I live alone in a 3-bedroom house. My recently married son kept saying that it’s perfect for starting a family, so I ended up giving it to him and went to live with my widowed sister. Yesterday, my son told me that his MIL is moving in with them.
I said, “I didn’t leave my home for her to live with you.” My DIL declared, “We lied about that.”
I sat there stunned, the cup of tea in my hand suddenly felt too heavy. My daughter-in-law, Rhea, didn’t even flinch. My son, Darien, looked away, jaw tight, like he was bracing for a storm he knew he deserved.
“What do you mean, you lied?” I asked, even though I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the answer. Rhea leaned forward, voice steady. “We didn’t need the space for starting a family.
We just needed the house. My mom’s apartment lease was ending and she had nowhere to go. So… we thought this would be the best solution.”
I blinked.
“So you played on my emotions. You made me believe you wanted to build your life here, raise kids in the house I made a home. But all you really wanted was to make space for her.”
Darien finally looked at me.
“I thought we’d be able to make it all work. That you’d be okay living with Aunt Marni. You always said you missed her.”
“That’s not the point,” I whispered.
My heart felt tight in my chest. “You didn’t give me a choice. You lied.
That’s what hurts.”
There was silence. Thick. Awkward.
Painful. “I just want everyone to be comfortable,” Rhea said, clearly trying to justify it. “No,” I said, my voice suddenly louder than I intended.
“You want your side of the family to be comfortable. Mine’s disposable.”
Darien reached out to touch my arm, but I pulled away. “You know, I would’ve considered helping if you’d been honest.
But this? You treated me like a burden. Like an old coat you just toss in a closet when it’s inconvenient.”
I stood up.
My legs felt heavy, but my mind was racing. “I need air.”
When I got home to Marni’s place, I went straight to my room and cried. It had been two months since I moved in, and while Marni had been kind, I always felt like I was living in someone else’s rhythm.
That night, Marni knocked gently and came in holding two mugs of warm milk. “You okay?” she asked. “No,” I said.
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