Excluded from the Wedding for Being an “Outsider,” I Transform into “Family” for My New Flat

Not invited to the wedding because I was foreign, I suddenly become family when it comes to my flat
I wasnt asked to attend the ceremony because Im an outsider, yet the moment my apartment is mentioned, I am treated as one of the family.
My son got married almost ten years ago. His partner, Chloë, had already been married once and brought a daughter from that previous union into our lives. I welcomed both of them as if they were my own relatives, opening my heart without drawing any line. Over the years I tried to help the young couplesometimes with money, sometimes by looking after the children so they could catch a break from everyday duties. With my stepdaughter the relationship has always been strainedno outright fights, but a cold distance that never seems to thaw.
Chloes first husband paid child support regularly, yet he never wanted to see his daughter, erasing her from his life like an unwanted page. Last year my granddaughter, whom I considered my own flesh and blood, got married. And thats when everything fell apart. Neither my son nor I received an invitation. The reason given was that the celebration was limited to family members, and we apparently didnt qualify. My son, who had raised that girl for almost a decade, who had given his heart and soul, found himself pushed aside. Meanwhile her biological fatherthe man who only remembered her when he had to send moneyparaded among the guests as if he owned a right to be there.
The news hit me like lightning. I loved that girl, celebrated her achievements, helped her whenever I could, and all I got back was a indifferent glance and a closed door. I regarded her as my granddaughter, and she erased me from her life without a second look. My son stayed silent, though I could see the pain gnawing at himhe swallowed the humiliation, buried it deep, but the wound was already made. I felt doubly woundedboth for myself and for himby this unfairness that crushed us both.
A year ago I inherited a small studio near Dijon. I decided to rent it out to supplement my modest pensionliving solely on that income is tough, and any extra cash is welcome. Then I got a call. Chloes voice, soft and almost tenderunrecognizabletold me her daughter, my granddaughter, was expecting a child and that the young couple had nowhere to live. She asked me to free my flat so they could move in. I was stunned. At the wedding we were strangers, unwanted, and now, when housing is at stake, I am suddenly a close relative?
Her words sounded like a bitter accusation. I havent answered yet, but every part of me shouts No! Perhaps I cling to the past, holding onto that resentment like an anchor, but I cannot 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 needed.
I dont understand how my son, my Luc, endures this humiliation. How can he live with a woman who doesnt acknowledge his efforts, his sacrifices, or his mother? He stays quiet, lowers his eyes, and I watch him slowly dissolve within this marriage. I stand before a choice: swallow my pride once more and give in, or finally say enough, preserving at least a fragment of my dignity. The flat isnt just walls; its my pillar, my little sanctuary in old age. Handing it over to those who erased me when I was no longer useful? No, thats beyond what I can bear.
I remain torn. One part of me wants to be kind, generous, as a mother and grandmother should be. The other, weary of pain and deceit, urges me to protect myself.