After we hung up, I felt something I hadn’t expected. Relief. For the first time in years, maybe since Sarah died, I felt like I was taking control of my own life instead of just reacting to everyone else’s demands.
My phone rang again. This time it was a number I didn’t recognize with the Toronto Area Code. I answered.
«Mr. Anderson? This is calling from TD Bank regarding the mortgage at 47 Maple Grove Court in Burlington.»
«Yes?»
«We’ve received your request to be removed as a cosigner. I’m calling to inform you that we’ve sent notice to the primary borrowers that they have 30 days to qualify for the loan independently or make alternative arrangements.»
«Thank you. I appreciate the update.»
«Sir, I have to ask. Are you aware that if the primary borrowers cannot secure independent financing, this could result in serious financial consequences for them?»
«I’m fully aware. Thank you.»
The next morning, I woke up early and went for my usual run. The summer air was cool and fresh, and the streets were quiet. When I got back, there was a car I didn’t recognize in my driveway.
Michael’s car. I walked up slowly, still catching my breath from the run.
Michael was sitting on my front steps, and he looked terrible. His eyes were red, his hair uncombed, and he was wearing the same clothes I’d seen him in yesterday in a photo Vanessa had posted on Instagram of their «pre-trip meal prep.»
«Dad,» he said, standing up as I approached. «We need to talk.»
«I don’t think we do.»
«Dad, please. I know you’re angry, but you can’t do this. You can’t just destroy our lives because of a misunderstanding.»
«A misunderstanding,» I repeated.
I pulled out my phone and showed him the screenshot of his email thread with Vanessa. «Explain to me what I misunderstood here, Michael.» His face went white.
«That… that was just venting. You know how it is when you’re frustrated. We didn’t mean any of it.»
«Which part didn’t you mean? The part where you called me ‘useful’? Or the part where you planned to ‘phase me out’ of Oliver’s life?»
«Dad, come on. You’re taking this out of context.»
«Michael, I found over $30,000 in unauthorized charges on my emergency credit card. Restaurants, clothes, electronics, weekend trips. That’s not context. That’s theft.»
«We were going to pay you back.»
«Really? With what money? You couldn’t even pay for the cruise you demanded I not attend.»
He ran his hands through his hair, and for just a moment, I saw the boy he used to be. The one who’d cried when his hamster died. The one who’d made me breakfast in bed every Father’s Day. The one who’d held Sarah’s hand in the hospital and promised her he’d take care of me.
But that boy was gone. Or maybe he’d never existed. Maybe I’d just been too blind to see the truth.
«The bank called,» he said quietly. «They said we have to refinance. Dad, we can’t qualify on our own. We’ll lose the house.»
«That’s unfortunate.»
«Unfortunate?» His voice rose. «Dad, we have a child. Your grandson. Where are we supposed to live?»
«Perhaps you could ask Vanessa’s parents. The ones you invited on my cruise.»
«That email was her idea! I told her we shouldn’t say those things, but she was angry because you kept trying to interfere with how we parent Oliver.»
«I gave him a bicycle for his birthday, Michael. That’s not interference. That’s being a grandfather.»
«You gave him a $1,200 bicycle! Do you know how that makes us look? Like we can’t provide for our own son?»
«Can you provide for your own son?» The question hung in the air between us. Michael’s face flushed red.
«You’re supposed to be on our side,» he said finally. «You’re supposed to help us. That’s what parents do.»
«Is it? Because what I thought parents did was raise their children to be independent, grateful, kind human beings. I thought I taught you about integrity and respect. But clearly, I failed at that.»
«So what? You’re just going to let us lose our house? Let Oliver lose his home?»
«No, Michael. You’re going to let Oliver lose his home. You and Vanessa made that choice when you decided I was just a resource to be exploited.»
«When you took advantage of my grief over losing your mother. When you excluded me from a vacation I paid for and then had the audacity to ask for more money.»
He stared at me for a long moment, then he laughed, but it was bitter. «You know what? Fine. Vanessa was right about you. You’re a selfish old man who wants to control everyone around him. You couldn’t control mom when she got sick. So now you’re trying to control us.»
I felt that hit like a physical blow. But I kept my voice steady. «Get off my property, Michael.»
«With pleasure. Don’t expect to ever see Oliver again. We’ll tell him his grandfather died. It’ll be easier than explaining that you chose money over family.»
He turned and walked to his car, got in, and drove away. I stood in my driveway for a long time after he left, feeling hollowed out. But I also felt free.
The next few weeks were difficult. I hired James to handle the legal aspects of securing visitation rights with Oliver. Michael and Vanessa contested it, of course, claiming I was «unstable» and had «threatened» them.
But I had documentation. The emails. The credit card statements.
The cruise cancellation. Everything was time-stamped, dated, saved.
James was optimistic. «They’re digging their own grave,» he told me. «Their lawyer is advising them to settle.»
«But Vanessa is refusing. She wants to go to court.»
«Let her,» I said.
Meanwhile, the bank had given them an extension, but it was clear they weren’t going to be able to refinance. Michael’s Instagram posts became increasingly desperate. Subtle at first, then more overt.
Posts about how hard it was to be a young parent «without family support.» Posts about «unexpected financial hardship.» Posts with Oliver, clearly designed to tug at heartstrings, with captions like, «We do our best for this little guy, no matter what obstacles we face.»
I didn’t respond to any of it. I kept my head down, focused on my routines. Running. Woodworking.
Volunteering at the community center. I’d started teaching a workshop on basic carpentry for teenagers, and it turned out I loved it. The kids were enthusiastic.
Grateful. And none of them asked me for money.
Then, six weeks after I’d canceled the cruise, my doorbell rang. It was early evening, and I’d just finished dinner. I opened the door to find Oliver standing there with a small backpack, tears streaming down his face. Behind him, Michael looked haggard.
«Dad, I need your help, please. Just for tonight. Vanessa and I need to talk, and we can’t do it with Oliver there. Can he stay with you?»
I looked at my grandson, at the fear and confusion in his eyes, and I stepped aside. «Come in, Oliver.»
Michael practically shoved the bag at me, and left without another word.
I watched him drive away, then closed the door, and looked down at Oliver. «How about some hot chocolate,» I asked. He nodded, wiping his nose.
We sat at the kitchen table, the same table where I’d read those devastating messages, and Oliver told me everything in the way nine-year-olds do, jumping between topics, circling back, contradicting himself. His parents fought constantly now. About money.
About the house. About whose fault it was.
They’d had to put the house up for sale. They’d moved in with Vanessa’s parents temporarily, but Vanessa’s mom and dad fought with Vanessa, and everyone was angry all the time.
Michael had lost his job. Vanessa’s yoga studio was failing. Everything was falling apart.
And Oliver, young as he was, somehow understood that it had something to do with me. With something I’d done.
«Grandpa,» he asked finally, his hot chocolate forgotten. «Are you mad at Dad?»
I thought about how to answer that. The truth was complicated.
Was I mad? Yes. But more than that, I was heartbroken. Disappointed. Grieving the relationship I’d thought we had.
«Your dad and I disagree about some grown-up things,» I said finally. «But I want you to know something really important, Oliver. None of this is your fault.»
«None of it. Do you understand me?»
He nodded. But I could see he didn’t entirely believe it. «And I want you to know something else.»
«I love you very much. No matter what happens between me and your parents, that will never change.»
«You are my grandson. And you always will be.»
That night, Oliver slept in the guest room, where he’d stayed dozens of times before. I’d kept it exactly the way it was, with his stuffed animals arranged on the bed, and his favorite books on the shelf.
In the morning, he came down for breakfast, still in his pajamas. And for a few hours, we pretended everything was normal. We made pancakes.
We built a Lego spaceship. We watched cartoons.
And when Michael came to pick him up around noon, Oliver didn’t want to go. «Can I stay another night, Grandpa?»
Michael’s jaw tightened. «We talked about this, Oliver. We’re staying at Grandma and Grandpa’s house now. It’s going to be fun.»
«But I like it here.»
«Oliver. Car. Now.»
I walked them to the door. Before Oliver left, he turned back and gave me a fierce hug. «I love you, Grandpa.»
He whispered. «I love you too, buddy. So much.»
Michael didn’t say a word to me. He just led Oliver to the car and drove away. That was the last time I saw Oliver for two months.
Despite the court order granting me visitation rights every other weekend, Michael and Vanessa found reasons I couldn’t see him.
Oliver was sick. They had plans. Vanessa’s family had invited them somewhere.
The excuses piled up. Each time, James filed a report with the court, building our case.
In the meantime, the house sold. Not for what they’d hoped, but enough to pay off the mortgage and leave them with a small amount left over. They moved into a rental apartment in a less expensive neighborhood.
Michael got a new job, something in sales. Vanessa closed her yoga studio.
And I started living my own life. I booked a trip, not to Alaska, but to the Maritimes. I’d always wanted to see the East Coast, and I joined a tour group for solo travelers over 50.
We spent two weeks exploring Nova Scotia and Newfoundland, hiking coastal trails, eating fresh seafood, visiting small towns where everyone knew each other’s names. I met people. Made friends.
For the first time since Sarah died, I felt like myself again. Not just someone’s father or someone’s ATM, but Bob Anderson, a person with interests and value beyond what I could provide to others.
When I got back, there was a letter waiting from the court. A hearing date had been set for the visitation dispute. Michael and Vanessa had continued to deny me access to Oliver, and the judge wanted to address it directly.
The day of the hearing, I wore my best suit. James had prepared everything meticulously. We had documents, statements, evidence of every denied visit, every excuse, every empty promise.
Michael and Vanessa sat on the other side of the courtroom with their lawyer. Vanessa looked defiant. Michael just looked tired.
The judge, an older woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor, reviewed everything. Then she called Oliver into her chambers alone. He was in there for 20 minutes.
When they came back, the judge’s expression was stern. «Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher,» she said, addressing Michael and Vanessa. «I’ve heard from Oliver about his relationship with his grandfather. He spoke very highly of Mr. Anderson.»
«He expressed confusion about why he hasn’t been able to visit, and frankly, after reviewing the evidence presented today, so am I.»
She flipped through the papers in front of her. «You’ve systematically denied court-ordered visitation. Your excuses are documented and, frankly, transparent. What I see here is not a concerned parent protecting a child, but rather two adults using a child as leverage in what is essentially a financial dispute.»
Vanessa started to speak, but the judge held up her hand. «I’m not finished. Mr. Anderson has demonstrated years of consistent, loving involvement in Oliver’s life. He has provided for this family financially, yes, but more importantly, he has been present. Every school event, every birthday, every Sunday dinner. The evidence shows that Oliver actively asks to see his grandfather and is distressed by your refusals.»
