Is 'My Grandmother: A Memoir' Worth Reading?

My grandmother, Gabriella Lorne, begs my uncle, Daniel Saldano, and his family to take me in after Mom and Dad pass away in an accident. To repay Grandma's kindness, I take care of her for seven years after she develops dementia and breaks her leg. I tell myself that I can't die when I'm lying in the emergency room after getting into a serious car accident. Grandma still needs me to take care of her. I hear the doctor's anxious voice coming from outside the door. "The patient is in critical condition. You're his family. You need to pay for his medical bills as soon as possible!" "We're not going to save him!" Grandma exclaims energetically in the next second. "We don't have the money to pay the bills." "Let's contact Mr. Anderson as soon as Jasper breathes his last breath," my lazy cousin, Ashton Saldano, chimes in excitedly. "He's been looking to buy a corpse for 100 thousand dollars. That's more than enough for me to buy a marital home and find myself a wife!" Grandma scoffs and says, "Pretending to be demented for the last seven years is finally paying off. The shaman told me that I'll be able to absorb this jinx's vitality once he's dead. He should feel honored that his death will fund Ashton's new home." My heart throbs painfully. It turns out that my beloved and respected Grandma is nothing more than a "man-eating" monster!

After divorcing my cheating husband, I took my son and moved back to my mother's house. The moment we returned, my mother began to dote on my son without restraint. She would even gossip to the neighbors, saying, "Can you believe that deadweight actually gave birth to a son? Why does she get to? A disgrace who got kicked out by her husband has no right to be a boy's mother!" I knew my son could not grow up in an environment like that, so I made a firm decision to move out and raise him on my own. Years later, he graduated from college and found a job—nothing high-paying, but stable. Given the state of things, I was genuinely happy for him. He suggested going back to have a meal with his grandmother to celebrate. I never expected the two of them to join hands and poison me. As my consciousness faded, I heard their conversation. "I told you. She can't stand seeing you do well. She's elated after hearing you only make a few thousand a month!" "It's fine, Grandma. A feminazi like my mom had it coming. I've always known who's truly been good to me. From now on, I'll only take care of you." My heart turned cold. I had pushed him to study, supported him through college, and taught him to treat others with equality and respect. And this was how he repaid me. But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the moment I had just returned to my mother's house with my son. 'If you're so determined to raise him your way, then fine. You can have him all to yourself. Let's see what kind of man a pick-me grandmother like you will raise.'

After the engagement dinner, my grandmother was hauled down to the family's dungeons. The order was given by Serena, who handled the finances for my husband-to-be, Vincent, the heir to the Moretti family. Vincent himself led her down, refusing to hear a word of explanation. "The late Don's wife's diamond cross is missing. Your grandmother was the only guest not part of the family. If she didn't take it, who did?" Serena stood at the top of the stairs, her arrogant gaze sweeping over my face. It was laughable. Based on nothing but Serena's word, they could lock an old woman away. "She stays down there for every day the cross is missing. But that's one thing, our wedding is another. We're still on for next month." I glanced down at the diamond ring on my finger, engraved with the family crest. Exhaustion washed over me. This whole marriage felt meaningless.

My grandfather, Terry Sims, suffered from bipolar disorder and was prone to anger and mood swings. My mother, Catherine, was his only chill pill. On the day they were hunted down by enemies, my mom went into early labor and lost her life in an attempt to save him. Devastated, my grandfather could not see a way out of his disorder and poured all his love into me. He would pull out the tongues of those who mocked me and fed them to the dogs. The families of those who hurt me would meet their end. It was known to the people of Mistvale that the granddaughter of Terry Sims was untouchable. Due to my congenital heart disease, he reluctantly sent me abroad for medical treatment. After my surgery, I rushed back to his side for his birthday, thinking of giving him a surprise. However, I was mistaken for a gold digger by a carer and locked in the basement. “Of all the things you can do for your age, you throw yourself at men. Since your parents won’t restrain your behavior, I’ll have to do it for them.” She pulled out my tongue, dumped acid all over me, and dug out my snewly transplanted heart to give as a birthday gift to my grandfather, who had been waiting for my return. “Mr. Sims, the skank tried to impersonate Ms. Sims, but I got everything sorted out for you.”

Before my crazy grandmother died, she gave me three walnuts. According to her last wish, I cracked open the first walnut on my twenty-fifth birthday. Inside the walnut was a slip of paper. 'Go to the skybridge and grovel at the first beggar you meet' was the instruction written on it. When I looked at the note, I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment. Still, I did as told. To my surprise, the beggar turned out to be an undercover cop. Only later did I learn that I had long been targeted by human traffickers, and the bow had saved my life. As for the second walnut, my grandmother told me to crack it open before I got married. When I put on my wedding dress, ready to marry the policeman who saved me, I happily opened it. This time, there was a crumpled old photograph inside. In the photo, my fiancé was smiling as he strangled another bride.

The supplementary card I've issued for my grandmother shows that an eight-thousand-dollar purchase has taken place in another city. But the transaction records show that the money is used on hymenoplasty. I'm shell-shocked, to say the least. Grandma is 84 years old this year. She's been bedridden and paralyzed for years. Why would she even get hymenoplasty done on her, to begin with? But when my investigation leads me to a plastic surgery hospital, I find out that my wife, Stella Watson, is actually the lead doctor of said clinic. So, I call her to demand answers from her. However, Stella refuses to answer my questions properly. "Don't worry, honey. Something's most likely wrong with the system. Betsy is already this old—why would she have her hymen repaired?" That's just a bullshit answer coming from her. She seriously thinks I'm gullible enough to believe her. I merely huff coldly in return before calling my dad, who works in the Department of Commerce. "Dad, Stella is most likely cheating on me. I want her plastic surgery hospital as compensation for my impending divorce!"