Excluded from the Wedding as a “Stranger,” I Become “Family” for My Flat

I wasnt invited to the wedding because I was foreign, yet when it came to my flat I was suddenly treated as family.
My son tied the knot almost ten years ago. His partner, Chloá, had been married before and brought a daughter from that previous marriage into our lives. I welcomed both of them as if they were my own, opening my heart without reservation. Over the years I tried to help the young couplesometimes with money, sometimes by watching the children so they could catch a break from daily stresses. Relations with my daughterinlaw have always been strainedno outright fights, just a persistent coldness that never thawed.
Chloás first husband used to pay child support regularly, yet he never wanted to see his daughter, having erased her from his life as if she were an unnecessary page. Last year my granddaughterwhom I considered my own flesh and bloodgot married. Thats when everything unraveled. Neither my son nor I received an invitation. The reason given: the ceremony was limited to family members, and apparently we didnt qualify. My son, who had raised that girl for nearly a decade, poured his heart and soul into her, found himself excluded. Meanwhile her biological father, a man who only remembered her when he needed to send money, strutted among the guests as if he owned a place at the table.
The news hit me like a bolt. I loved that girl, celebrated her achievements, helped her whenever I could, and all I got back was a blank stare and a closed door. I saw her as my granddaughter, yet she erased me from her life without a second glance. My son stayed silent, though I could see the pain gnawing at himhe swallowed the humiliation, buried it deep, but the wound remained. I felt doubly woundedboth for myself and for himby an injustice that crushed us both.
A year ago I inherited a small studio near Dijon. I decided to rent it out to supplement my modest pension; living on that income alone is tough, so any extra cash is welcome. Then Chloá called, her voice unusually soft, almost tender. She told me her daughtermy granddaughterwas expecting a child and the young couple had nowhere to live. She asked me to make my flat available for them. I was stunned. At the wedding we were strangers, unwanted; now, when housing is at stake, Im suddenly a close relative?
Her words sounded like a bitter accusation. I havent answered yet, but inside Im shouting, No! Perhaps I cling to the past, using that lingering resentment as an anchor, but I cant forgive such a betrayal. My heart aches with memorieswatching her first steps, buying her gifts, feeling she was part of my soul. And now she and her mother see me only as a resource to be used and discarded once Im no longer useful.
I dont understand how my son, Luc, endures this humiliation. How does he live with a woman who fails to recognize his efforts, his sacrifices, his mother? He stays quiet, lowers his gaze, and I see him slowly being consumed by this marriage. I stand before a choice: surrender and swallow my pride again, or finally say enough, preserving at least a fragment of my dignity. The apartment isnt just walls; its my pillar, a small refuge in my old age. Handing it over to those who erased me from their lives when I was no longer needed? No, that exceeds what I can bear.
I remain torn. One part of me wants to be kind and generous, as a mother and grandmother should be. The other partworn out by pain and deceitpushes me toward a different answer.