The forgotten stranger (freewrite)

She'd grown tired standing on the old wooden porch.The children should be coming any day now, that was for sure, but her legs began to hurt. A low, dull screech going up her thighbones. So she pulled up a chair and sat right there, doing her best to ignore the cold. She really wanted to be there when they came, like she had been every time – waiting for them outside, smiling wide from ear to ear as her grandchildren ran up to embrace her. Their parents would be screaming, still by the car, unloading groceries and whatnot.
'Leave Grammy alone,' they'd yell, chiding young Thomas when he threw himself into her arms, but she liked it. Hell, she lived for those moments. And even though her back had become bent in all the years she'd waited she didn't want to wait for them inside. She couldn't bear the thought they'd come early and see the porch deserted, the house so clearly empty for everyone to see.
What if they turned back? She knew they wouldn't, but what if they did. Or maybe they didn't recognize the house. Much like any other here in the wilderness and without her distinct features to mark the spot, they might drive by it without a second glance and then what would happen? She supposed the children would call on one of their mobile phones and she'd hear the little buzzing noise from her place beside the fire and make her way slowly to the back room where she kept the little phone. And she'd have to tell them they'd probably driven right past her.
She didn't want to say that, the children would be embarrassed when they did arrive and beside, it would mean less time they could be here, so she braved the cold and pulled her old wool blanket tighter around her frail body.

The old woman didn't need to look down to know it was not her own. She'd look in the mirror – sometimes early in the morning, always by accident – and notice, with a sort of muted horror the deep lines burrowing into her once beautiful skin. Not perfect, but lovely nevertheless, every pore breathing a life that now seemed a stranger to her. Who had she been, she wondered? Or at least, she knew that's what she should've wondered, but the only thing that crossed her mind, looking back at this strange old hag in the mirror, was who the hell was she?
And what had she done to the young girl who'd once lived here? Sometimes, the old woman told stories. To herself, 'cause there was no one around to hear them, but she was there and she listened. And the tales grew wider, ever more spacious. Of how a witch had once come through the town and settled in her very house. And the young girl she remembered, beautiful and oh so brave, hid as best she could under the covers, behind the bed, but the witch found her and devoured her whole.

Stories, all she had now were stories.

That and the children, not her own, they'd grown and lost some of their spark. Not all, she still loved them, like any mother should, but sometimes she felt like they didn't really need her 'round anymore. And so, she preferred the company of the little ones. Young Thomas and perfect little Marly, her angels and final grace.
She knew the place wasn't perfect. That the toilet didn't work all that well and while she'd learned not to mind, they hadn't and they sulked about it after every use and knotted their bowels as hard as they could so as not to go. But she gave them sweets and let them climb high into the trees, like she knew very well they could, although their parents had forgotten.
It didn't feel like home, whenever they visited, but then it felt different. And int their grandmother's home, little Thomas and Marly had learned that not all different was bad, that they could feel good and free somewhere other than their parents' house.
Sitting outside, bitter cold biting into her cheeks, her lips gone dry from all the torturous waiting, she wondered when they'd come. And in a secret chamber, in the shallows of her heart, she hoped it hadn't happened yet. That they hadn't driven by the house, forgetting where she lived.

This story was written as a response to the 5 Minute Freewrite Challenge, hosted by @mariannewest <3 The prompt of the day was 'dry lips' and it was initially going to be a different story. But then, it was not.