Grandma's Golden Age Chapter 1

I’m eighty years old this year.

My husband passed away early, but my pension is substantial, and my health is excellent. Life has never been happier.

Until one day, my granddaughter called me to help her catch a cheater.

I grabbed my cane and ran out the door.

Dammit, I always knew that boy had shifty eyes and wasn't a good person.

* * *

When I arrived at the hotel, I saw my granddaughter arguing with the front desk.

"I'm Jason's wife. I already showed you our marriage certificate. Why can't you tell me the room number?"

"This involves customer privacy."

"What privacy? I came with Jason today, we just forgot the key card."

"There is no check-in information under your name."

The receptionist even added:

"A wife should be more understanding of her husband. Being suspicious only harms your marriage."

My granddaughter's face turned red with anger.

I slammed my cane onto the front desk and lay down directly on the floor.

Wriggling my body left and right like a caterpillar, I slowly crawled on the ground, moving from the front desk all the way to the main entrance, shouting as I moved:

"This is a black-hearted hotel."

"They won't reissue a room card."

"Bullying an eighty-year-old woman."

"Everyone, don't stay here."

Halfway through shouting, I choked on my own saliva.

I coughed while still remembering to wriggle.

Several customers who had just entered the hotel were scared away by my antics.

The manager rushed over, and the receptionist explained the situation to him.

The manager squatted down and said to me:

"Grandma, we really can't tell you the room number. If your granddaughter can't control her man, you can't make trouble for our hotel."

What kind of nonsense is that? I don't want to hear a word of it.

Twenty-year-old me might have been helpless, but eighty-year-old me has plenty of tricks.

I accelerated my wriggling towards a nearby customer, scaring him into screaming and running away.

The manager's face darkened:

"Grandma, if you keep this up, I'm calling the police."

I nimbly changed direction and headed towards another person who had just entered the hotel.

I deliberately used my feet to push, arching my back, crawling in an even more bizarre posture.

"Call the police then. I'm almost a hundred years old. If the police let me out, I'll just come back and lie down in your hotel."

"Let's see if I die first or your hotel closes down first."

While the manager hesitated, I scared away two more customers. The manager, helpless, had to tell me the room number.

My granddaughter hurriedly helped me up.

After getting up, I felt a wave of dizziness and leaned on my cane to rest for a while.

Sure enough, getting old means getting tired after crawling on the ground for a bit.

As soon as my granddaughter and I arrived at the room, we heard laughter coming from inside, with a coquettish female voice being particularly prominent.

My granddaughter's eyes instantly turned red.

Heart aching for her, I knocked on the door and shouted:

"Housekeeping."

Jason grumbled as he came to open the door.

My granddaughter slapped him right in the face.

"Emily, why are you here?"

My granddaughter pounced on him and started hitting him.

I observed for a while, seeing she had the upper hand, and walked into the room.

I saw a woman in her early twenties wrapped in a quilt, leaning against the headboard, looking at me in terror.

"Girl, why are you being a mistress at such a young age? Are you Jason's colleague?"

The girl shook her head hurriedly and explained, "I just met him today. I provide door-to-door massage services."

Hearing this, my contempt for Jason deepened.

Another man who can't control his lower body.

At this time, the dispute at the door became more intense.

Slap!

Seeing the crowd of onlookers growing, Jason slapped my granddaughter in exasperation.

My granddaughter didn't react, frozen in place, big tears falling straight down.

Furious, I rushed forward and hit Jason on the head with my cane.

Caught off guard, Jason knelt on the ground clutching his head. I hit his limbs and back indiscriminately, and he couldn't straighten up from the pain.

"Rebelling, are you? Cheating and daring to hit your wife."

"Let's see you hit your wife again."

Someone called the police. Four officers arrived and pulled us apart.

The police looked at me sternly, and I was a bit scared.

Seeing Jason lying on the ground crying about pain, I was even more afraid of being at a disadvantage.

So I also lay on the ground with a constipated look on my face.

No matter what the police asked, I just said I hurt all over.

Helpless, the police had to take us all back to the station first and call our families to pick us up.

My son, Mike, rushed over and asked nervously:

"Mom, are you okay?"

I put on an expression of excruciating pain, then whispered:

"I'm fine. That son of a bitch Jason hired a prostitute. Get them divorced immediately."

Using the excuse of taking me to the hospital for a checkup, Mike took me home to rest first.

On the way, Mike promised me repeatedly that he would handle this matter well.

Who knew that half a month later, during the Dragon Boat Festival, I was preparing a big table of food, waiting for the family to come home for a reunion.

My granddaughter called me from outside.

As soon as I opened the door, I saw Jason hugging my granddaughter, standing at the door with a smile.