hospital prep—I handled it all. And when Emily went back to work, I became Lily’s caretaker. I didn’t mind—if anything, I felt needed again.
This year, Lily started school. After classes, I’d pick her up, feed her, help with homework, take her to the park or after-school clubs. It was there, in the park, that I met William. He was with his own granddaughter. We got talking. Like me, he’d lost his wife early and now helped his daughter raise his grandchild.
Meeting William, I didn’t expect anything. Not once since James died had I been on a date or even out for a meal. First, there was a child. Then, work. After Lily came along, I proudly called myself Granny. Did grandmas even have suitors? Apparently, they did.
William reminded me I was still a woman.
His first message—asking to meet without the kids—was a shock. New life bloomed with him. Cinema trips, theatre dates, weekend festivals, gallery strolls. I remembered what joy felt like.
But Emily hated it. It started with a call one Saturday morning:
“Mum, we’re coming over with Lily. Can you watch her this weekend?”
“Sorry, love, I’ve got plans. We’re out of town. Next time, give me a heads-up—I’ll gladly mind her.”
Emily scoffed and hung up. By Monday, William and I were back, my mood lighter than air. Even Lily noticed the spark in me. Things stayed quiet until Friday, when the phone rang again:
“Friends invited us over. Can you take Lily?”
“We agreed—you’d tell me in advance. I’m already booked.”
“Off gallivanting with William again? He’s turned your head completely!” she snapped.
“Emily, what’s got into you?”
“You’ve forgotten all about Lily! You used to say you didn’t need happiness. What changed?”
“Yes, it changed. I’m alive again. I wish you’d understand me—just woman to woman.”
“And how’s Lily supposed to understand? You traded her for some bloke?”
“Don’t be ridiculous! I’m still with her most days. Just drop it, and we’ll forget this happened.”
“Me, apologise? You’ve lost the plot. I won’t leave Lily with you again. Sort yourself out first—then we’ll talk,” she spat, slamming the phone down.
After that, I broke down completely—sobbing, shaking. I’d given them everything. And when my time finally came, they erased me. Just like that. Because I dared to let myself be happy.
I hope Emily cools off. That she’ll call back. That she’ll understand. Because I can’t imagine life without her—or without Lily.
