Sixteen years ago, my life changed in ways I could never have anticipated. I was 56 and always moving between little rental homes when my son Mark finally attained a goal I never could. He was just 29 years old, but he worked hard and was very keen to buy a tiny one-story house for his young family. He resided there with his wife Melissa and their young daughter Emma.
Mark was a construction worker with calloused hands and a plan for the future. He informed me over coffee in his new kitchen, “Mom, I’ll add more rooms, build a porch, and maybe even put up a swing set in the yard.” I’ll even put a room over the garage for you.
That day was one of the best of my life. He even made a simple will that specified that if something happened to him, Emma would get the house. He wanted to make sure that his kid would always be protected. But fate is not kind. Before their aspirations could come true, Mark died in a horrific accident on the job. Emma was just two years old.
I held Emma’s small hand and tried to be calm at his funeral, but Melissa stood there cold and aloof. I spotted her packing her bag when I arrived home at the end of the day. She was only 27, but she was already bored and wanted more than just being a mom. “Take care of her,” she added as she handed me the keys to the house. She then left and got into a nice automobile with another man, leaving her daughter there without looking back.
It was my job to take care of Emma from then on. I moved in with Mark and promised to take care of her. I worked all the time, cleaning houses till my knees hurt, babysitting, and serving tables late into the night. I did whatever to make sure I had food on the table and could pay the mortgage. It was hard, but Emma made me stronger.
I got older, my hair turned gray, and my body slowed down, but Emma got bigger. She was kind, caring, and strong. She never asked for anything, even though all of her friends came from wealthy families. She somehow made things from charity stores look great, and every day she told me how much she loved me.
That was her last year of high school after that. Like any other adolescent girl, Emma wanted to feel special when prom season came around. But when I asked her if she was going, she said no. She said under her breath, “Grandma, we can’t afford a dress.” She had already checked Goodwill and not found anything. She acted like it didn’t matter, but I could tell she was sad.
I hauled out my old sewing machine after work that night at the diner. Earlier, I had acquired some light blue satin fabric from a thrift store. It wasn’t too expensive, and it was beautiful. I worked late into the night, cutting, sewing, and stitching with care into every seam. Emma told me at first that I was already working too hard, but I wouldn’t listen. She had earned her turn to shine.
She looked great in the dress a few days later. The cloth shined softly, and she cried as she said, “It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.” There was a loud knock on our front door at that moment.
My heart almost stopped when I opened it. There was Melissa there. Sixteen years older, yet still gorgeous, well-groomed, and smiling like nothing had occurred. She came in with a bag of clothes without being asked. She hugged Emma and cried, “Oh, my baby girl!” Emma stopped moving because she didn’t know what to do.
Melissa then pulled out a dazzling silver outfit that was clearly designer and cost a lot of money. “Here,” she said, waving it in front of Emma. “People will make fun of you if you wear that old thing.” “This is a real dress for prom.”
Emma stopped to think and looked at the blue garment she had sewn for herself. I didn’t want to believe it, but I knew deep down that Melissa hadn’t come back for love. Then, an envelope fell out of her bag. Emma recognized her name on the front and grabbed it. There were legal documents within.
Melissa’s smile went away. She began to read from a script, explaining that Mark’s house was for their family and that if Emma signed the papers, she could sell it and purchase them something “better.” She was attempting to get Emma to believe that she belonged with her by what she said.
But Emma wasn’t fooled. At first, her voice shook, but it got stronger over time. “Do you think a dress will make me want to buy you?” You think you should get this house after you left me? My grandma looked after me. “This is our house, not yours.” Then she ripped the papers into small pieces.
Melissa’s expression got angry. She said harsh things, like that Emma was ungrateful and that she would regret staying with “a dying old woman.” After that, she rushed out and slammed the door behind her.
Emma kept me tight that night. “Grandma, you’re my family.” You always have been.
The next night, she wore the blue dress she made herself to prom. When she reached home, her hair were loose and her mascara was smudged, which made her seem beautiful. “I was the prettiest girl there,” she claimed. “Because of you.”
I cried that night, but not because I was sad. I was grateful. Even though Melissa came back with greed and lies, Emma stayed strong. She chose the love, loyalty, and bond we had built up over years of hard labor. And at that point, I knew Mark would have been quite happy.
We still owned the house, not just as bricks and mortar, but also as a reminder of everything we had been through. Emma was heading to college soon on a scholarship, and although though the future was uncertain, I knew one thing: we would always be there for one other.