Uninvited to the Wedding for Being a “Foreigner,” I Become “Family” for My Flat

I wasnt invited to the wedding because Im foreign, yet when it came to my flat, I was suddenly treated like family.
My son got married almost ten years ago. His partner, Chloë, had been married before and brought a daughter from that first marriage into our lives. I welcomed both of them as if they were my own relatives, 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 break from daily hassles. My relationship with my stepdaughter has always been strainedno outright fights, but a cold distance that never seemed to melt.
Chloës first husband paid child support regularly, yet he never wanted to see his daughter; he erased her from his life as if she were a useless page. Last year my granddaughter, the girl I considered my own flesh and blood, got 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 we apparently werent included. My son, who had raised that girl for almost a decade, giving his whole self, found himself excluded. Meanwhile her biological fatherthe man who remembered her only to send moneywalked among the guests as if he owned the place.
The news struck me like lightning. I loved that girl, celebrated her milestones, helped her whenever I could, and all I got back was a cold stare and a closed door. I saw her as my granddaughter, and she erased me from her life without looking back. My son stayed silent, though I could see the pain gnawing at himhe swallowed the humiliation, buried it deep, but the wound was already done. I felt doubly hurtboth for myself and for himby this 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 income alone is hard, and any extra money is welcome. Then came a call. Chloës voice, soft and almost tender, sounded unfamiliar. She told me her daughtermy granddaughterwas 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 strangers, unwelcome, and now, when housing is at stake, Im suddenly close family?
Her words felt like a sharp rebuke. I havent answered yet, but a part of me screams No! Perhaps I cling to the past, using my 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. Now she and her mother see me only as a resource to be used and discarded when no longer needed.
I dont understand how my son, Luc, tolerates this humiliation. How can he live with a woman who neither acknowledges his efforts, his sacrifices, nor his mother? He stays quiet, lowers his eyes, and I watch him slowly dissolve within this marriage. I now face a choice: give in, swallow my pride again, or finally say enough and preserve a sliver 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 when I was no longer useful? No, that exceeds my limits.
I remain torn. One 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.