Oh, I’ve got this story about a woman named Helen—she was just past fifty when her only daughter, Emily, married a foreigner and moved off to Canada, all the way to Vancouver, where skyscrapers loom over the chilly waters of the Pacific.
Her husband, William, wasn’t keen on the marriage. He’d clench his fists whenever they talked about Emily’s plans, but Helen and Emily managed to win him over, painting this picture of a better life—new opportunities, a brighter future for the grandkids they’d one day have.
“Just don’t forget where you came from,” William told Emily at the airport, hugging her tight before she left. “Keep your roots alive, pass the language on to your kids. Hope we’ll see each other again…”
For ten years, they only talked over the phone, with the odd text here and there. Emily never came back to visit Manchester, where they’d lived their whole lives. She said it was too expensive, that she and her husband were working hard for every penny, and spending it on flights just wasn’t practical.
When Emily had kids—first a boy, then a girl—the talk of visits dried up completely. Helen held onto her daughter’s words like a lifeline:
“Just hang on, Mum. Once we’re more settled, we’ll bring you and Dad over for good. You’ll finally live properly…”
Those words kept Helen going, even when the ache in her chest got unbearable. William saw her suffering but stayed quiet—his own heart was just as heavy.
Then, finally, the day came. Emily said they could move in—their rooms were ready. William frowned; the idea of leaving didn’t sit right with him. But Helen lit up.
“Come on, Will,” she urged, eyes bright. “It’s our Emily, our grandkids—we’ve only ever seen them in pictures. I want to hold them close. How much time do we even have left?”
As usual, William gave in.
Helen sold their cosy flat in Manchester, ignoring her husband’s grumbling. He just waved a hand. “Do what you want. If it goes wrong, it’s on you.”
With the money from the sale, they flew across the ocean. Helen’s heart raced—finally, they’d be a proper family again, like the old days. Happiness felt so close.
But from the first moment, things went wrong.
Emily and her husband met them at the airport, drove them to their house in the Vancouver suburbs, showed them their rooms—then left for work. “Busy,” was all they said. The grandkids stared at their grandparents like strangers. No hugs, no warmth—just distance.
It got worse. The kids barely spoke English, just French, and Helen and William, who’d learned German in school, couldn’t understand them. They fumbled through conversations with awkward smiles.
That evening, Helen hoped for a proper family dinner, long talks after a decade apart. But Emily’s husband wolfed down his meal and excused himself. The kids went to bed early—”big day at school,” apparently.
“At least sit with us, love,” Helen pleaded. “Tell us about your life here.”
“Mum, Dad, you must be exhausted,” Emily said gently but firmly. “Rest. We’ll talk loads later.”
But “later” never came.
Emily and her husband were always working, the grandkids lived in their own world, and the language barrier made everything harder. Helen tried to help with chores, but Emily stopped her.
“Mum, relax! We’ve got a cleaner. Just enjoy yourselves.”
“Then let us pick the kids up from school,” Helen pressed, watching her grandkids like a starving woman. “Maybe we’ll bond. They barely look at us.”
“No, Mum, they’ve got a nanny. That’s her job.”
“Then sack her!” Helen snapped, tears burning. “Why pay when we’re here?”
“That’s not how things work,” Emily sighed. “People depend on those wages.”
“Oh, Emily,” Helen’s voice cracked. “I don’t understand this place. None of it feels right…”
“What even is ‘right’?” Emily laughed lightly. “You’re not at home anymore, Mum. You’ve got to adjust.”
“We’re trying, love,” Helen said bitterly. “But we’re strangers here. No one to talk to, and we can’t even speak the language. Your dad was right—we shouldn’t have come.”
“Mum, don’t be silly!” Emily insisted. “It’s only been a month. You’ll settle in.”
“We’re too old for this,” Helen wiped her eyes. “I want to go home. Wish we hadn’t sold the flat…”
“Enough, Helen,” William cut in. “We’ll buy another. Let’s go back. I’m done with this place. We’ve seen what we needed to.”
“What? No!” Emily looked stunned. “You can’t leave!”
“It’s fine, love,” Helen said, breathing easy for the first time in weeks. “We’ll stay a bit longer. I’ll message your aunt—we’ll need somewhere to stay when we get back…”
Back in Manchester, their family welcomed them like heroes. A feast was laid out, old friends gathered. Everyone asked the same thing: *Why come back? Was Canada that bad? Did you fight with Emily?*
Helen and William talked about Emily’s life, the grandkids, careful not to complain. But when someone finally asked, “If it was so great, why leave?”—Helen hesitated. William answered for her.
“East or west, home is best.”
They sat at that table till midnight, singing old songs, laughing, telling stories. Helen looked around at the familiar faces and cried happy tears.
Then came the work: buying a new flat, fixing it up, making it theirs. They chose something smaller, but it was enough. And with each passing day, Helen and William felt it—a new life, warm and real, taking root in their hearts.
