My mother and sister had a perfect plan—when grandma became a nuisance, they sent her to me.

Mom and my sister have a way of making things work for themselves: when Grandma became inconvenient for them in their apartment, they shipped her off to me. Now that my sister needs a nanny for her child, they suddenly want her back. It’s as if they’re talking about a piece of furniture, not a living person.
Mom had me when she was just eighteen. She wasn’t married, and she lost touch with my father soon after. A year later, she found a new husband and moved to another city with him, leaving me behind.
Grandma raised me. My father occasionally helped, visiting now and then, but that stopped when he moved far away. Grandma did her best to provide for me, though it was never easy for her. Mom never sent money, never visited unless she needed something.
“You’re an orphan with living parents,” Grandma would whisper, stroking my hair as she cried.
Mom came back when I was twelve, freshly divorced and with a six-year-old daughter—Maya. With nowhere else to go, she returned to Grandma’s small two-room apartment. I shared one room with Grandma, while Mom and my sister took the other.
Even though Maya was my sister by blood, I never felt a connection to her or to Mom. To me, she was just another person in the house, someone I didn’t particularly like or trust. Mom tried to enforce rules, acting as if she had a say in my life, but I refused to listen. The only person I respected was Grandma. Mom and I constantly fought.
“This is your fault!” Mom would scream at Grandma. “You spoiled her so much that she doesn’t respect her own mother!”
“You’re not my mother,” I’d snap back. “A real mother doesn’t abandon her child.”
These fights became a regular occurrence. Grandma would beg me to be softer, to avoid conflict, but I couldn’t bring myself to pretend.
When I finished high school, I left home feeling both relief and sorrow. Relief that I wouldn’t have to see Mom and my sister anymore. Sorrow because I was leaving behind the only real family I had—Grandma.
Even when I returned to my hometown, I made sure to live separately. I found a job, rented an apartment, and visited Grandma only when I knew Mom and my sister wouldn’t be around. It wasn’t hard—they were busy with their own lives and rarely stayed home.
Two years later, Grandma called with unexpected news—my father had passed away. A friend of his had contacted her. He had been buried in our town, and as his only heir, I inherited his small one-bedroom apartment.
I lived there for a while before selling it, using the money as a down payment on a two-bedroom apartment with a mortgage. By the time I was twenty-five, I had a place of my own. That’s when Mom reached out to me.
Apparently, my sister had followed in Mom’s footsteps—she was pregnant at nineteen. But unlike Mom, she was actually getting married. I had a feeling the guy had been pressured into it, but that wasn’t my concern.
Mom wasn’t telling me this just for conversation. Maya’s fiancé didn’t have a home of his own, and she refused to live with her mother-in-law. With two more people moving into Grandma’s apartment, things were going to be tight. So, Mom tried to appeal to my sense of duty, insisting I should take Grandma in.
I flatly refused. I wasn’t about to uproot Grandma from her own home just because my sister wanted to play house in comfort. Mom was furious, called me selfish, but I didn’t care. I had no reason to respect this woman.
But that evening, Grandma called, her voice trembling. She asked me to take her in, saying it had become unbearable. Mom and Maya were constantly fighting, screaming at each other. Soon, a baby would be added to the chaos. She didn’t want to live like that anymore.
I immediately went to get her. Mom and my sister shot us venomous glares as we left, but they kept their mouths shut. They knew better than to start a fight with me. I was seething. Mom had taken advantage of Grandma’s kindness, forcing her out of her own home.
Grandma and I settled in. We finished the renovations, furnished the apartment, and tried not to think about Mom and Maya. Life was peaceful for the first time in years.
But six months later, they resurfaced.
Mom and my sister started calling Grandma, suddenly full of warmth and nostalgia. They missed her. They wanted her to visit and meet her great-granddaughter.
How touching—except they hadn’t even invited Grandma to the hospital for the birth. She only found out about her great-granddaughter from a neighbor’s congratulations.
Still, Grandma went the next day to see the baby. When she returned, she was lost in thought.
“They want me to move back,” she said. “Maya can’t handle the baby alone. She needs help.”
“And what about Mom?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“She moved in with her new man a week ago.”
Of course. The moment my sister needed help, Mom vanished. And suddenly, Grandma became important again.
“I told them no,” Grandma said firmly. “I’ll visit and help when I can, but I won’t move back. They only need me now. Later, when Maya’s boyfriend returns or she decides she wants space, they’ll push me out again. I’m not a fool. I won’t let them treat me like a piece of luggage.”
She looked at me with a hesitant smile. “That is… if you won’t kick me out?”
I hugged her. “Of course not. You’re my family. You’re staying right here.”
Let Mom and Maya figure out their own mess. Grandma had spent her life being used and discarded by them. That cycle ended now. With me, she would always have a home.