Months passed in a gray blur. Maddie lived like a ghost, hiding in her closet-room to avoid Brenda’s constant scowling. Mark was rarely home, buried in work and showing zero interest in his daughter’s life. No one mentioned preschool; she was simply left alone, isolated from other children.
Her meals were basic and bland—plain oatmeal, toast, and the occasional serving of leftovers. She forgot what fresh fruit or a treat tasted like. She spent her days mechanically putting together the same puzzles over and over again, sitting on her hard cot.
One afternoon, movers struggled to fit a second small bed into the tiny room. Shortly after, a frail, silver-haired woman with kind eyes appeared at the door. This was Grandma Annie, Mark’s mother. Brenda dryly announced that they would be sharing the space. Surprisingly, this change was the best thing that could have happened to Maddie.
Grandma Annie was a soul of kindness. she told endless stories and shared funny memories of when Mark was a boy. More importantly, she became Maddie’s protector, standing firm against Brenda’s sharp tongue. When Maddie once whispered that she missed having a soda or a cookie, Annie waited until the house was quiet, then snuck into the kitchen to bring back a “midnight feast” for the two of them.
One night, Maddie asked why Grandma had to live in a closet too. Annie sighed and explained that she owned a nice little house out in the country. She said Mark had promised to sell it so he could buy a “special, quiet place” just for the two of them. The idea of leaving that house for a new home made Maddie light up with hope.
