The elderly woman sat on the bench outside the house that was no longer hers.
Grandma Margaret lingered on the wooden seat, staring at the cottage where she had spent her entire life. Now it belonged to others, and she only stayed by their kindness. She couldnt understand how it had come to this. She had lived honestly, never wishing harm on anyone, raising her only son with love.
But her son had turned out differently than shed hoped. Hot tears streaked her weathered cheeks as memories rushed backher wedding to her beloved William, the birth of their boy, Thomas. Later, twins had come, a boy and a girl, but they were fragile, gone within days. Then, far too soon, William was taken by appendicitis. The doctors had missed the signs until the infection spread, and by then, it was too late.
Margaret had wept for months, but tears wouldnt bring him back. Life had to go on. She never remarried, though suitors had come. She feared Thomas might struggle with a stepfather, so she poured everything into raising him alone.
Thomas grew up, moved to the city, built his own life. He studied, married, moved on. Margaret stayed in the little cottage William had built for her, living there until old age made it hard. Thomas visited sometimeschopped firewood, carried water, did what he couldbut each year, the chores grew heavier. Even keeping a few chickens and an old goat became a struggle.
Then one day, Thomas arrived with a stranger.
“Hello, Mum,” he said.
“Hello, Tommy.”
“This is my friend Edward,” Thomas continued. “Hes interested in buying the cottage. You cant live here alone anymore. Youll come with me to the city.”
Margaret sat down hard, stunned.
“Dont worry,” Thomas said. “My wife doesnt mind. Well take care of you. Youll be comfortable, help with the grandchildren. They keep asking when Granny Meg will visit.”
And just like that, the decision was made. What could an old woman do? She couldnt manage alone, but at least shed be with her family.
***************
The cottage sold quickly. Before leaving, Margaret wandered through every room, touching the walls, the hearth, the windowsill where William had once placed flowers. Stepping into the garden, the silence crushed her. Where once there had been clucking hens, the bleat of her goat, nownothing.
She scooped a handful of earth, the soil she had tended for decades. The hardest part was saying goodbye to the village where shed been born, where every neighbour wept as she left, promising to pray for her in her new home.
With a last look at the cottage, she climbed into her sons car. What else could she do? Such was the cruel loneliness of old age.
At first, living with Thomas was bearable. No more chopping wood or hauling watereverything was modern, easy. She played with her grandchildren, watched telly.
But soon, Thomas used the money from the sale to buy a flashy new car. Margaret warned him it was reckless, but he cut her off.
“You dont need to worry about money, Mum,” he snapped. “Youve got a warm flat and everything you need. Thats enough.”
Something hardened in his voice that day. After that, his wife grew cold, the grandchildren cheeky and distant. They stopped asking if shed eaten, if she needed anything. Sometimes, they shouted at hertold her to stay out of the way, that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Margaret ached. If shed known shed become a burden, shed have stayed in her cottage, even if it meant starving. Better to die in her own home than be worse than a stranger under her sons roof.
She cried for her cottage every night. If only she could go back.
One morning, shed had enough.
“I never thought, Tommy,” she said quietly, “that my own son would make my old age so bitter. That money would mean more to you than your mother. Im leaving.”
Thomas didnt look up. Only as she stepped out, her meagre belongings in hand, did he mutter:
“If you get tired of wandering, Mum, you can always come back.”
The door clicked shut behind her. In the stairwell, she let the tears fall. The worst pain wasnt leavingit was that he hadnt even tried to stop her.
***************
It took Margaret over a day to reach her village again. She slept at the station, hitched rides, her eyes never dry. Only when she saw the cottage did her heart steady. The new owners had painted it, fixed the roofit looked almost as it had when she and William first moved in.
Though it wasnt hers anymore, she didnt care. She slipped into the old pig sheds loft and decided to stay. At least she was home.
Her only fear was being found. Then shed truly have nowhere to gounless the earth swallowed her whole.
She wasnt hidden for long. The next morning, the owner came to feed the pigs. He poured the slops, then looked up.
“Come down, Granny Meg,” he said. “We need to talk.”
Her stomach twisted. She climbed down, bracing for the worst.
What the man said next shattered her.
“Granny,” Edwardthe very man Thomas had introducedsaid gently, “we know everything. Your son called. Said you might come here. We know things didnt work out with him.” He paused. “You cant live in a pig shed. This was your home. You and your husband built it, cared for it. Theres always room for you here. Now, come inside. My wife makes a cracking stew.”
Margaret sobbednot from sorrow, but from the kindness of strangers. These people, who owed her nothing, had shown more love than her own flesh and blood.
Stepping over the threshold, her legs nearly gave way. The smell of the hearth, the walls, the memoriesit was all still there. And though her heart ached for the son whod cast her aside, she whispered a prayer that God might forgive him.
