In-laws are supposed to help and support you, right? Well, not in my case. This is the story of how I got my revenge on Linda, who thought she could mistreat my oldest daughter, Tessa.
I have two daughters. Tessa is 10 years old and comes from my first marriage. She is kind, quiet, and always wants to make everyone happy. Sadie is 4 years old and is from my current marriage to Grant. Sadie is very different—she’s full of energy and always asking questions. Grant loves both girls, but his mother, Linda, has a different attitude toward Tessa.
Linda is… how do I say this? She’s the kind of woman who wants everything to look perfect on the outside. But if you look a little deeper, you’ll find someone who is judgmental and cold, especially toward Tessa. The worst part? It’s all because Tessa isn’t Grant’s “real” daughter.
For years, I tried to keep things calm. “She’s just old-fashioned,” Grant would say. “She’ll come around.” But she never did. Linda made little digs at Tessa.
Tessa, bless her heart, never complained. She just stayed quiet, maybe thinking it was her fault. But I saw it and heard it, and it made me furious every time. Grant? He didn’t see it like I did. He loved his mom and thought she was just being her quirky self. But I knew better.
Sometimes it was a rude comment about Tessa’s looks. “Oh, Tessa, that dress is a bit too grown-up for you, don’t you think?” Or she’d pretend to forget Tessa’s birthday and give Sadie lots of gifts instead.
Things started to fall apart after my mother passed away, and it felt like my world was turned upside down. There was no warning, no chance to say goodbye. My heart felt shattered in a way I can’t explain. I could hardly breathe through the grief.
We had to fly out of state for the funeral, which was the last thing I wanted to deal with. Every minute was a blur of sadness, but we had to think about the girls. My mind was so clouded with pain that even small choices felt impossible.
Linda, of all people, offered to watch the girls while we were gone. It was the last thing I wanted. I knew Tessa wouldn’t feel comfortable with her, and I hated leaving her with someone who never treated her well.
But what choice did I have? I was drowning in grief, and all our close friends were busy with their own lives. I felt so alone and helpless. It was either leave the girls with Linda or find another option, which felt impossible at that moment. Against my instincts, I agreed.
Three exhausting days later, we pulled into the driveway. The house was eerily quiet, almost too quiet. I felt a heavy weight in my chest as I got out of the car. Linda had left a note on the counter: “Took Sadie to the park. Be back later.”
A knot formed in my stomach. Something felt off. “Where’s Tessa?” I muttered, searching the house. I called her name, but there was no answer. My heart raced, and a chill ran down my spine.
That’s when I noticed it. A faint light flickering from the basement window. I stopped, confused. No one goes down there. The basement was old, dusty, and full of junk, and we barely used it. For a moment, panic set in. Had someone broken in? Did burglars get in while we were gone?
My heart pounded as I reached for my phone, turning on the camera just in case I needed proof. If someone was down there, I wanted to document it. I could feel my breath catching as I slowly opened the basement door, the musty smell hitting me.
My hands shook as I hit record and began carefully walking down the stairs, trying to calm my nerves. The wooden steps creaked under my feet, and every sound echoed in the quiet.
As the light got brighter, I finally saw her—Tessa. My sweet girl, curled up on the cold floor, wrapped in an old blanket, fast asleep as if she had been forgotten. Her little body was still, her face pale, and her cheeks were streaked with dried tears.
“Tessa?” I whispered, rushing to her side. I gently shook her, my heart breaking. “Sweetheart, what are you doing down here?”
Her eyes opened, and she sat up, looking small and defeated. “Grandma Linda told me to sleep here,” she said softly. “She said Sadie is her real granddaughter, and I shouldn’t get in the way.”
I froze. The room spun around me. “She what?” I asked, my voice shaking with disbelief and anger.
“She didn’t want me around,” Tessa said, her bottom lip trembling. “She said I could sleep down here, and she didn’t let me eat dinner with Sadie. She said they needed ‘special time.’”
I felt my blood boiling, anger rushing through me. My hands clenched into fists as I tried to keep my voice calm. How could she? How could Linda do this to my child?
But I didn’t explode. I swallowed my rage, knowing that confronting Linda wouldn’t fix this right now. I wrapped my arms around Tessa, pulling her close. “Tessa,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion, “I’m so, so sorry. This will never happen again.”
Linda had crossed a line, and she had no idea what was coming.
I wanted to drive over to Linda’s house and tell her off. But I held back. I realized that confronting her wouldn’t be enough. I needed to make sure she felt the weight of what she did. I knew just how to do it.
Linda’s annual family reunion was her pride and joy. Every year, she gathered the whole family and a few close friends in her beautiful backyard. It was her chance to show off and act like the perfect matriarch.
I didn’t let on that anything was wrong when Linda brought Sadie back later that day. I smiled and thanked her for watching the girls, even though my blood boiled inside. “I’ve been thinking,” I said, keeping my tone light, “Maybe I could help you with the reunion this year. I know how much work it is.”
Her face lit up. “That would be wonderful! It’s so much to handle, and the more help, the better.”
Perfect. She had no idea what I was planning.
Over the next few weeks, I worked closely with Linda to plan the reunion. I acted like everything was fine between us, all while planting seeds with family members. In casual conversations, I mentioned how Tessa had been feeling left out lately.
“It was tough while we were at the funeral,” I’d say, “especially when Tessa had to sleep in the basement. It’s a shame, but Linda wanted some alone time with Sadie.”
The responses were just what I hoped for—shock, concern, and some raised eyebrows. “The basement?” they’d ask, their voices full of disbelief. “That’s awful.” The gossip spread quickly, and by reunion day, people were already talking about Linda’s treatment of Tessa.
The day of the reunion came, and Linda was in full host mode. The backyard looked perfect, the tables set with her best dishes, and the smell of grilled food filled the air. Family and friends arrived, hugging and smiling. Linda soaked in the compliments, playing her role as the perfect host.
Then came the highlight of the day—the slideshow. I had put together a series of photos from recent family trips, showing the girls laughing and having fun. But in between those happy moments, I added clips of Tessa curled up on the basement floor.
The atmosphere shifted immediately. People went from admiring the cute photos to gasping in shock. I heard whispers spread through the crowd like wildfire. “Is that Tessa in the basement?” someone asked. “Why would she be down there?”
I didn’t need to say a word. The photos spoke for themselves.
Linda’s smile faded as she realized what was happening. I could see her eyes darting around, trying to gauge the crowd’s reaction. Her hands fidgeted nervously as people began approaching her, asking questions and demanding explanations. She stammered, trying to brush it off as a misunderstanding, but it was too late. The damage was done.
Linda tried to defend herself, but no one believed her. Her reputation as the perfect grandmother and hostess was in ruins, and she knew it. The rest of the family saw her for who she really was now.
I stood back, watching it all unfold with satisfaction. Tessa was by my side, holding my hand, and I whispered to her again, “No one will ever treat you like that.”
As for Linda, she hasn’t spoken to me since that day, but honestly? That’s just the cherry on top.
Heavily-Tattooed Woman Says It’s “Not Fair” That She Can’t Get A Job
Putnam’s first complaint centered around the impersonal nature of receiving a rejection email rather than a phone call. While this is common practice for large corporations, she felt it was insensitive given her efforts in applying for the job.
Upon visiting her local TJ Maxx to inquire about the rejection in person, Putnam was told by an employee that she lacked sufficient experience for the position. However, she suspected that her tattoos played a significant role in the decision, despite the employee’s assurance to the contrary.
Despite her disappointment, Putnam emphasized that she did not necessarily need the job but was seeking additional income to pay off debt more quickly. However, she found it unfair that her tattoos seemed to be a determining factor in her employability.
Putnam’s visible tattoos include imagery with Satanic connotations, such as a goat representing the deity Baphomet and a Leviathan Cross. While it’s unclear whether hiring managers saw her tattoos during the application process, thousands of TikTok users commented on her post, suggesting that her tattoos likely influenced the decision.
Some commenters argued that visible tattoos could be perceived as unprofessional, especially in customer-facing roles like those at TJ Maxx. Others pointed out the challenge for young adults without prior work experience to secure employment if companies prioritize experience over potential.
The incident raised broader questions about societal attitudes towards body modifications and hiring practices. Putnam questioned why tattoos should be a barrier to employment, especially when many individuals with tattoos are highly capable workers.
While there’s no definitive evidence that Putnam’s tattoos directly led to her rejection, the incident highlights the ongoing debate surrounding appearance-based discrimination in the workplace. As discussions continue, it’s essential to consider how hiring practices can be more inclusive and equitable for all candidates, regardless of their appearance.
Leave a Reply