One night, I rushed from the shower to find my 3-year-old son crying and covered in red paint while my wife sat nearby, glued to her iPad. Frustrated and confused, I soon uncovered a deeper issue: the silent struggle my wife had been facing, one that threatened to break our family apart.
It was a regular evening. My wife sat in the recliner, scrolling like she often did through her iPad. The kids were in bed, or so I thought. I figured it was the perfect time for a long and relaxing shower.
A woman looking at her iPad | Source: Pexels
I heard a faint cry as I stood under the hot water. At first, I ignored it, thinking it was nothing serious. But then, the cry got louder, more desperate.
“Daddy! Daddy!” my 3-year-old son’s voice pierced through the sound of running water.
A child crying in his room | Source: Midjourney
I quickly turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and rushed out. As I passed through the family room, I glanced at my wife. She was still sitting there, glued to her iPad, completely oblivious to the chaos in the other room.
“You couldn’t calm him down?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
She didn’t even look up. “I tried three times,” she said, sounding bored.
A bored woman in a tablet | Source: Pexels
Three times? I shook my head, frustrated, and hurried into my son’s room. I was ready to comfort him, but nothing could’ve prepared me for what I saw next.
The moment I stepped inside, I saw him sitting up in his bed, his little body shaking as he sobbed. “Daddy, I made a mess,” he said between gasps.
“It’s okay, buddy,” I said softly, assuming it was just tears and snot. “We’ll clean it up.”
A scared child looking up | Source: Midjourney
I walked closer and scooped him up. He clung to me tightly, still crying. His face was buried in my shoulder, and I felt wetness dripping down my neck. “Poor guy’s been crying so long,” I thought. But then, something didn’t feel right. His pajamas were too wet.
I laid him back down and grabbed my phone to turn on the flashlight. That’s when I saw it — red everywhere. At first, my heart dropped, thinking it was blood. I froze. But as I looked closer, I realized it wasn’t blood. It was red paint.
A paint palette | Source: Pexels
“Where did this come from?” I whispered, scanning the room. Then I saw the open jar of red paint on the small table near his crib. My wife had been painting animals with him the night before, and somehow, he must’ve knocked the jar over.
“Daddy, I’m sorry,” he cried again, his little hands covered in red.
“It’s okay,” I said, trying to stay calm. “It’s just paint. We’ll clean it up.”
A child covered in pink paint | Source: Midjourney
But the more I looked, the worse it got. The paint had spilled all over his bed, his clothes, and his hair. It was everywhere. And on top of that, I realized he’d wet himself too. My frustration bubbled up. How had my wife not noticed this?
I wiped his face gently and took a deep breath. “Why didn’t Mommy come help you?” I asked softly, trying to piece things together.
He sniffled and looked at me with those big, innocent eyes. “Mommy didn’t check on me. Nobody checked on me.”
An upset child covered in pink paint | Source: Midjourney
His words stung. I had assumed she’d tried. But now, I wasn’t so sure.
I scooped him up and carried him to the bathroom, feeling the weight of the situation sink in. Something was wrong — more than just spilled paint and wet pajamas.
My son had been left alone, scared and crying, and no one had come. As I bathed him, I couldn’t shake the image of my wife, still sitting in that chair, smiling at whatever was on her screen.
A woman smiling on her couch | Source: Pexels
When we were done, I wrapped him in a towel and headed back to the family room. She hadn’t moved an inch. She didn’t even look up when I walked in.
“I don’t understand,” I said, my voice low but filled with frustration. “How could you not hear him crying?”
“I told you, I tried three times,” she repeated, her eyes glued to the screen.
“But he said you never checked on him,” I shot back, feeling my anger rise.
A man arguing with his wife | Source: Midjourney
She shrugged, not saying a word.
I stood there, holding our son, dripping with paint and bathwater, feeling like I was standing on the edge of something bigger than just a bad night. Something was wrong, and I didn’t know how to fix it.
The tension in the room hung heavy, and I knew this wasn’t over. Something had to change. But what?
A man covering his face with his eyes | Source: Pexels
The next morning, I packed a bag for my son and myself. I wasn’t leaving for good — at least, not yet — but I couldn’t stay in the house. I needed space to figure things out. I didn’t tell my wife much as we left. She barely reacted anyway; she just nodded as if my decision meant nothing.
Once at my sister’s place, I made a call I hadn’t planned. I dialed my mother-in-law. I liked her well enough, but this felt like more than just updating her on a tough situation.
A man talking on his phone | Source: Pexels
I needed answers. Maybe she’d know what was going on with her daughter because I sure didn’t.
“Hey, I need to talk to you,” I started when she picked up. “Something’s not right with your daughter.”
Her voice sounded concerned. “What’s happened? Did you have a fight?”
A woman talking on her phone in her living room | Source: Pexels
I sighed. “It’s more than that. She ignored our son last night, left him crying and covered in paint. I don’t know what’s going on with her, but it’s not just one bad night. She’s… distant. Uncaring. I don’t know how else to describe it.”
My mother-in-law listened carefully, and then after a long pause, she said, “I’ll come over. Let me talk to her.”
A few days later, she called me back. Her voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant.
A serious woman typing on her phone | Source: Pexels
“I spoke to her,” she said. “She finally opened up. It’s not you or the baby. It’s depression.”
That word hit me like a ton of bricks. Depression? I had never really thought of that. I had been so focused on my frustration, my anger at her behavior, that I didn’t stop to consider that something deeper was going on.
A sad man realizing his mistake | Source: Midjourney
“She’s been struggling for a while now,” her mother continued. “The pressure of motherhood, losing time for herself, for her art. It’s been overwhelming for her. She feels trapped, like she’s lost who she is.”
I stood there, stunned. I had no idea she was feeling this way. How could I? She never said anything.
“She’s agreed to see a therapist,” her mother added. “But she’s going to need your support. This won’t be easy.”
A mature woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
Support. That word echoed in my mind. I had been angry, ready to walk away, but now I had to think about what my wife was really going through. This wasn’t about neglecting our son out of laziness or disinterest. It was deeper than that. And now, I had to figure out how to help her.
While staying with my son, I started to see things differently. Taking care of him on my own wasn’t just hard — it was exhausting.
An exhausted man with his son | Source: Midjourney
Every day was a blur of diapers, tantrums, and trying to keep him entertained. There was barely a moment to breathe, let alone think. By the time I put him to bed, I was drained, both physically and mentally.
I thought about how my wife had been doing this daily for years without a break. She’d put her art aside to take care of our family, but in doing that, she lost a part of herself. The weight of motherhood had quietly crushed her spirit, and I hadn’t noticed.
A sad blonde woman | Source: Midjourney
Over the next few weeks, things slowly started to change. My wife began seeing a therapist. At first, I wasn’t sure if it would help. She was quiet after her sessions, not saying much about what they talked about. But as time passed, I noticed small changes in her.
One day, she called me while I was out with our son. Her voice cracked over the phone.
A woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
“Can you come home?” she asked. “I need to talk to you.”
When I walked in the door, she was sitting on the couch, looking tired but different somehow. There was something softer in her face, something I hadn’t seen in a long time.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t realize how bad things had gotten. I was so lost in my own world, in my head, that I didn’t see what it was doing to you or to our son.”
A sad woman in her phone | Source: Midjourney
I sat down next to her, unsure of what to say. She kept talking.
“The therapist is helping. I know it’ll take time, but I want to be better. Not just for me, but for us. For him.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she spoke, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I saw the person I had fallen in love with.
A couple having a serious talk | Source: Midjourney
Over the following months, things continued to improve. She started painting again, slowly at first. Her mother would come over and watch our son while she spent a couple of hours in her art studio, reconnecting with the part of herself she had neglected for so long.
“I forgot how much I love this,” she told me one evening, showing me a canvas she had been working on. “It feels good to create again.”
A woman with her painting | Source: Midjourney
Her bond with our son also started to heal. I’d catch them reading together or her teaching him how to draw simple shapes with crayons. The distance that had once separated them was closing, bit by bit. He seemed happier too, more settled, as if he could sense that Mommy was really back.
Our family wasn’t perfect, but we were healing. Together.
A happy family | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Our Granddaughter Demanded We Sell Our House to Help Her Boyfriend Start a Business – We Gave Her a Reality Check
When Mary and George become grandparents, they want nothing more than to spoil their granddaughter, Ellie. But as Ellie grows into herself, and is almost off to college—the couple have to teach her a lesson in understanding whom to trust with her heart, and their money.
The moment my daughter, Monica, was married, I realized that George and I had finally earned our time off. We were the parents of a married woman, who would eventually give us grandchildren.
A bride and groom | Source: Pexels
And until those grandchildren came into our lives—we were going to take advantage of the healthy years we had left.
A few years later, Monica and Eddie gave birth to our only granddaughter, Ellie.
A newborn baby girl | Source: Pexels
Time flew with George and I doting on her. She was our chance at redemption—for us to parent correctly.
“This little girl is everything,” George said when we came home from the hospital on the day Ellie was born.
“We’re going to give her all that we can, Mary, okay?” he said as we got into bed.
An unmade bed | Source: Pexels
I agreed. This was our opportunity to do everything correctly—and we had money now, so spoiling our granddaughter was something that we could do.
Fast forward to eighteen years later.
Now, Ellie is in high school, almost on her way to college. She grew up in front of us with all the attitude that Monica had as a child—and George and I relished every moment of it.
A teenager sitting on the floor | Source: Pexels
But then, Ellie’s attitude changed. Her feisty personality was no longer cute but rather something that threatened to change everything about her.
That Sunday morning began like any other, with the breeze taking over the kitchen as I did the weekly pancake and bacon breakfast. It was a routine that George and I had established so many years ago, that it was almost second nature now.
Pancakes with bacon and eggs | Source: Pexels
George made us cups of tea—the way he always did—when the doorbell rang, slicing through the calm morning.
I switched off the stove and went to answer.
Tea being poured | Source: Unsplash
There she was, our granddaughter, standing at the threshold, her eyes completely avoiding mine.
“Hi, darling,” I said, stepping aside to let her in. “You’re just in time for breakfast!”
Ellie frowned slightly and nodded to George when he came to see who was at the door.
A red door with a metal doorknob | Source: Unsplash
“Come on, the bacon is extra crispy,” George told her, reaching out to hug her.
But Ellie shook her head.
“Look, I’ll get straight to the point,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, betraying the cold front that she was putting up.
A smiling teenage girl | Source: Unsplash
Everything was odd about her behavior. Usually, she would barge in with hugs and kisses, and would ask us about our health. She would bring us cookies—always made with less sugar. She would make her love known.
But today, Ellie was a shadow of the child that had grown up in front of us.
A tin of cookies | Source: Unsplash
“You remember Tom?” she asked, casually.
Tom was her boyfriend. He was already in college and living off student loans. George and I had met him a few times and he had seemed decent enough. But there was always something about him that seemed off to me.
A smiling young man | Source: Unsplash
“I don’t know what she sees in him, Mon,” I told my daughter one afternoon when we went to a coffee shop to catch up.
“I don’t know either, Mom,” Monica said, digging into a slice of cake. “Eddie isn’t happy about her dating someone older, but you know Ellie. She made her case about it, saying that Tom was good for her. And that he was helping her understand the transition between high school and college.”
A table in a coffee shop | Source: Unsplash
Now, Ellie leaned against the wall and continued to speak.
“Tom’s got this startup idea, right? And it is all about renewable energy or something along those lines. He has been speaking to lots of people—advisors and so on. It could be big. Like huge. But there’s a catch. He needs cash to really get it going.”
People sitting around with plans | Source: Unsplash
I watched as my granddaughter took her phone out of her pocket. She continued to avoid eye contact with us.
George and I exchanged a glance. I had a feeling of what was going to come next.
A person holding a phone | Source: Unsplash
But still, Ellie’s words felt like a punch to the gut, delivered with a coldness that I couldn’t believe. It wasn’t something that I had ever associated with her.
“I need you guys to sell the house and move in with Mom and Dad. You’ll get a lot of money from this house, especially because of the neighborhood. It’s a good thing. And you’re old anyway, don’t you want to be back with Mom?”
A person holding house keys | Source: Pexels
“And then what?” I asked.
“And then you can give the money to Tom for his project!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air.
George’s cup clattered against the saucer, his brow furrowed deeply in pain and disbelief at the disrespect coming from Ellie.
A disappointed old man | Source: Unsplash
“Ellie,” he said. “This is our home. Not some investment to cash out. It is filled with every memory of us, of our family. Why would you ask us to just give it up for a business venture that sounds like a scheme?”
I remained silent. I didn’t want to step in yet. I sat down on the couch, waiting for George to make Ellie see reason.
Ever since she was a little girl, he was the one person to get her to calm down and get back to herself.
An old woman sitting on a chair | Source: Pexels
“Because you’re my grandparents!” Ellie’s voice cracked, her usual composure slipping. “You should want to help me. Tom’s idea will work. You’ll see. We just need this startup capital.”
The room filled with a tense silence, the kind that suffocates.
I could see the desperation in her eyes, a wild, unsettling determination. It was clear that she was lost in her love for Tom, seeing only what she wanted to see.
A close-up of a teenage girl | Source: Unsplash
But I knew in my gut that Tom wasn’t the right person for her. Despite the age difference, there was just something wrong about them.
George and I exchanged a look of shared heartache. We both knew that confronting her directly wouldn’t help—it would only drive her away and try to find the money in a different way.
“We’ll see what we can do,” George told her.
A smiling old man | Source: Unsplash
After she left, we sat down, the weight of her visit pressing down on us. I began to wash the dishes, letting George come up with a plan.
“We need to show her, not tell her, about this man’s true character,” he said, his voice resolute.
George went into an elaborate scam about creating a fake lottery ticket.
“Don’t worry, Mary, Johnny is a wizard on his computer, he can create it for us.”
A person washing dishes | Source: Unsplash
Johnny was our neighbor’s son, and he was always creating posters for missing pets around the neighborhood.
George’s idea was a harmless trick meant to unveil Tom’s intentions without causing permanent scars. We spoke to Johnny, ordering a ticket designed for a jackpot winner and sent it to Tom anonymously—suggesting that it was a lucky draw from a local store.
Man using a laptop | Source: Pexels
The result was more immediate and devastating than we’d anticipated.
Two days later, as I was vacuuming the living room, Ellie returned, her face pale and streaked with tears.
“What happened?” I asked, enveloping her into my arms.
“Tom’s gone,” she said. “Grandpa told me what he did. And as soon as Tom thought that he had won, he packed his bags. He left to start his real life in the Caribbean—without me.”
A crying teenage girl | Source: Pexels
Her voice broke, and my heart with it.
I knew that Tom was going to end in heartbreak, but I didn’t think that it was going to happen so soon.
“I thought he loved me,” she whimpered. “How could I have been so blind?”
I stroked her hair, feeling her shudder with each sob.
A woman comforting a girl | Source: Pexels
“Oh, sweetheart, we didn’t want to hurt you like this,” I murmured, my own eyes damp with sorrow. “We just needed to see if he was the real deal before all of our lives changed to help him.”
As the weeks turned into months, Ellie’s wounds began to heal. She spent more time with us, bringing her art material and setting herself up in the living room.
Eventually, Tom was just another part of her growing up experience.
A person holding their art | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
When Eliza’s 10th wedding anniversary comes around, she hopes that Tom will take her away for a romantic getaway. But when he forgets about their anniversary and needs to work, she turns it into a girls’ weekend, only for her to see that Tom’s business trip is a rendezvous with his mistress.
Read the full story here.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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