I spent what little I had just to see my granddaughter smile on her birthday. But before she even saw me, her other grandma called me a beggar and tried to have me thrown out — like I didn’t matter.
Five years of silence.
Silence after losing Linda, my wife. Silence after Emily, our daughter, cut me off, blaming me for not stopping Linda from going out that night — the night she never came back.
I tried to reach out — calls, letters, photos — but got nothing. I lived quietly, saving every penny, surviving on tea and toast, too proud to beg, too tired to fight.
Then I saw a preschool janitor job and took it. That’s where I met Sophie — curious, bright, full of life. We became fast friends. She called herself the boss of the Yellow Bunnies. One day, she showed me a pendant I knew well — I had given it to Linda, who passed it to Emily. That’s when I realized: Sophie was my granddaughter.
She invited me to her birthday.
I came with a small box — a piano charm on a silver chain — and a surprise piano delivery outside. But before Sophie could greet me, her other grandma, Marianne, cornered me.
“You think you can just show up after all these years?”
I tried to explain. She mocked me. Then Emily appeared. Confusion turned to shock as she realized Marianne had hidden my letters — and hers.
“You told me he didn’t care,” Emily whispered.
We broke down. She hugged me tightly. “I thought you stopped loving me.”
“I never did,” I said.
Outside, the piano arrived. I told her I’d saved for it, just for Sophie.
Emily turned to her daughter. “Sophie, this is your grandpa. The best man in the world.”
Sophie grinned. “So… you do have a granddaughter after all.”
I laughed through tears. We had lost years. But the best ones were just beginning