My daughter didn’t know I own 51% of her father-in-law’s company and I’m worth $2.1 billion. To her, I was just a “poor seamstress from Queens” who should stay quiet and grateful.

In 2010, my weekly visits became bi-weekly.

“Mom, we have Caroline now, the nanny. She’s really good, so you don’t need to come as often.”

“I’m not coming because you need me. I’m coming because I want to see my granddaughter.”

“I know, but Caroline has a schedule. When you come, it disrupts things.”

The visits dropped to twice a month. In 2011, I offered to babysit.

“Mom, no. We pay Caroline for that.”

“I’m not asking to be paid, Jessica.”

“It’s just… you don’t know the routine. Caroline knows how we like things done.”

By fall, I was seeing Emily once a month.

Then Jessica got pregnant again. Lucas was born in March 2012. I found out on Facebook. A photo.

Welcome to the world, Lucas James Morrison. 67 likes.

I called Jessica.

“Honey, you had the baby.”

“Oh yeah, yesterday. I meant to call mom. I just… It’s been crazy.”

“Can I come see you?”

“Maybe give us a few days. We’re still settling in.”

Two weeks later, I finally visited. I stayed 30 minutes.

In 2013, Emily turned four. Jessica threw a birthday party, bounce house, caterer, 30 children. I wasn’t invited. I found out on Facebook. Photos of Emily with a crown. William and Patricia front and center.

I called Jessica.

“I didn’t know about Emily’s party.”

“It was last minute, mom. Very small.”

“There were 30 kids.”

Silence.

“I mean, small familywise. Just Brandon’s side.”

“Jessica, I’m her grandmother.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Next time.”

There was no next time.

In 2014, I showed up for Thanksgiving. Emily was five. She looked at me with confused eyes.

“Who are you?”

Jessica laughed nervously. “Emily, this is Grandma Margaret. Remember?”

Emily shook her head.

Later, Lucas asked, “Why don’t we see her?”

Jessica glanced at me. “Grandma lives very far away. She’s very busy.”

“I live in Queens,” I said quietly. “23 minutes by subway.”

Jessica’s face tightened. “Mom, not now.”

Patricia, sitting nearby, added, “Some people prefer simpler lives, dear.”

Jessica didn’t correct her.

On the drive home, Jessica said there wasn’t room in their car. I sat in my Uber and stared out the window. My granddaughter didn’t recognize me. My daughter told her I lived very far away and was very busy. I lived 23 minutes away. I wasn’t busy.

I was erased.

In the years that followed, I tried. Birthday gifts, Christmas presents, phone calls. Jessica’s responses became shorter.

“Thanks for the gift, Mom.”

“Sorry we missed your call.”

“Things are really busy right now.”

By 2015, I was seeing Emily and Lucas three times a year. By 2016, twice a year. By 2017, Jessica stopped answering my calls. She’d text hours later.