When I finally found a love life of my own, my daughter called me mad and banned me from seeing my granddaughter.
My whole life had been devoted to my daughter, and then—my granddaughter. But it seems my family forgot I also have a right to happiness that doesn’t revolve solely around them. I married young, at twenty-one. My husband, Thomas, was a quiet, steady man, a hard worker through and through. One day, he was offered a short business trip—supposedly good extra pay for hauling cargo to another region.
He never came back. To this day, I don’t know what happened on that trip. One day, I just got a call telling me Thomas was gone. I was left alone with a two-year-old, utterly lost. His parents had passed long before, and mine had moved to another city. I didn’t know how to survive, how to provide for my little girl.
At least Thomas had left us his tiny flat. Without it—well, I don’t know how we’d have managed. I’d trained as a teacher, and at first, I tried tutoring from home. But holding lessons while a toddler whinged and toddled about? Nearly impossible.
I couldn’t take a proper job because of little Emily. Who leaves a two-year-old alone all day? My mum came to visit once, saw my despair, and took Emily back with her. For almost two years, she lived with her grandparents while I worked myself ragged—teaching, extra shifts, private lessons.
Every weekend, I’d visit. Each goodbye tore me apart. Then came the nursery waiting list—I dreaded endless sick days at home, but thankfully, Emily was sturdy as an oak. Eventually, it was just the two of us again. Then school, then university.
I worked myself to the bone so she’d have the best trainers, the nicest skirts, the smartest blouses. Rarely just one job—always two, sometimes three. But when Emily graduated and got work of her own? For the first time, I breathed. And promptly panicked—because suddenly, no one needed me anymore.
No more scrambling for extra shifts. My body was already groaning, and my only real friend was the cat. Emily visited sometimes, but entertaining her lonely mum all day clearly wasn’t her idea of fun. I felt discarded. Everything changed when my granddaughter Lottie was born.
A few months before her arrival, I moved in with Emily and her husband, Daniel. Shopping, cleaning, hospital bags—all on me. And once Emily went back to work? Full-time grandma duty. Not that I complained—for the first time in ages, I felt useful again.
This year, Lottie started school. After classes, I’d fetch her, feed her, help with homework, then off to the park or after-school clubs. And there, in the park, I met George. He was there with his granddaughter too. We got talking. George had been widowed young, same as me, and was helping his daughter raise his little one.
When I first met George, I didn’t dare hope. Not once since Thomas had I been on sv a date, let alone dinner with someone. First a toddler, then work. Once Lottie came along, I proudly called myself “Nan.” Since when do grandmothers have sweethearts? Turns out—they do. George reminded me I’m still a woman.
His first text asking to meet, just us, no kids? I nearly fainted. With him, a new life began. Cinema trips, theatre nights, festivals, exhibitions. I remembered what it was to feel alive.
Then Emily decided she hated it. It started with a Saturday morning call:
“Mum, we’re dropping Lottie off for the weekend, yeah?”
“Sorry, love, I’ve got plans. We don’t even have a lot of time in town. Next time, give me a heads-up—I’ll gladly have her.”
Emily scoffed and hung up. Monday came, and George and I returned home. I was buzzing, full of energy. Even Lottie noticed my eyes sparkling. Peace lasted till Friday—then another call:
“Friends invited us out. Can you take Lottie?”
“We agreed—advance warning. My weekend’s already booked.”
“So you’re off shimmying about with that George again? He got you completely dippy, hasn’t he?” she snapped.
“Emily, what’s wrong with you?” I tried to stay calm.
“You’ve forgotten about Lottie! Used to say you didn’t need love. What, changed your mind?”
“Yes, I have! I’m alive again. I wish you’d understand—woman, I know you can.”
“And Lottie’s meant to what—celebrate being dumped for some bloke?”
“What nonsense! I still have her most of the time. Just—apologise, and we’ll forget this.”
“I should apologise? Now you’ve lost the plot. Not having you near Lottie till you sort yourself out,” Emily spat before slamming the phone down.
And then? I crumpled. Sobbing till it hurt, till I shook. I’d given my whole life to them. And when my turn finally came? They struck me out. Just like that. For daring to finally be happy.
I hope Emily cools off. That she’ll call. That she’ll understand. Because I can’t imagine life without her—without Lottie.
