One Day, My Daughter’s Husband Decided They No Longer Needed My Help and Asked Me to Leave Their Home

My daughter married a German man. I lived with them in London for two years, looking after my grandson and managing the household.
Both my daughter and her husband worked at the same company and would come home in the evenings. I had hoped I might stay with them for good, but, as it turned out, that was wishful thinking. One day, my son-in-law calmly announced they no longer needed my help and asked me to move out of their flat. A month later, I was back at my place. Turns out, I wasnt exactly welcome there either. While Id been away, my son had split up with his first wife, moved out of her flat, and settled into mine.
He brought his new wife with him, who, by then, was already expecting. It never crossed his mind to even ask me if it was alright.
Now what am I supposed to do? Kick my son and his pregnant wife out? Of course not. But how are we supposed to live togetherthree of us, and soon fourin a one-bedroom flat? Not to mention, neither my son nor I have enough money to rent somewhere else. I called my daughter, explained everything. I hoped shed understand and get in touch at least. But she never did. Its a shame, truly. Theres not much I can do; they have their own way of looking at things
And I suppose I can understand my sons behaviour. He didnt expect Id be coming home. Now Im sleeping on the sofa in the kitchen, and during the day I go outshopping, popping by my old workplace, chatting with former colleagues. Things are civil enough between my son and me; no arguments, but my daughter-in-law acts as if Im invisible. Its clear shed rather I wasnt around.
Never did I imagine that at sixty Id end up surplus to requirements, while someone else ruled the roost in my own home. My son only seems to care about his pregnant wife, and the housing situation doesnt cross his mind at all.
Im looking for a part-time job. My daughter-in-laws family live out in the country. Perhaps I should suggest she stay with her parents for a while. But would my son be able to find work out there? Hardly likely. I just cant decide what to doSo, each morning, I brew myself a strong cup of tea, straighten the folds in my blanket, and open the window to let in the city air. I remind myself to keep movingout the door, down the street, into a world that’s bigger than these four crowded walls. Sometimes, in the market square, Ill see a friendly face, and well sit together on a bench, reminiscing about old times, laughing a little, sighing a lot. Its not the life I pictured, but its a life I can shape, in small, stubborn ways.
Last week, a former coworker mentioned a part-time job in a sewing shop. I visited out of curiosity, found the tall windows filled with light and the air heavy with the scent of fabric and possibility. The owner, a wiry woman with quick hands, smiled and said, You look like you know your way around a needle and thread. I started yesterday. For a few hours each afternoon, I lose myself in hemming skirts and mending seams for strangers, each repair a small reminder that worn things can be patched, softened, given new purpose.
In the evenings, when my son comes home, tired and anxious, I brew tea for both of us and, sometimes, we talk quietly at the kitchen table. Our world is crampedtheres no denying it. But when the first creak of a new babys cry echoes through these thin walls, perhaps well laugh. Perhaps well find a way to fit, all together, with our bruised hearts stitched back stronger, the sharp edges worn smooth by kindness.
I dont know what tomorrow will bring, but I trust now that I can belong to myself, wherever I am. Maybe, just maybe, in this squeezed and mended life, theres room for one more new beginning.