Excluded from the Wedding for Being a “Foreigner,” I Now Become “Family” for My Flat

I wasnt asked to attend the wedding because I was deemed foreign, yet the moment my flat became relevant, I was instantly treated as family.
My son tied the knot almost a decade ago. His partner, Chloé, had been married before and brought a daughter from that earlier union into our lives. I welcomed both of them as if they were my own kin, opening my heart without reservation. Over the years I tried to support the young couplesometimes with money, sometimes by looking after the children so the parents could catch a breath from daily pressures. My relationship with my daughterinlaw has always been strainedno outright fights, but a persistent coldness that never seemed to melt.
Chloés first husband regularly paid child support, yet refused any contact with his daughter, erasing her from his life as if she were a useless page. Last year my granddaughterwhom I regarded as my own flesh and bloodgot married. Thats when everything unraveled. Neither my son nor I received an invitation. The reason given was that the ceremony was limited to family members, and apparently we didnt qualify. My son, who had raised that girl for almost ten years, giving his all, suddenly found himself excluded. Meanwhile, her biological father, who remembered her only when it meant sending money, strutted among the guests as if he owned the place.
The news hit me like a thunderbolt. I loved that girl, celebrated her milestones, helped her whenever I could, and in return I was met with indifference and a closed door. I saw her as my granddaughter, yet she erased me from her life without a backward glance. My son stayed silent, though I could see the pain gnawing at himhe swallowed the humiliation, buried it deep, but the wound was already inflicted. I felt doubly hurtboth for myself and for himby an injustice that crushed us both.
A year ago I inherited a tiny studio near Dijon. I decided to rent it out to supplement my modest pensionliving solely on it is tough, and any extra cash is welcome. Then the phone rang. Chloé called, her voice unusually gentle, almost tenderunrecognizable. She told me her daughter, my granddaughter, was expecting a child and that the young couple had nowhere to live. She asked me to vacate my apartment so they could move in. I was stunned. At the wedding we were unwelcome strangers, 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 inside me screams, No! Perhaps I cling to the past, using that 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 view me merely as a resource to be used and discarded once Im no longer needed.
I cant grasp how my son, Luc, endures this humiliation. How does he live with a woman who neither acknowledges his efforts nor his sacrifices, nor even his mother? He stays quiet, drops his gaze, and I see him slowly being consumed by this marriage. I now face a choice: bow and swallow my pride again, or finally say enough and preserve a sliver of dignity. The apartment isnt just walls; its my pillar, a tiny refuge in my old age. Handing it over to those who erased me from their lives when I was no longer useful? No, that exceeds what I can bear.
I remain torn. Part of me wants to be kind and generous, as a mother and grandmother should be. Yet another part, weary of the pain and deceit, tells me to protect myself.