Every grandmother enjoys spending time with her grandchildren during the holidays. But when my six-year-old granddaughter started insulting me, I made a plan to find out that not everyone in your life will appreciate you.

Every holiday, I look forward to my granddaughter Brittany visiting me for the winter break. I was excited to carry on our usual traditions: baking cookies, watching movies, and spoiling her with gifts. But last year, everything changed.

The week before she arrived, I decorated my house to look festive for winter. I also filled my kitchen counters with bags of flour, sugar, and chocolate chips to make her favorite Christmas treats. I wanted it to be special for her.

When I went to pick her up from her parents’ house, Brittany rushed out with her PAW Patrol backpack bouncing behind her. Her pink winter coat was only partially zipped, and one of her boots was untied.

“Nanny!” she shouted, leaping into my arms. Her hair smelled like strawberry shampoo, and she squeezed my neck very tightly. “Did you get the special hot chocolate? The one with the tiny marshmallows?”

“Yes, I did, sweetheart. Maybe I have a few more surprises too.” I winked at her as I adjusted her coat and boot.

Rachel was standing at the door, holding her phone. “Her pajamas are in the front pocket,” she said without looking at me. “And try not to give her too much sugar this time. Last visit, she was bouncing around for days.”

I smiled reassuringly at Rachel and led Brittany to my car.

That night, Brittany refused to sleep in the guest room. “Please, Nanny? I want to see the Christmas lights on the tree!” She looked up at me with big brown eyes, clutching her favorite stuffed dog. “Chase wants to see them too!”

I wasn’t sure about her sleeping on the sofa, but I figured once wouldn’t hurt. So I helped her make a nest with blankets, right near the tree.

While I cooked dinner, she sat on the floor with her coloring books, humming softly to Christmas music.

Suddenly, she called out, giggling. “Hey, old lady, can I have some juice?”

I nearly dropped the spatula. “What did you say, honey?”

“Old lady!” she repeated between giggles. “Can I have apple juice?”

I handed her the drink and shrugged off her words—at first. Kids pick up all sorts of things at school, I thought.

But as the days went on, her teasing worsened. She went from calling me “old lady” to “wrinkly hag” and other names that made my stomach turn.

Children shouldn’t say such words, but Brittany didn’t seem to mean them maliciously. I believed she thought they were just nicknames, but I needed to know where she learned them.

One afternoon, I sat beside her while she colored. “Brit, honey, where did you hear to call me ‘old lady’ and ‘hag’?” I asked nervously. “Was it at kindergarten? Did your friends say those things to each other?”

Without hesitation, she shook her head. “No, Mom and Dad say them about you all the time when you call!”

My heart stopped beating.

Todd and Rachel? My own son and daughter-in-law? They were discussing me with her? This wasn’t fair, especially after all I had done for them over the years.

My late husband and I helped them buy their house. I had chipped in to pay their mortgage many times. I often rearranged my schedule to watch Brittany when their babysitter canceled.

I even paid for their trip to Disney World last summer. I remembered Rachel’s tight smile as she took the check. “You don’t have to do this,” she said, but she took it anyway.

Had she been resenting my help all this time?

That night, I made a plan, but I knew I had to wait until Brittany’s visit ended.

The next day, I gently told Brittany that calling me those names wasn’t kind. To her credit, she stopped. We enjoyed the rest of her break with our usual activities.

We baked enough cookies to feed an army, watched all the Christmas movies twice, and stayed up until 10 p.m. on New Year’s Eve, drinking hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

A few days after New Year’s, it was time to take Brittany back to her parents. While she was in the bathroom, I hesitated, then slipped a small voice recorder into her backpack.

When I dropped her off, Rachel was barely looking up from her phone. That was okay—I wasn’t sure I could hide how I felt.

I hugged Brittany tightly. “Love you, sweetheart,” I whispered.

“Love you too, Nanny,” she said, skipping inside with her backpack.

I went home and waited. I knew the recorder wouldn’t last long, but I didn’t want to seem eager. I waited nearly two weeks before calling Rachel.

My hands trembled as I dialed. “I was thinking Brittany might like to spend the weekend,” I said softly. “It’s been very quiet without her.”

Rachel sighed. “Sure,” she replied. “That would help. We’re planning to have some people over.”

That Friday, when Brittany arrived, I waited until she was watching her new PAW Patrol episode before retrieving the recorder. My hands shook as I connected it to my computer.

At first, only crackles and noise came through. Then, Rachel’s voice was clear, and soon Todd joined the conversation.

They talked about trivial things. Then I heard it.

“She’s so exhausting,” Rachel said. “Always calling, always trying to help. Like we can’t raise our own kid. Did you see how many toys she bought? She’s trying to buy Brittany’s affection.”

“I know, but she’s my mom,” Todd replied weakly. “She means well.”

“I’m tired of it,” Rachel said. “I bet she’s already planning Easter and this summer’s trip. I thought calling Brittany names would make her stay away, but I bet she’s going to keep calling to babysit.”

“I’m tired of her interference too,” my son added. “Maybe we should set some limits. Let’s plan something for this summer just for us.”

That was enough. I closed my laptop sharply and took a deep breath.

They had meant to make Brittany call me names. They thought I was too controlling in their lives.

Fine. If they wanted limits, I’d give them some. They wanted me to stay out of their business? I would.

That Sunday, I invited them for dinner. I made Todd’s favorite lasagna and bought Rachel’s preferred wine. Brittany ate too much and fell asleep on the couch afterward. I thought it was a good moment to talk to my son and daughter-in-law.

I set my laptop on the table and pressed play. Their voices filled the room.

Rachel’s wine glass paused halfway to her lips. “Mom, I can explain,” Todd said nervously, avoiding my eyes.

I held up my hand. “No excuses,” I said. “I’ve supported you both for years—loving you, being there whenever you needed. And this is how you repay me? Teaching my granddaughter to disrespect me?”

I showed them a bag of new toys I bought for Brittany. “These are for her. Because no matter what you think of me, I will always love her. But things have to change. If you don’t appreciate my help or my generosity, I am finished.”

Rachel looked like she was about to speak but couldn’t. Todd slumped in his chair, looking small, like when he used to crawl into my bed during thunderstorms.

“Here are the limits,” I said. “No more financial help, and no more babysitting unless I want to. Otherwise, don’t call me. Just take Brittany home and don’t bother me unless there’s an emergency.”

They silently gathered their sleeping girl and the toy bag, then left quietly.

I locked the door behind them and sank onto my couch, feeling tired but relieved.

Later, I made some tea and turned on my favorite show. The house felt too quiet without Brittany’s laughter and running footsteps.

Standing up for yourself can hurt, but it’s better than being pushed around. I hope someday my family will realize my love doesn’t mean they can take me for granted or teach my granddaughter to hurt me.