The old woman sat on the bench opposite the house that was no longer hers.
Grandma Edith rested on the wooden seat outside the cottage where she had spent her entire life. Yet now, it belonged to strangersthough they let her stay out of kindness. Edith couldnt fathom how shed ended up this way. Shed lived honestly, never wished harm on anyone, raised her only son with care.
But her son hadnt turned out as shed hoped Bitter tears traced the wrinkles of her cheeks as she wandered through the pastback to her wedding day with her beloved Arthur. A year later, their son Timothy was born. Twins followed, a boy and a girl, but they were too frail, gone within a week. Then Arthur, taken by appendicitis. The doctors had missed the signs until peritonitis set in. Too late.
She wept for Arthur, but tears wouldnt bring him back. Life had to go on. She never remarried, though suitors came and went. She feared a stepfather might unsettle Timothy, so she poured all her love into raising him.
Timothy grew up, chose his own pathleft for the city, studied, married, built his life. Grandma Edith stayed behind in the little cottage Arthur had built for them. And there she remained, alone, until age crept in.
Timothy visited sometimes. Chopped wood, fetched water, did what he could. But each year, the cottage grew heavier on her shoulders. A goat, a few chickenseven they became too much.
One day, Timothy arrived with a stranger.
«Hello, Mum,» he said.
«Hello, Tim.»
«This is my friend, Edward,» he continued. «Hes interested in buying the cottage. You cant live here alone anymoreyoull come stay with us in London.»
Edith sat down hard, stunned.
«Dont worry,» he said. «My wife doesnt mind. Well take care of you. Youll be comfortable, help with the grandkids. They keep asking when Grannys coming.»
The decision was made for her. What could she do? An old woman, no match for an empty house. At least shed have her grandchildren.
The cottage sold quickly. Before leaving, Edith wandered through every room, each corner whispering memories. Stepping into the garden, silence gripped her heart. No goats bleat, no clucking hensjust emptiness.
She scooped a handful of soilthe earth shed worked all her life. The neighbours wept as she left, promising prayers for her in this strange new place.
One last look at the cottage, then into her sons car. What else could she do? Such was the cruelty of age.
At first, life in London was pleasant. No chores, no livestockeverything modern, effortless. She played with the grandchildren, watched telly.
Then, with the money from the sale, Timothy bought a car. Edith protestedsuch a wastebut he cut her off. «You dont need to worry about money,» he snapped. «Youve got a warm flat and everything you need. Be grateful.»
She never mentioned it again, though the words festered. Worse, Timothys family grew cold. They stopped asking if shed eaten, if shed slept. Soon, they ignored her entirelysnapped if she spoke, shooed her away.
Edith was adrift. Had she known this awaited her, shed have never sold the cottage. Better to freeze or starve in her own home than wither in her sons shadow, unwanted.
She wept for the cottage daily. If she could, shed return in a heartbeat. But strangers lived there now.
Finally, she confronted Timothy.
«I never thought my own son would discard me like this,» she said. «Money mattered more than your mother. Im leaving.»
He stared at the floor, silentuntil she reached the door. Then, coldly:
«If you tire of wandering, you can come back.»
Edith shut the door without a word. On the landing, she let the tears fall. His indifference cut deeper than any insult.
It took her a day to reach the village. Slept at the station, hitched rides. Her eyes never dried. But at the sight of the cottagefreshly painted, just as it had been when shed first moved in with Arthurher heart stilled.
Though it wasnt hers anymore, she slipped into the old pigsty loft. Better to be near the walls she knew.
She feared the new owners would find her, cast her out like Timothy had. Then shed truly have nowhere to gounless the earth swallowed her whole.
They found her the next morning. The owner came to feed the pigs, looked up, and said:
«Come down, Granny Edith. We need to talk.»
She braced for the worst.
But Edwardthe man Timothy had broughtspoke softly.
«Granny,» he said, «we know everything. Your son called. He said you might come. We know you didnt belong there.» He paused. «Youll stay with us. This is your homeyou and Arthur built it. Theres always room for you here.»
Edith weptnot from sorrow, but gratitude. Strangers had shown more kindness than her own flesh and blood.
Stepping inside, the scent of her life wrapped around her. She understood then: her son had made her a beggar in her own home. Her heart achedyet even now, she whispered a prayer for Timothys soul.
