My Grandkids Only Visited at Christmas for the Money – Last Year, I Finally Learned Who Truly Loved Me!

I made excuses. They’re busy. They’re young. Times have changed. People don’t call anymore.

Then one year, I caught myself clinging to a painful thought: At least they come once a year.

That was when I knew something had to change.

That Christmas began exactly as it always had.

Jake, the youngest, walked in glued to his phone, attention divided before he even said hello. At twenty-three, he still carried the ease of someone who hadn’t yet been tested by life. He kissed my cheek without really seeing me.

Christy arrived flustered, juggling her children and exhaustion like proof of her importance. She complained about the drive, about how little sleep she’d had, and never once asked how I was doing.

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