I finally have a personal life, but my daughter thinks I’m crazy and forbade me from seeing my granddaughter.

I finally had a life of my own, but my daughter called me crazy and forbade me from seeing my granddaughter.

I dedicated my whole life to my daughter. Later, to my granddaughter. I never complained, never asked for anything in return. But it seems they both forgot that I wasn’t just a free nanny and maid. I’m a woman. With feelings, desires, and the right to be happy.

I was twenty-one when I got married. My husband, Rafael, was a quiet, calm, hard-working man. We lived humbly, but peacefully. When my daughter was two, he left on a work trip—in his truck, to deliver merchandise. Did he return? No. He died. They never told me how. I was left alone, with my little Lucía in my arms.

Rafael’s parents were no longer with us; mine lived in another city. I had no one to turn to for help. My only saving grace was the apartment I inherited from him. I tried working from home—I gave private lessons, because I trained to be a teacher. But believe me, teaching while a restless child runs around the house isn’t easy.

Then my mother took Lucía with her. She lived with her grandparents for almost two years while I worked like a log, at the school and teaching in the evenings. Every weekend I traveled to see her. Every time I left, it broke my heart.

When Lucía started kindergarten, I prayed she wouldn’t get sick, because I couldn’t miss work. Luckily, she was a strong child. Then came junior high school. Then, college. I carried everything on my own. Working day and night to buy her clothes, shoes, food, and activities.

When she graduated and got a job, I finally felt: it was over. I was free. But free meant alone. My parents were dead, I had no friends, I was always busy. Even the cat became my only confidant.

And then Martita was born. I moved in with my daughter a few months before the birth—I helped her with shopping, cleaning, cooking, and we packed her hospital bag together. After that, I took full responsibility for the baby—Lucía soon returned to work.

But I didn’t complain. On the contrary, I flourished. I felt useful again. When Martita started school, I picked her up after class. We ate together, did homework, and walked in the park. On one of those walks, I met Javier.

He was also a grandfather—he took care of his granddaughter. His story was similar to mine: a young widower, helping his daughter. We started talking. And the conversations dragged on. Until one day he invited me to meet up… without the girls. For coffee.

The truth? I was speechless. The last time someone asked me out was thirty years ago. But I said yes. And so, joy returned to my life. We went to the movies, to exhibitions, we just walked. I felt like a woman again.

But my daughter didn’t understand. One morning, Lucía called me:

—Pablo and I want to go to some friends’ house. Can you stay with Martita this weekend?

—I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going away for two days. You should have let me know sooner.

“Again with that… Javier?” she snorted.

I froze:

—Lucia, what tone is that? You know very well that I’m always there for Martita. But I’m not a perpetual babysitter.

—You forgot about your granddaughter! Just a little while ago you were saying you didn’t want a life of your own, and now you’re off partying!

“Yes, I’m going out to party,” I replied calmly. “Because I’m living. Because I’m happy. And I thought you’d be happy for me.”

—Rejoice? You traded your granddaughter for some random man! You should focus, Mom, you’re crazy! You won’t see Martita until you come to your senses!

I sat there, not believing it was my daughter speaking. I gave her my whole life. I gave up everything for her sake. I raised her alone. I took care of her. I supported her. I helped her with her daughter. And now I was a “crazy grandma” with “birds in her head” for daring to be happy?

I cried all night. I didn’t say anything to Javier. He just hugged me and whispered:

—You have the right to live. To love. And to be loved.

But something inside me shut down. I can’t imagine my life without Lucía. Without Martita. I’m terrified of losing them forever. I hope my daughter calms down and calls me. That she understands—her mother didn’t stop being a grandmother. Only, for the first time in years, she’s also a woman with her own happiness.

Don’t I deserve it?