It was a small town, the type of place, where everyone knew everyone. I hated it here. At every corner I met people who knew my granny. Most people looked at me like they feel sorry for me, because they knew that SHE was back. My mother, who only showed up at rare occasions to show everyone how much of a good mother she was. Although my mom knew that it wouldn’t change anything, she tried to act perfect. But everyone in the neighborhood knew that I was kind of living with my granny. It was okay for my granny. She cared for me. Everyday after school we ate together. After that I was allowed to watch one episode of my favorite show. Then I had to do my exercises. Sometimes I argued about that with my granny. After dinner we watched her favorite show together or played cards. But then the diagnosis came. Cancer in the last stage. She got sick and I had to move back in with my mom, who only cared for my little brother and herself. My granny was smart enough and left me her house and money. Her lawyer had the task to take care of it until I’m 21. My mom got furious. The months with my mom were horrible. 6 months after my granny died, I ran away. I called the authorities. They helped me to get a new home. The found a living group for teenagers for me. And for the first time since my granny died, I felt save again, although the mental scars from my mom wouldn’t be healing as fast as I thought.