You know how these young ones are always glued to their phone screens, watching strangers do the most ridiculous things? They spend hours scrolling, laughing at people dancing, lip-syncing, or playing pranks.

And somehow, that's considered a career these days.

My granddaughter, Lily, is one of those people. What do they call it… Oh, Instagram. She films herself eating breakfast, posing in new outfits, and doing makeup tutorials. And people actually watch it.

Not just a few people. Thousands of them. She's what they call an "influencer," whatever that means.

I don't understand the obsession, but I supported her. After all, I raised her.

When my daughter and son-in-law died in a car accident, Lily was just five years old.

My world crumbled that day, but I didn't have time to grieve properly. I had a little girl who needed me.

So, I gave up my quiet retirement plans, picked up extra shifts as a seamstress, and poured my whole life into raising her.

I was there for every scraped knee, every nightmare, and every school recital.

I packed her lunches, helped her with homework, and held her hand through every heartbreak. When she discovered her love for social media, I cheered her on, even when I didn't quite understand why she needed to show the whole world what she was eating for dinner.

I never asked for much in return. Just a little respect. A little love.

But that all changed when Lily turned 21 and got her first taste of internet fame.

That's when my sweet granddaughter suddenly became someone I barely recognized.

She wasn't the same girl who used to snuggle up next to me on the couch or the one who once baked cookies with me.

She was someone totally different.

It started with small things.

She stopped inviting me to dinner when her influencer friends came over. She rolled her eyes when I asked simple questions about her job. Then, one night, I overheard her on a livestream, laughing with her followers.

"Ugh, you guys don't understand how hard it is living with my ancient grandma," she joked, flipping her hair dramatically. "She still thinks a hashtag is some kind of waffle iron!"

Her friends burst into laughter.

I stood frozen in the hallway as I realized what was happening.

My granddaughter, the girl I loved the most, was embarrassed of me.

That broke my heart. But the real betrayal came a few weeks later.

**

Lily sat me down one morning, her phone in her hand as she scrolled through comments.

"Grandma, I think it's time you moved out," she said casually.

"What?" I asked.

She sighed dramatically, setting her phone down. "I love you, but, like, my content is suffering," she said, drawing out the last word. "My followers think you're depressing."

I felt my stomach drop. "Excuse me?"

She turned her phone screen toward me, showing a flood of messages.

Omg, who's that old lady in the background?

LOL, your grandma looks like she wandered in from a history documentary.

Lily, your aesthetic is fire, but the granny vibes? Not it.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "So… you're kicking me out because strangers on the internet think I'm too old?"

Lily groaned, as if I was the one being unreasonable.

"No offense, but having an elderly person in the background of my vlogs? It's not a good look," she said, shaking her head. "I need my space. My brand is all about youth, fun, and style. Not… you know…" She trailed off, gesturing vaguely at me.

I stared at her, unable to understand why she would say such hurtful things. "Lily, this is my house."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Technically, it's in my name now. You signed it over to me years ago, remember? For tax purposes?"

I suddenly felt sick. I had done it without a second thought, never imagining my own granddaughter would use it against me.

As if she could sense my hesitation, Lily brightened.

"Don't worry! I found you a great place," she chirped, handing me a brochure.

It was an advertisement for some place where oldies like me could live.

"A nursing home?" I blurted out, looking at her with wide eyes.

She rolled her eyes. "Not a nursing home, Grandma. A senior community. They even have bingo nights!"

"You want me to leave my home… so you can keep making videos?"

She shrugged. "It's not just about that. I mean, my friends don't feel comfortable partying here with you around. And, like, what if I want to start dating a high-profile influencer? Do you really think they'd want to hang out in a house that smells like lavender and mothballs?"

That was it. That was the moment I realized I had raised a stranger.

Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall in front of her. Without another word, I stood up and went to my room. I packed my bags with shaking hands, feeling like a guest in my own home.

When I finally walked to the front door with my suitcase, Lily was already setting up her phone on a tripod.

"Oh, wait, hold on!" she called out. "I need to film this."

I turned, horrified. "Film what?"

She flipped her hair, adjusting the camera. "A ‘goodbye' video! My fans love emotional content. Don't worry, I'll make it look really dramatic like ‘saying goodbye to my grandma, hardest day of my life' vibes."

"Lily…" I whispered. "Have you really lost your heart?"

She groaned. "Grandma, stop being so dramatic! Just stand by the door and look, like, kinda sad, okay?"

I turned and walked out without another word.