I raised my son by myself and gave him my all—even my retirement fund. But a simple toy from my grandson uncovered the devastating reality of just how little that meant to the boy I brought into this world. If you’ve ever sacrificed for the ones you love, this story is for you.
You pour your life into people, convinced that love alone will make them love you back. But sometimes, that love just makes it easier for them to take advantage of you. I’m Annie. I’m 60. And I’ve lived my whole life with one core belief: family first.
My husband passed away when Thomas, our only son, was seven. I took every job I could—scrubbing toilets, waiting tables, pulling doubles—just to make ends meet.
Now, I have a four-year-old grandson named Max. He has the fluffiest curls and a gravelly little laugh that lights up even my darkest days. Just last week, he toddled over with one of his plastic walkie-talkies, his hands sticky from snacks.
For illustrative purpose only
“Grandma Annie, this is for you!”
I laughed. “And what’s this for, darling?”
“So we can talk at night! Just push the button and say my name!”
I clipped it to my apron and smiled. “I love it, sweetie.”
He clung to my legs like a koala. From the other side of the wall, I heard Lila calling him. We live next door to each other at Skyridge Apartments—same corridor, same squeaky boards.
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