The elderly woman sat on the bench outside the house that was no longer hers.
Grandma Edith rested on the wooden seat, staring at the cottage where shed spent her entire life. Now, it belonged to strangers, and she stayed only by their kindness. Edith couldnt fathom how it had come to this. Shed lived honestly, never wished harm on anyone, devoted herself to raising her only son.
But he hadnt turned out the way shed hoped. Tears streamed down her wrinkled cheeks as memories flooded her mindher wedding day to her beloved William, the birth of their boy, Thomas. Then came the twins, a boy and a girl, but they were frail, gone within days. Not long after, William succumbed to appendicitis. The doctors had missed the signs until peritonitis set in, and by then, it was too late.
Shed wept for her husband, but tears changed nothing. 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, chose his own path, moving to the city. He built a career, married, and moved forwardleaving Edith alone in the cottage William had built for them. She lived there, year after year, until old age settled in.
Thomas visited sometimeschopped wood, fetched water, helped where he could. But each winter grew harder for Edith to manage alone. She kept a few hens and a goat, but even that became a burden.
Then one day, Thomas arrived with a stranger.
“Hello, Mum,” he greeted.
“Hello, my dear.”
“This is my friend, Edward,” Thomas continued. “Hes interested in buying the cottage. Its time you came to live with me in London. You shouldnt be here alone.”
Edith froze, her hands trembling.
“Dont worry,” Thomas assured her. “My wife doesnt mind. Youll be comfortable, help with the grandchildren. They keep asking when Granny will visit.”
The decision was made for her. What could she do, an old woman? She couldnt manage alonebut at least shed have her grandchildren.
***************
The cottage sold quickly. Before leaving, Edith wandered through every room, tracing the walls that held her memories. Out in the garden, the silence crushed her. Once, this place had been alivethe clucking hens, the bleating goat, the snuffling pigs. Now, emptiness.
She scooped a handful of earth, the soil shed toiled over for decades. Saying goodbye to the village where shed been born and lived her whole life was agony. Neighbors wept as they bid her farewell, promising to pray for her in her new home.
One last glance at the cottage, then she climbed into her sons car. What else could she do? Such was the cruelty of old age.
At first, life in London was pleasant. No chores, no livestockeverything modern, effortless. She played with the grandchildren, watched telly.
Then Thomas spent the cottage money on a new car. Edith hesitatedshouldnt they save?but he cut her off sharply. “Dont fret over money,” he snapped. “Youve got a warm flat and everything you need. Thats enough.”
She never mentioned it again, but the wound festered. Worse, his attitude changed. Meals were no longer shared. The grandchildren grew distant. Soon, they barely spoke to heronly snapping if she was in the way.
Edith was trapped. Had she known this would happen, shed never have sold the cottage. Better to die cold and hungry in her own home than endure thisunwanted by her own flesh and blood.
She wept for her cottage daily. If she could go back, she would in a heartbeat. But strangers lived there now.
One morning, shed had enough.
“Thomas,” she said, voice shaking, “I never thought my own son would make my old age so bitter. That money meant more to you than your mother. Im leaving.”
He didnt look up. Only as she stepped out with her small suitcase did he mutter, “When youre tired of wandering, you can come back.”
Edith shut the door without a word. In the hallway, she let the tears fall. It hurtthat he hadnt held her, hadnt begged her to stay. Just let her go.
***************
It took her two days to reach the village. She slept at the station, hitched rides, eyes swollen from crying. Only when she saw the cottage did her heart ease. The new owners had repainted it, restored itit looked almost as it had when shed lived there with William.
Though it wasnt hers anymore, Edith didnt care. She crept into the pigsty loft and settled there. At least she was home.
Her only fear was discovery. If they threw her out, shed have nowhere leftunless the earth swallowed her whole.
It didnt take long. The next morning, the owner came to feed the pigs. He poured the feed, then looked up.
“Come down, Granny Edith,” he said firmly. “We need to talk.”
Her stomach twisted. Shed been found too soon. Still, she had to face them. Whatever happened, happened.
What he said next stunned her.
“Granny,” Edwardthe man Thomas had once broughtspoke gently, “my wife and I know everything. Your son called, warned us you might return. We know it didnt work out with him.” He sighed. “You cant live in a pigsty. This was your home. You and your husband built it, cared for it. Theres always a place for you here. Come inside. Get cleaned up. My wife makes a brilliant stew.”
Edith wept againthis time from gratitude. Strangers had shown her more kindness than her own son.
Stepping over the threshold, her legs nearly gave way. The scent of her life enveloped her. Shed been made a beggar in her own home, by her own blood. Her heart achedyet even then, she whispered a prayer for Thomas. May God forgive him.
