You spend your life believing love and sacrifice will protect you. But sometimes, it just makes you the easiest to use.

I’m Annie, sixty. A widow since my son Thomas was seven. I scrubbed floors and gave everything to him—never remarried, never rested. Five years ago, I even gave him $40,000 to buy the apartment down the hall. I thought family meant security.

Then Max, my sweet grandson, handed me a toy walkie-talkie. Through its static, I overheard the truth: Lila mocking me, Thomas agreeing. They pocketed $300 each month from daycare money I gave, planned to rent out my room, even talked about putting me in a nursing home.

On my 60th birthday, I confronted them. No more blind giving. From now on, I’ll support Max directly, not them.

That night, his walkie-talkie crackled again. “Grandma, did I do something wrong?”

I smiled through tears. “No, sweetheart. You gave me the truth. That’s the greatest gift.”

And I meant it.