Uninvited to the Wedding for Being a ‘Foreigner,’ I Transform into ‘Family’ for My New 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 got married almost ten years ago. His partner, Chloé, had already been married once and brought a daughter from that first union into our lives. I welcomed both of them as if they were my own, opening my heart without distinction. Over the years I tried to support the young couplesometimes with money, sometimes by babysitting so they could catch a breather from daily hassles. My relationship with my daughterinlaw has always been strainedno outright fights, but a persistent chill that never quite lifted.
Chloés first husband paid regular child support but never wanted to see his daughter; he erased her from his life like an unwanted page. Last year my granddaughter, whom I considered as my own flesh and blood, got married. Thats when everything went wrong. Neither my son nor I received an invitation. The reason given was that the ceremony was limited to family members, and we apparently werent counted among them. My son, who had raised that girl for almost a decade, giving his heart and soul, suddenly found himself excluded. Meanwhile, her biological father, who only remembered her to send money, strutted through the guest list as if he owned a right to be there.
The news hit me like a bolt of lightning. I loved that girl, celebrated her successes, helped her whenever I could, and all I got in return was a distant 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 hurtboth 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 pensionliving on that alone is tough, and any extra cash is welcome. Then, out of the blue, Chloé called. Her voice, unusually soft and almost tender, told me that her daughtermy granddaughterwas expecting a baby and that the couple had nowhere to live. She asked me to free up my apartment for them. I was stunned. At the wedding we were outsiders, unwanted, and now, when housing is at stake, Im suddenly a close relative?
Her words sounded like a bitter accusation. I havent answered yet, but inside me screams No! Perhaps I cling to the past, holding onto this grievance like 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 view me only as a resource to be used and discarded once Im no longer useful.
I cant understand how my son, Luc, tolerates this humiliation. How does he live with a woman who doesnt acknowledge his efforts, his sacrifices, or his mother? He stays quiet, lowers his gaze, and I see him slowly being consumed by this marriage. I now face a choice: swallow my pride again and give in, or finally say enough and preserve a sliver of my dignity. The apartment isnt just four walls; its my pillar, my little haven in old age. Handing it over to those who wiped me from their lives when I was no longer needed? No, thats beyond what I can bear.
I remain torn. Part of me wants to be kind and generous, as a mother and grandmother should be. The other part, weary of pain and deceit, urges me to protect myself.