Our daughter left in tears, then texted that she’d get rid of the baby if we didn’t help her.
My husband and I raised three daughters. The two eldest sorted their lives out ages ago—married, raising kids, steady jobs. But the youngest, Emily… We’ve always had a special bond with her, and now she’s become our biggest heartache.
Emily was always quiet, tidy, diligent. Did well in school, dreamed of becoming a solicitor. Never any trouble, no arguments—just a sweet, home-loving girl. But in her final year of sixth form, I noticed something was off. Pale, exhausted, her eyes empty. When I asked, she dodged the question, mumbled something about being tired from studying. But I’m her mother—I knew it wasn’t just school.
The truth came unexpectedly. Emily and I had a tradition of going to the spa together, just us, for a proper chat. When she undressed, it was obvious. Having raised three children, I knew at once—Emily was pregnant. You can’t hide that.
“So then, love,” I asked, fighting back tears, “when were you planning to tell your dad and me we’d be grandparents?”
She panicked at first, tried to laugh it off, but soon broke down and confessed. We went to her father. His reaction was… explosive. Barely contained fury. Who was the father? Emily refused to say. Didn’t want to drag him into it. The baby was already too far along—she had to carry to term.
We insisted Emily finish school. Hard as it was, she had to see it through. We’d raise the baby ourselves. And we did—while she went to university, we looked after our granddaughter. Hoped she’d graduate, find her feet, take her daughter back. In the meantime? All on us.
After uni, Emily started work straight away, but showed no hurry to take her daughter. No proper home yet, no time, too tired. Meanwhile, us—already greying—were still doing the school runs. Emily visited occasionally. Sent money, sure, but more and more, we felt less like grandparents and more like parents all over again.
Then, recently, Emily turned up. Shaking. Said she was pregnant again. Turns out, she’d been seeing a married man—wealthy, important. He wasn’t leaving his wife but promised financial support if she kept the baby.
“Mum, Dad, you’ve already raised my daughter… Help me with this one too. I can’t take maternity leave now—my career’s just starting. I’ll sort things out, just give me time,” she begged.
My husband and I exchanged glances. Our hearts ached, but we knew—no. We’re not young anymore. Health isn’t what it was. We’ve done enough. It can’t go on forever.
“Emily, if you’ve chosen to have this baby, that’s your decision. But it’s your responsibility too. We’ve helped all we can. We raised three children—never dumped them on grandparents. We can’t do it again. Not now.”
She left without another word. A day later, the text came. Just a few lines, but it crushed us:
*”Please, reconsider. If you won’t help… I’ll have to get rid of it.”*
We sat in silence. No words would come. Then my husband picked up his phone and typed: *”We’ve said all we can. There’s nothing left to add.”*
Now, I pace the house, restless. We’re not uncaring. Not heartless. But we’ve given everything already. We gave her a chance, an education, time, freedom… And now—again?
And yet… What if she really can’t cope? What if she does what she threatened?
I don’t sleep. My husband’s gone quiet. The grandchildren call, asking me to visit, but I can’t… Just keep wondering—did we do the right thing?
Maybe some will say we’re cruel. Others might understand. But here we are, at a crossroads, and every path seems impossible.