Nana Wasn’t Done Yet
I retired at seventy. After nearly four decades at the clinic, I picked up a strawberry cream cake and headed home, ready to celebrate with my family. But when I got there, something didn’t feel right. My suitcases were waiting neatly on the porch. The front door was locked.
Something was very, very wrong.
I’d worked at that clinic for thirty-eight years. People came and went, doctors retired, new nurses joined, even the hospital changed its name twice—but I stayed.
Not because I needed to.
Because I cared.
Because I always thought, if not me, then who?
At home, I had my family—my son Thomas, his wife Delia, and my two sweet grandkids, Ben and Lora. We all lived together under one roof. My roof.
But I never treated it like they owed me anything.
“Long as I’m breathing,” I always told them, “nobody in my family’s paying rent.”
I paid most of the bills—electricity, groceries, even insurance. Delia didn’t work. Said the kids kept her busy, even though I watched them four or five hours every day myself.
Delia loved shopping. Every other week she’d come home with another box or bag—shoes, dresses, handbags. Her closet was so full it looked like a Macy’s store. Whenever I asked, she’d smile and say,
“Oh, I only buy when it’s on sale, Mom!”
I’d just smile back and quietly move more money into our joint account. Arguing wasn’t worth it.
Thomas, bless his heart, was gentle like his father. Too gentle. Whenever I brought up Delia’s spending—especially when little Ben’s sneakers had holes in them again—he’d lower his eyes and sigh.
“Mom, please… don’t start.”
“I’m not starting,” I’d reply. “I’m asking. Or am I not allowed to ask anymore?”
He’d shrug, and I’d let it go. Because my grandkids adored me. Lora always snuck into my bed at night whispering,
“Nana, I wanna sleep with you.”
And Ben would grin and whisper like it was a secret,
“When I grow up, I’ll buy you a castle. You’ll be the queen.”
Those kids were my heart.
When the clinic told me I had to retire, I didn’t cry. I was seventy—it was time. Still, I asked for one more day.
“Just to say goodbye to my patients,” I said.
They threw me a small party—cupcakes, balloons, even a mug that said ‘Retired, not expired!’ Everyone laughed, including me. But deep down, I was scared. Scared of silence. Scared of being… nothing.
After work, I stopped at Tilly’s Bakery and bought that strawberry cream cake—Ben’s favorite. I pictured us cutting it together, the kids blowing out candles, laughter filling the kitchen.
But when I reached home, the sun was low, painting the porch gold. I climbed the steps, reached for the doorknob… locked. I frowned and tried my key—it didn’t fit.
Then I noticed the suitcases. Two of them. Mine. Standing neatly by the door, like someone had checked me out of my own life.
A yellow sticky note was stuck to one handle. My fingers trembled as I peeled it off.
“Thank you for everything. It’s time for you to rest. Your room at the senior facility is paid for a year. Cash for the cab is in the envelope. Thomas thinks this is YOUR IDEA. So if you ever want to see the kids again — follow MY PLAN.
— Delia.”
The cake slipped from my hands. The frosting smeared across the box.
I stared at the locked door, at the dark windows.
“Did she really…?” I whispered to no one.
My daughter-in-law had finally gotten rid of me.
I sat there on the porch for half an hour, maybe longer, before I whispered,
“Well. That’s that.”
Then I thought of Bonnie—my neighbor, my best friend since 1986. We met when my old Chevy broke down and she showed up with jumper cables and sass. “Your ex looks like a baked potato in khakis,” she’d said back then. We’d been best friends ever since.
I picked up my suitcases, grabbed the cake, and crossed the street. Before I could even knock, her porch light flicked on and the door creaked open. There she was—rollers in her hair, robe half open, cat on her hip like a holster.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she said. “I thought you’d be halfway to Shady Pines by now.”
“What?” I blinked.
“Delia said you were movin’ into some senior resort. Said it was your idea. That Tom paid for it as a gift. That you were finally takin’ time for yourself.” She squinted. “Wait… it was your idea, right?”
I stepped inside, dropped my bags, and set the cake on her counter.
“She kicked me out,” I said quietly.
Bonnie stared. Then she poured us tea from the pot she always kept simmering.
“Sit down and tell me everything.”
I told her about the note, the suitcases, the cash for the cab, everything. When I finished, she slammed her mug down.
“I swear to God, if I had a taser…”
“I’m serious, Bonnie.”
“Did you at least get your name off the house before all this?” she asked.
I hesitated. “No. I actually… put their names on it. Last year.”
“You what?!” she yelled.
“She said it would help with taxes. Tom agreed. I thought… it made sense.”
Bonnie pointed a finger at me. “You gave that woman a castle, and now she’s treating you like a court jester!”
“I just wanted to help,” I whispered.
Bonnie sighed, softened, and reached for my hand.
“Well, you’re not sleeping on any porch tonight. You’re staying here.”
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” I said.
“Trouble?” She snorted. “Honey, this is the most excitement this street’s had since I caught Mr. Mullins trimming his hedges in leopard boxers.”
That made me laugh. A little.
Then Bonnie leaned forward, eyes sharp. “So. What now?”
I thought for a moment. “I don’t want to fight. Not in court. Not with Tom. I just… I can’t lose my grandkids.”
Bonnie smiled. “Then we don’t fight loud. We fight smart.”
I looked out her window at my dark, silent house. “She’s hiding something.”
Bonnie raised a brow. “You think so?”
“I’ve seen her sneaking around lately. Whispering on the phone. And when Tom’s gone, she’s… different. Happier.”
Bonnie grinned. “Well, well. Miss Perfect’s got secrets.”
I nodded. “I’ll stay here for now. Let her think I went quietly. And while she relaxes, I’ll find out what she’s up to. Let’s just say… Nana’s not done yet.”
We didn’t even have to wait long.
The next afternoon, Bonnie’s window gave us a front-row view. She gasped suddenly.
“Speak of the devil—there’s your gardener.”
“Gary?” I squinted. “But it’s Thursday. He only comes Saturdays.”
Bonnie smirked. “Maybe he’s got two schedules—one for the lawn, one for the lady.”
I frowned. “When he works on Saturdays, Tom’s home. Every other day, Delia sends me away with the kids. Said she wanted us to ‘bond.’”
We looked at each other. The realization hit hard.
“We follow him,” Bonnie said.
“But I can’t be seen!” I protested.
She grinned and ran to her closet. Twenty minutes later, I was wearing an oversized hoodie, sunglasses, a baseball cap, and her late husband’s fishing vest.
“There,” she said proudly. “You look like a lost tourist from Nebraska.”
“And you?” I asked.
She put on a huge straw hat with a beekeeping net. “Stealth queen.”
We crouched behind her hedge with sweet tea in hand like it was military gear. Gary knocked, then just walked right in. No hesitation.
Delia opened the door in leggings and a crop top, her hair perfect. She smiled, let him in, and closed the door.
“We need ears in there,” Bonnie whispered.
I blinked, then ran back to my suitcase. “Ben gave me this last year—some kind of ‘cool tech’ mug, he said.”
Bonnie unboxed it, her eyes widening. “It’s not a mug, it’s a mini pet camera! With audio!”
“Well,” I said, smiling, “guess it’s finally useful.”
We strapped it to her fat tuxedo cat, Mr. Pickles, and let him into the side gate. From Bonnie’s laptop, we watched the live feed: hallway… kitchen… and then—Delia’s voice.
“Oh, Gary… Tom’s still in Oregon. And I finally got rid of Nana. So glad we can meet more often now.”
Then came laughter. And then—sounds that left no room for doubt.
Bonnie nearly dropped her tea. “Lord have mercy!”
We recorded everything.
Friday night came fast. Thomas’s flight landed at 6:10. Delia was outside watering her fake hydrangeas. The kids were still at chess club.
At 7:01, Tom’s car pulled into the driveway. He looked surprised to see me waiting.
“Mom? I thought you were—”
“I’ve got something to show you, son,” I said.
He followed me to the backyard. Bonnie stood ready with her projector and a white sheet.
The video started. There she was—Delia. In my kitchen. Arms around Gary. Saying,
“Let’s make it quick. Tom’s not back till tomorrow.”
Thomas’s face went pale. His hands trembled. “That’s… our kitchen. Oh my God…”
Delia turned, saw the screen, and froze. Her hose slipped from her hand. Water spilled onto the grass.
Tom turned to me, confused and hurt. “Mom… why would you do this? In the yard?”
“Because your wife threw me out,” I said calmly. “Told me it was my idea. Said if I wanted to see my grandkids again, I’d better disappear.”
He frowned. “No, she said you needed space. She showed me a note. Said you were tired.”
I pulled out the sticky note from my pocket—the real one. “This note, you mean?”
He read it twice. His face hardened. He turned toward Delia. “Go inside. Now. Pack your things.”
She stood frozen, colorless. Then she turned and went inside without a word.
Thomas sat down heavily on the flowerbed edge, head in his hands. “Mom, I’m sorry. I knew something was off. But I didn’t want to see it.”
I touched his arm. “We both got tricked by someone we trusted.”
He looked up, eyes wet. “I’m glad you didn’t disappear quietly, Mom.”
I smiled. “I may be old, but I still know how to stand up for myself.”
Bonnie stepped forward, arms crossed. “Alright, I’m picking up the grandkids. They’re sleeping at my place tonight. And I’m baking pie.”
“Bonnie, are you sure?” I asked.
She winked. “Pie calms nerves. Besides, Thomas has things to settle here.”
As she left humming, I looked back at the house—my house.
The porch lights flickered on. The evening breeze carried the smell of strawberries and cut grass.
It was mine again.
Because yes, I was retired.
But Nana?
Nana sure as hell wasn’t done yet.