When my mother-in-law insisted on hosting my kids for a holiday break, I thought it was harmless—grandma bonding time and a little breather for me. What I didn’t expect was the gut-wrenching discovery that would change everything about how I saw her.
I’m Abby, 34, and I’ve been married to my husband, Brad, for seven years. We have two kids: Lucas, 8, and Sophie, 6. My mother-in-law, Jean, is in her late 60s. We’ve always had what I’d call a cordial relationship—polite smiles, small talk, the occasional dinner invite.
Woman and her mother in law preparing dinner | Source: Midjourney
But Jean has always been… intense. There’s this energy about her, you know? Like she’s trying to prove she’s the perfect grandmother, but she can be controlling.
“She’s just old-fashioned,” Brad would say with a shrug whenever I mentioned it. “She means well.”
I tried to believe that. For years, I brushed off the little things. Her insistence on calling Lucas her boy or the time she scolded Sophie for eating with her hands, saying, “Not under my roof, young lady!”
Senior woman having dinner with her grandchild | Source: Midjourney
But when Jean called me last month, her voice cheerful, and asked, “Abby, how would you feel about me taking Lucas and Sophie for a whole week during their holiday break?” my stomach did a tiny flip.
“A week?” I repeated, caught off guard.
“Yes! I’d love to have them all to myself—just spoil them rotten. You and Brad could use the time, couldn’t you? A little break?”
I glanced at Brad, who gave me a thumbs up. “They’ll have fun,” he added.
“Okay,” I agreed hesitantly.
Woman on phone | Source: Midjourney
She practically squealed with excitement. “Oh, don’t you worry about a thing, dear. They’ll be in good hands.”
Before sending them off, I gave Jean $1,000 for their expenses.
“Jean,” I said as I handed her the envelope, “this is just to make sure you don’t have to dip into your savings for food or anything they might need this week.”
She looked surprised at first but then beamed. “Oh, Abby, that’s so thoughtful of you! Don’t worry, I’ll put it to good use. These kids are going to have the best week ever.”
Woman handing an envelope to her mother in law | Source: Midjourney
The week crawled by, slower than I expected. I thought I’d enjoy the quiet, but I found myself reaching for my phone to call Lucas and Sophie more often than I should have.
When the day finally came to pick them up, I was practically vibrating with excitement. I couldn’t wait to see their little faces and hear about their week. But as I pulled up to Jean’s house, I felt uneasy.
The house looked the same as always, but something felt… wrong. Maybe it was just me being silly. Or maybe it was the way Jean opened the door.
“Abby! You’re here!” she greeted me with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
Senior woman opening her door | Source: Midjourney
“Hi, Jean! How were they?” I asked, stepping inside.
“Oh, wonderful,” she replied, her voice shaky. But something about her demeanor felt… off. She was too cheerful, too composed like she was holding onto a script.
I glanced around the house, expecting to hear the usual chaos of toys clattering or kids yelling. But the house was silent. Dead silent.
“Where are the kids?” I asked again, glancing around the empty living room. Normally, by now, they’d be running to me with hugs and excited stories.
Anxious woman in a large living room | Source: Midjourney
Jean’s smile didn’t waver, but something was unsettling about the way she clasped her hands together. “Oh, they’re inside,” she said breezily, gesturing toward the house. “They’ve been so busy today—lots of work.”
I frowned. “Work? What kind of work?”
Jean chuckled nervously and waved her hand like I was being silly. “Oh, just little things. Helping out their grandma. You know how kids are, always eager to lend a hand!”
Senior woman smirking | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t know what she meant by “work,” but her tone was off—too sweet, too dismissive. My motherly instincts kicked in, and I felt uneasy.
“Where exactly are they, Jean” I asked, my voice firm now.
Her eyes darted toward the hallway, then back at me. “In the backyard,” she said finally. “They’ve been helping me with the garden. They’re such little troopers!”
I didn’t wait for more excuses. I followed the faint sounds of voices to the sliding glass door. As I stepped outside, the cool air hit me, but it did nothing to stop the wave of dread washing over me.
Anxious woman in the backyard. | Source: Midjourney
“Lucas? Sophie?” I called out.
Then I saw them. My heart sank.
Lucas and Sophie stood there, their small faces smeared with dirt, their eyes filled with exhaustion and relief as they clung to me. Lucas’ clothes were worn and covered in stains, and Sophie’s shirt had a tear on the shoulder. Neither outfit looked familiar—certainly not what I had packed for them.
Boy and girl digging in the garden | Source: Midjourney
“Mom!” Lucas gasped, throwing his arms around me. Sophie followed, her tiny frame trembling as she buried her face into my side.
“What is going on here?” I demanded, turning to Jean, my voice shaking with anger. “Why are they out here like this? They were supposed to be having fun, not working!”
Lucas looked up at me, his voice quivering. “Grandma said we had to help. She told us if we worked hard, we’d go to the park… but we never went, Mom.”
Sophie added, “She made us dig all day, Mommy. I wanted to stop, but she said we had to finish first.”
Exhausted little girl standing in the garden | Source: Midjourney
I turned to Jean, who was now standing a few feet away, her arms crossed defensively.
“Jean!” I shouted, my voice breaking. “You promised me you’d spoil them this week, not turn them into laborers! What is this?!”
Jean’s face flushed, and she shifted awkwardly on her feet. “Oh, don’t exaggerate, Abby,” she said, her tone dismissive. “They were eager to help. And why not? A little hard work never hurt anyone. They’ve learned valuable lessons about responsibility and discipline.”
Senior woman arguing with her daughter-in-law | Source: Midjourney
“Responsibility? Discipline?” My voice rose, trembling with rage. “They’re children, Jean! They’re supposed to be playing, laughing, being kids—not breaking their backs in your garden! How could you think this was okay?”
Jean threw up her hands, her voice defensive now. “They need to learn that life isn’t all fun and games! You’re raising them to be spoiled, Abby. I was just trying to help!”
I took a deep breath, trying to steady the storm of emotions swirling inside me. I couldn’t let my anger consume me, not in front of the kids. But I needed answers.
Disappointed woman | Source: Midjourney
“Jean,” I said, my voice low and controlled, “where’s the $1,000 I gave you for groceries and activities?”
She hesitated, her gaze darting toward the ground. “Oh, I didn’t need to use it for groceries,” she said, forcing a casual shrug. “The kids didn’t need all that food. And I thought… I thought I could use the money for… other things.”
My stomach churned. “Other things? What do you mean by that?”
Jean’s face turned red as she mumbled, “I… I didn’t use the money for the kids. I’ve been struggling with my bills, and I thought if I could get some help with the house and the garden, I could save some money.”
Senior woman arguing with her daughter-in-law | Source: Midjourney
For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The betrayal hit me like a punch to the gut. “So, you used my children as free labor?” I said, my voice trembling.
She flinched but didn’t deny it. “It wasn’t like that, Abby,” she insisted, her voice defensive. “I thought it would be good for them—teach them hard work.”
“Hard work?” I repeated, my voice rising. “They’re kids, Jean! I gave you that money so you could give them a week of fun and memories. Not… this.” I gestured toward the backyard, where Lucas and Sophie sat on the porch, their small faces pale and weary.
Tired boy and girl sitting on the porch | Source: Midjourney
It hit me then—this wasn’t just about the garden. Jean had always tried to exert control, to show she knew best, and now she’d dragged my kids into her twisted sense of right and wrong.
I knelt in front of Lucas and Sophie, pulling them into my arms. “I’m so sorry, babies,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “This isn’t what I wanted for you.”
I stood, turning back to Jean, whose head hung low in shame. “Jean,” I said, my voice steady but sharp, “we’re leaving. My kids deserve to be kids—not workers in your garden.”
Guilty senior woman talking to her daughter in law | Source: Midjourney
Her lips trembled as she stammered, “I… I thought I was doing the right thing.”
I shook my head. “No, Jean. You didn’t.”
Without another word, I picked up Sophie, took Lucas by the hand, and led them into the house to gather their things. We were done here.
As we stepped outside, the crisp evening air hit my face, a stark contrast to the suffocating tension inside Jean’s house.
Woman walking away from her mother-in-law’s house | Source: Midjourney
Lucas clung tightly to my hand, and Sophie nestled into my arms, her head resting on my shoulder. Their silence was heavier than words, their little bodies weighed down by exhaustion.
“Please, Abby,” Jean called after us, her voice cracking. “Don’t be angry. They’ve learned so much. It was just… it was just a mistake.”
I stopped and slowly, I turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, her expression a mix of desperation and guilt. For a moment, I considered responding, but what could I say that would change anything? The damage was already done.
Guilty senior woman standing in her doorway | Source: Midjourney
“No, Jean,” I said finally, my voice firm but calm. “This wasn’t a mistake. This was a choice—a choice you made without thinking about what they needed. They’re children, not tools to fix your problems or lessons to prove your point.”
Jean opened her mouth to reply, but I shook my head, cutting her off. “I trusted you. And you broke that trust—not just with me, but with them. I won’t let this happen again.”
She looked down, her face crumpling, but I had no room for her regret at that moment. My kids needed me.
Woman walking away with her children | Source: Midjourney
As I walked to the car, Lucas finally broke the silence. “Mom?”
I looked down at him, my heart aching at the uncertainty in his voice. “Yeah, sweetheart?”
“Are we ever coming back here?” he asked softly.
I tightened my grip on his hand and said, “No, buddy. Not until Grandma learns how to treat you the way you deserve.”
Sophie stirred in my arms, whispering, “Good.”
And with that, I buckled them into the car and drove away, leaving behind the house, the garden, and a part of my trust I’d never get back.
Children inside a car | Source: Midjourney
If you liked this story, here’s another you’ll enjoy: “My MIL asked me to help cover her debt—What I discovered left me horrified.”
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.
All My Life My Father Blamed Me for My Mother’s Passing, Then He Gets Taught a Lesson – Story of the Day
I grew up believing that my father blamed me for my mother’s death but the truth was heartbreaking.
I never knew my mother, and my father never spoke about her. All I knew was that she had been very beautiful, because of the picture that hung on my father’s study wall, and that she had died very young.
My father was a sad man, a quiet and distant man. I wanted him to notice me, and to love me, but he never did. He rarely spoke to me beyond the perfunctory hello and goodbye, good morning and goodnight. I would have given anything for him to sweep me into his arms and tell me he loved me.
The shadow of my mother’s death followed me my whole life | Source: Shutterstock.com
This strange and strained relationship with my father continued until I was 18, and by then I was a sad and lonely young woman who believed my father hated me. If my father didn’t love me, who would?
But the answer to all my questions was about to be delivered in the most painful and cruel way. My father was hosting a party for his business associates, and among them was a woman whom I knew slightly.
If you don’t leave the past behind you, you deny yourself a future.
I had the feeling that she and my father had a past together — or at least that she wished they did. She greeted me and we started chatting — inconsequential talk about nothing special — and my father walked by.
I gave him my best smile, but he immediately glanced away. The woman saw it all. “Do you know why?” she asked.
I grew up feeling that my father hated me | Source: Unsplash
“Why what?” I asked, confused.
“Why he hates you,” she said.
“My father doesn’t hate me!” I exclaimed. “He’s just not a very demonstrative man.”
“So you don’t know…” she smiled. It was the ugliest smile I’d ever seen. I was about to walk away when she said, “He believes you killed your mother, Karen.”
One day at a party someone told me the truth | Source: Unsplash
I stopped in my tracks. “What?” I gasped.
“Your mother died giving birth to you, surely you know that?” she said.
“No…” I answered. “No, I didn’t know.” I turned my back on her and went looking for my grandmother, my father’s mother, the woman who’d raised me and never told me about my mother’s death.
“How did my mother die?” I asked her angrily. “Was it in childbirth?”
My mother had died in childbirth | Source: Pexels
My grandmother shook her head. “Please Karen, your father asked me never to speak of this with you.”
“I have the right to know about my own mother!” I cried. “I have the right to know why my father hates me!”
Then a quiet angry voice behind me said, “I don’t hate you, Karen, but your mother’s death is none of your business:”
I turned to face my father. “My mother’s death is none of my business? You’re wrong! I killed her, didn’t I? That’s what you think each time you look at me!”
My father blamed me for her death | Source: Unsplash
The expression in his eyes sent me running out of the door. I got into my car and drove aimlessly, tears running down my face. In my distress, I didn’t see the oncoming car changing lanes until it was too late.
I woke up in the hospital linked to a beeping machine, with a dull promise of pain twinging through my whole body. Sitting by my side and holding my hand was my father.
“Karen,” he said softly, “Thank God you’re alright!”
“Daddy…” I whispered, “you’re here!”
Tears came into his eyes. “Of course I’m here. I don’t hate you, Karen. I love you. And I don’t blame you for your mother’s death, I blame myself. When your mom and I married we were very poor.
“All we had were dreams and our love for each other. Then she fell pregnant and I took on a second job. I knew we’d need the money when you came along. I was working 16-hour days and she spent a lot of time alone.
“So one day when I came home she wasn’t there. A neighbor had taken her to the hospital. When I got there it was all over. Your mother had died, and I hadn’t been there for her.
The accident nearly cost me my life | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t blame you, Karen, I blamed myself. I was determined I wasn’t going to fail you the way I’d failed her, so I threw myself into my work, and I became a rich man.
“Daddy, how could you blame yourself?” I asked. “There was nothing you could have done!”
“I could have been there, holding her hand the way I’m holding yours now,” he said.
“But daddy…” I hesitated, “you were always so angry with me, so cold. You ran away from me.”
My father and I were reconciled | Source: Unsplash
“Karen, you look just like your mother, and each time I looked at you, my heart was torn apart by grief and guilt. It took nearly losing you to make me realize what I’d done. I love you.”
For the first time in my life, my father put his arms around me and showed me that he loved me. It was a new beginning for both of us, and I like to believe my mother was smiling down from heaven.
What can we learn from this story?
- If you don’t leave the past behind you, you deny yourself a future. Karen’s father was so lost in his pain that he nearly lost the opportunity to have a wonderful relationship with his daughter.
- The truth can heal old wounds and open the way to a new beginning. It was only after Karen and her father spoke about their estrangement that they could move past their misunderstandings.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man who left his widowed mother homeless.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story but written by a professional writer. All names have been changed to protect identities and ensure privacy. Share your story with us, maybe it will change someone’s life.
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