I gave up everything to raise my granddaughter, Lily. After my daughter and son-in-law died, I worked late nights to provide for her. I was there for every scraped knee, every school recital, and every heartbreak. But when she became an influencer at 21, she changed.

She stopped inviting me to dinners and mocked me on her livestreams. Then, one morning, she sat me down.

“Grandma, I think it’s time you moved out,” she said, scrolling through comments. “My followers think you’re depressing.”

I was stunned. I had signed my house over to her years ago for tax purposes, never imagining she’d use it against me.

She handed me a brochure. “It’s a senior community! They even have bingo nights.”

Tears burned my eyes. I packed my bags, feeling like a stranger in my own home. As I left, she set up her phone.

“Hold on! I need to film this!” she chirped.

With the help of an old friend— a journalist— I exposed her cruelty. The internet turned against her. Sponsors dropped her. And with a lawyer’s help, I got my house back.

One night, Lily knocked on my door, sobbing. “I lost everything. Please, give me another chance.”

“If you regret it, show me,” I said, closing the door.

Months later, she quit social media, got a real job, and started volunteering. One day, I saw her helping an elderly woman with kindness.

She turned to me. “Grandma…”

I smiled. “Come home, Lily.”

She wept—not for the internet. This time, it was real.