When I finally found a personal life, my daughter called me crazy and forbade me from seeing my granddaughter.
My entire life was dedicated to my daughter, and later—to my granddaughter. But it seems my family forgot that I, too, have the right to happiness beyond just them. I married quite young, at twenty-one. My husband, Edward, was a quiet, steady man, a hard worker to his core. One day, he was offered a short business trip—supposedly good extra pay, transporting goods to another region.
He never came back. To this day, I don’t know what happened on that journey. One day, I got a call saying Edward was gone. I was left alone with a two-year-old daughter, utterly isolated. His parents had long passed, and mine lived in another city. I didn’t know how to survive or provide for my child.
At least Edward’s small flat was left to us. Without it, we’d have been lost. I was trained as a teacher, and at first, I tried tutoring from home—but teaching while a toddler ran around crying was nearly impossible.
I couldn’t take a full-time job because of little Emily. How could I leave a two-year-old alone all day? One day, my mother saw my despair and took Emily to live with her. For nearly two years, my daughter stayed with her grandparents while I worked nonstop—teaching, taking extra shifts, giving private lessons.
On weekends, I visited her. Every goodbye tore at my heart. Then came the wait for nursery—I worried I’d be stuck at home nursing constant illnesses, but luckily, Emily was strong and rarely sick. In time, it was just the two of us again. School came, then university.
I wore myself thin so she could have the best trainers, skirts, blouses. I rarely held just one job—always two, sometimes three. But when Emily graduated and started her own career, I finally breathed easy. And in the same moment, I was stunned—because now, I was needed by no one.
No more scrambling for extra work. My body was already giving out, and my only friend left was my cat. My daughter visited on weekends, but amusing a lonely mother all day clearly wasn’t in her plans. I felt discarded. Everything changed when my granddaughter, Lily, was born.
Months before her arrival, I moved in with Emily and her husband, Simon. Shopping, cleaning, hospital prep—all fell to me. Then, when Emily returned to work, I took full charge of the baby. I didn’t complain—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 clubs. It was there we met Thomas. He was also out with his granddaughter. We talked. He, like me, had lost his spouse young and now helped his daughter raise her little girl.
When I got to know Thomas, I expected nothing. Never in all those years since Edward’s death had I been on a date, let alone dinner. First, a small child, then work. After Lily’s birth, I proudly called myself “Grandma.” Did grandmas even have suitors? Apparently, yes. Thomas reminded me I was still a woman.
His first message asking to meet alone shocked me. With him began a new life—cinema trips, theatre, festivals, exhibitions. I felt alive again.
But my daughter resented it. It started with a simple call one Saturday:
*“Mum, we’re coming over with Lily. Can you look after her this weekend?”*
*“Sorry, love, I’ve got plans. We’re out of town. Next time, give me notice—I’ll be happy to.”*
Emily scoffed and hung up. On Monday, Thomas and I returned home. I was glowing, full of energy. Even Lily noticed the spark in my eyes. All was quiet until Friday, when another call came:
*“We’ve been invited out. Can I drop Lily off?”*
*“We agreed on advance notice. My weekend’s already planned.”*
*“Off gallivanting with Thomas again? He’s addled your brain!”* she snapped.
*“Emily, what’s gotten into you?”* I tried to calm her.
*“You’ve forgotten all about Lily! You once said you didn’t need happiness. What changed?”*
*“Yes, it changed! I’m alive again. I wish you’d understand me—woman to woman.”*
*“And how’s Lily supposed to understand? You traded her for some random bloke?”*
*“That’s absurd! I’m still with her most of the time. Just forget what you said—let’s move on.”*
*“I should apologise? You’re mad. I won’t leave Lily with you anymore. Sort yourself out first—then we’ll talk.”* She hung up.
I collapsed in tears, shaking with hurt. I’d given everything for them. And when my time came—I was cast aside. Just like that. For daring to be happy.
I hope Emily cools down. She’ll call. She’ll understand. Because I can’t imagine life without her and Lily.
Sometimes love means letting others live—even when their happiness takes a different shape than we expected.
