The emptiness of George’s departure permeates their residence, his presence enduring in the shirt Mariana grips nightly. However, it wasn’t his passing that devastated her… it was her stepdaughter Susan’s insistence on inheriting his wealth. When she reluctantly agreed, an unexpected twist left Susan enraged and Mariana strangely content.
Progressing past the death of a dear one is always challenging. At times, I still sense my husband George’s voice echoing in my mind. I awaken holding his cherished shirt, his fragrance still clinging to the material. Yet, as I mourned him, my stepdaughter’s actions… they utterly broke me…
I am Mariana, aged 57, wed to the kindest man, George, for 25 years. He had a daughter, Susan, aged 34, from an earlier marriage.
Our bond with Susan was once good. She addressed me as “Mom” and filled the gap in my heart from not bearing my own children. I never viewed her as “another’s” child. I cherished her as my own daughter, truly.
When Susan wed her chosen partner, George and I were thrilled. But then, everything deteriorated when George received a terminal cancer diagnosis.
Susan’s visits reduced from weekly to monthly, then ceased entirely. She seldom visited her father, occasionally phoning to inquire about his health.
One day, she posed a question that tore me apart. “How long does he have left?”
Clutching the phone tightly, my voice shook. “Susan, your father isn’t an item with an expiration date.”
“I just need to know, Mom. I’m swamped, you know that… I can’t come by often,” she responded.
“Swamped?” I repeated, my tone filled with disbelief. “Too swamped to visit your dying father?”
She exhaled deeply. “Look, I’ll attempt to come soon, okay?”
But that “soon” never materialized.
Then, the dreaded day arrived. The hospital informed me that George had passed away peacefully.
I was devastated, barely able to stand as the reality sank in. My beloved George, gone.
Shockingly, Susan didn’t attend his funeral. When I called her, she promptly excused herself.
“I’m expecting, Mom,” she stated, her tone strangely indifferent. “The doctors advised against lengthy travel due to some medical concerns.”
I swallowed hard, holding back tears. “But Susan, it’s your father’s funeral. Don’t you wish to bid him farewell one last time?”
“I can’t jeopardize my baby’s health,” she curtly replied. “You understand, right?”
I didn’t, not truly, but I nodded silently, forgetting she couldn’t see me. “Of course, dear. Take care.”
As I sat near my husband’s coffin, I couldn’t dismiss the notion that our relationship had irrevocably changed.
Six months post-George’s death, I was startled by a loud knock at my door. Opening it, I saw Susan and her husband Doug, along with a severe-looking man in a suit.
Susan entered without greeting. “Mom, we need your signature on some documents.”
Baffled, I blinked. “Which documents?”
Doug handed me a stack of papers, including a blank sheet. “Just sign these. They’re for transferring all the properties into our names.”
I Found Out My Daughter-in-Law Uses Trips to My House as a Punishment — So I Came Up with a Smart Strategy
Upon learning that her daughter-in-law sends her grandchildren to her as a form of discipline, Gina feels both upset and determined. Instead of reacting angrily, she makes sure her home is a safe haven for her grandchildren. Eventually, she decides to teach her daughter-in-law an unforgettable lesson.
“We are only here because you ate that candy that Mom was saving for Dad, Jacob. Mom told you not to!” I overheard my grandson, Thomas, telling his younger brother.
I paused in the kitchen, torn between the fridge and the counter, straining to catch more of their conversation. My heart sank, dreading that I had heard Thomas correctly, as it could mean my grandchildren weren’t genuinely eager to visit me.
I walked towards them slowly, trying to act casual.
“What do you mean by that, sweetheart?” I asked.
Thomas looked up, eyes wide in surprise.
“Uh, nothing, Grandma,” he said quickly.
No, really, it’s okay,” I gently insisted, kneeling down to their level. “You can tell me anything.”
Thomas glanced at Jacob, who nervously bit his lip while gripping his toy.
“Well, every time we do something naughty, or we ask for things we shouldn’t…” Thomas hesitated.
“Yes, go on,” I encouraged gently.
“Mom says that she’ll send us to ‘that witch’s house.’”
“That witch?” I repeated, stunned.
Amanda, my daughter-in-law, had always been somewhat cold to me, but telling the kids such stories? It was heartbreaking. I had always tried to create a welcoming and safe space for my grandchildren.
But this?
Realizing Amanda was turning them against me was more than I could bear. I took a deep breath and tried to steady my voice, wondering what my grandchildren truly thought of me.
“Oh, honey,” I said. “I never wanted you to think of my home as a punishment. If you don’t want to come here, you don’t have to.”
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