**Diary Entry**
It stings to think about itbeing left out of a wedding because I was not family, yet suddenly becoming family when my flat was needed.
Nearly a decade ago, my son married Emily. She had been married before and brought her daughter, Sophie, from that marriage into our lives. I welcomed them both with open arms, treating Sophie as my own flesh and blood. Over the years, I did all I couldhelping financially, looking after the children, giving them respite from the grind of daily life. But with Emily, there was always a distanceno outright fights, just a quiet coldness I could never thaw.
Sophies birth father paid child support but had no interest in seeing her, as if she were a footnote hed rather forget. Last year, when my granddaughterthe girl I adored as my owngot married, neither my son nor I received an invitation. The reason? Family only. Never mind that my son had raised her for ten years, pouring his heart into being a father, while her real onewho sent money but never a kind wordstrutted among the guests as if hed earned the right.
The rejection cut deep. Id celebrated her milestones, bought her gifts, loved her fiercelyonly to be met with indifference. She cast me aside without a second thought. My son stayed quiet, though I could see the hurt eating at him. He swallowed his pride, but the wound festered. I ached for him, for the cruelty of it all.
Then, a year ago, I inherited a modest flat in Cheltenham. I meant to rent it outmy pension barely stretches, and every extra pound helps. But then came the call. Emilys voice was suddenly soft, almost pleading. Sophie was expecting, she said, and the young couple had nowhere to live. Would I let them have the flat?
The irony burned. At the wedding, we were strangersunwanted. Now, with a roof at stake, I was family again?
I havent answered yet, but every instinct screams *no*. Maybe Im clinging to bitterness, but how can I forget the betrayal? I remember her first steps, the toys I bought, the love I thought we sharedonly to be treated as disposable.
My sonmy Jameshow does he bear it? Living with a woman who dismisses all hes done, who lets her daughter erase us when it suits her? He stays silent, fading a little more each day. And now I must choose: bend again, or say *enough*. That flat isnt just bricksits my safety, my last bit of security. Handing it over to those who discarded me? Unthinkable.
Im torn. Part of me still wants to be kind, to be the mother and grandmother I always was. But another whispers, *You owe them nothing*. The debate gnaws at me, leaving only shadows of the woman who once believed in family.
