My DIL Secretly Ruined My Place after I Refused to Trade Houses with Her – I Had Nothing Left but to Teach Her a Lesson of Respect
A few months after her husband, Adam, passed away, Anne’s son, Charlie buys her a new home closer to him. Initially hesitant, Anne finally decides to move. But then she has to deal with her jealous daughter-in-law, Angela, who just wants the house. After Angela pulls a stunt that results in the house being fumigated, Anne has no choice but to teach her a lesson.
After my husband of 53 years passed away six months ago, I felt heartbroken. Everything in the house reminded me of Adam and the memories we had made there.
An old woman sitting down | Source: Pexels
Sometimes it was comforting, but at other times, the loneliness felt too suffocating, making me curl into a ball and sleep on Adam’s side of the bed for some form of comfort.
My son, Charlie, saw how difficult it was for me, and he wanted me to move closer to him and his wife, Angela.
An elderly woman sitting on a blue couch | Source: Pexels
“Mom, I’ve already found a place for you. It’s about five minutes away from us, and I’ve already put in an offer,” Charlie said.
“Honey, I can’t ask you to do that for me,” I said, speaking to him on the phone. “I cannot ask you to buy me a house.”
An old woman on a phone | Source: Pexels
“You’re not asking,” he replied, chewing on trail mix on the other end. “I’m offering. Mm… and we can have it ready for you to move in at the end of next week if you’d like.”
I was initially hesitant, but I eventually agreed to move. I knew that Charlie and Angela were trying to have a baby, and I thought that the most healing thing for me would be to care for that baby when it arrived.
A person holding a pregnancy test | Source: Pixabay
So, Charlie helped me pack all my things, and soon, I was ready for a new chapter. Despite missing Adam, I knew that I needed to move on.
I moved into my new home easily, because my son had sorted everything out for me.
A pile of packing boxes | Source: Pixabay
“Anything for you, Mom,” Charlie said when he came over on the first night in the new house.
He sat at the table and told me about work while I cooked our first meal in the kitchen.
An older woman in the kitchen | Source: Pexels
“Are you ready for the housewarming this weekend, Mom?” Charlie asked me. “I’ve invited everyone you said you’d like to see. And I’ve told Angela to come over early and help you with the food and drinks. Do you need me to do anything else?”
I shook my head. Everything was perfect, and my son had gone out of his way to make sure that everything was going according to plan.
A close-up of a plate of pasta | Source: Pexels
But then, things took an unexpected turn.
On the day of the party, I was actually excited. For the first time in a long time, I was looking forward to being around people. I was ready to sit in a group and not feel the weight of my grief for one of the first times since Adam had passed on.
I stood in front of the mirror and put on lipstick, something that I hadn’t done since I lost Adam.
An older woman applying lipstick | Source: Pexels
Angela came over early, as Charlie had said. She went around the kitchen, adding final touches to the dishes I had spent hours cooking.
Suddenly, Angela turned to me.
Platters of food | Source: Pexels
“Look, Anne,” she said, washing her hands. “You can’t live in this house. You just can’t do it. It’s too big and too modern for you.”
“What? No, I think that it’s absolutely fine for me,” I said. “I’ve spoken to Charlie about getting a dog, too.”
A golden retriever | Source: Unsplash
“You’re not listening,” she said. “I want you to trade homes with us. Charlie earns well, but he didn’t want to renovate our house to make it modern. He said that he would rather use his money to sort out your home.”
Angela went on for a long time. She spoke about how she understood that Charlie wanted to take care of me, but that he needed to put her first.
A smirking woman | Source: Pexels
I was hurt by her words but I said nothing, not wanting to cause an argument. Of course, I didn’t want to trade houses because Charlie and I had put so much effort into moving into the new home. I had also decorated it to my taste, with Adam’s belongings all over.
I had planted a garden and set up everything precisely how I wanted.
A modern living room | Source: Pexels
But little did I know, Angela left me with more than just hurtful words.
Two days after the party, I woke up to a horrible smell permeating the entire house. No matter where I looked, I just couldn’t find the source.
An older woman reading in bed | Source: Pexels
“Oh, my goodness, Mom,” Charlie said when I called him to come and take a look around the property, in case I missed something.
“This is so bad!” he said, checking the entire kitchen to find the smell.
A clean kitchen | Source: Pexels
“I know!” I exclaimed. “And I’ve searched everywhere I can think of.”
It was driving me crazy because no matter how much I looked, I just couldn’t find the source of the stink.
After a week of enduring the horrible smell, Charlie suggested bringing in a professional to locate the source.
A man blocking his nose | Source: Midjourney
“You cannot live like this anymore, Mom,” Charlie said. “I’m going to hire someone. You can stay with us or I’ll rent out a hotel room for you.”
It turned out that the expert discovered a rotten egg hidden in the vent in the living room. It had been deliberately placed there to ensure the stench would spread throughout the house.
A rotten egg in an air vent | Source: Midjourney
As the house was cleaned out, and fumigated because Charlie thought that it was necessary, I was devastated to have caused my son more hard work.
But I knew, deep down, that it was Angela. She was behind it all.
A person fumigating a house | Source: Pexels
I was determined to teach Angela a lesson. So, I devised a plan. I invited her and Charlie over for dinner and played the gracious host. When they arrived, I warmly welcomed them, acting as if nothing was wrong.
If Angela suspected anything, she didn’t show it. Instead, she smirked from the moment she came through the door.
“At least it doesn’t smell in here anymore, Anne,” she said, helping herself to the pile of freshly baked cookies that I had made for Charlie to take home.
A close-up of cookies | Source: Unsplash
We sat down for dinner, Charlie talking animatedly about his day at the office. Angela barely ate her dinner, just nibbling in between her smirks.
“Angela, I’ve always believed in treating others with kindness and respect, especially when it comes to family. Do you agree?” I asked her, looking her in the eye.
A person holding a fork | Source: Unsplash
She nodded.
“Good,” I continued. “Because respect is a two-way street. It’s about understanding and valuing each other’s feelings and spaces.”
My daughter-in-law’s discomfort grew, and I knew that my words were hitting home. On one hand, I did feel bad for Angela. But on the other hand, I wanted to make it known that I wasn’t going to be pushed into a corner.
An older woman sitting at a table | Source: Pexels
I wasn’t going to be taken advantage of, just because she wanted a house that she couldn’t have.
“Darling,” I told her. “You seem to have a knack for gardening. Would you mind helping me with a little project tomorrow?”
I knew that she wouldn’t refuse without appearing rude, so she agreed and turned away.
A side profile of a woman | Source: Pexels
The next day, Angela arrived at my house, expecting a simple gardening task. Instead, I handed her a pair of gloves and a shovel.
“I need help digging up the old compost pile,” I said with a smile. “It’s been neglected by the previous owners, and it’s time to start fresh.”
A compost pile | Source: Midjourney
Angela’s face paled as she realized the task ahead. The compost pile was massive and the stench was worse than the single rotten egg. But still, she had no choice but to help, considering the previous night’s polite agreement.
After hours of hard work, we finally finished the task. Angela was exhausted and covered in filth.
“Come, let’s clean up and have a drink,” I told her.
Glasses of lemonade | Source: Unsplash
But I had another surprise waiting.
I took her to the study, where I had kept most of the photos of Adam and myself, among other mementos of his. But more than that, I also had gifts from Charlie and Angela displayed.
“These are the things that remind me of the people I care about,” I said softly. “Respecting each other’s space and memories is so important.”
A vintage globe in a study | Source: Pexels
“Some of these things are from me,” she mumbled, her expression morphing her into a new person altogether.
“It was me,” she confessed. “I left the rotten egg in the vent. When I was doing the egg wash on the pastries for the party, I came across the egg. I’m so sorry. Please don’t tell Charlie, he would hate me.”
A woman with tears in her eyes | Source: Pexels
She apologized for her sudden wave of jealousy about my new home. But the twist wasn’t over. A few days later, Angela came to my house with a gift. It was a beautifully crafted wooden box. Inside were seed packs to many different types of plants and flowers.
And a note saying: Thank you for teaching me about respect. I hope we can plant new memories together.
From that day on, our relationship changed completely and Angela became more like a daughter.
A beautiful wooden box | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
My husband wanted a divorce because I couldn’t give him a son. What happened next changed our lives forever.
Marriage had always been a partnership of love and support, or at least that’s what I believed when Steve and I first tied the knot 16 years ago. Over time, we were blessed with five beautiful daughters, each one a joy and a challenge in her own way. Yet, in Steve’s eyes, our family lacked something crucial: a son.
Steve’s desire for a male heir became an obsession, overshadowing every happy moment we had. His traditional mindset dictated that a man’s legacy could only be carried on by a son, and our daughters, no matter how wonderful, were seen as inadequate. This belief had eaten away at the fabric of our marriage, turning our once joyous union into a battleground of unmet expectations and silent resentment.
Steve’s job kept him away most of the time, leaving me to juggle the responsibilities of raising our daughters, maintaining the household, and managing a part-time online job. His absence wasn’t just physical; it was emotional too. He was a shadow in our home, present yet distant, and his discontent seeped into every corner of our lives.
The Breaking Point
One late night, a seemingly innocent conversation spiraled into a full-blown argument. I had suggested trying one more time for a son, even though I was already forty. Steve’s response was brutal and laced with years of pent-up frustration.
“Shut up already,” he snapped. “We’ve been together for 16 years and you couldn’t bring me a son. What makes you think you will do it this time?”
I tried to reason with him, “But Steve, only God…”
“ONLY GOD DECIDED TO PUNISH ME WITH YOU AND ANOTHER 5 FEMALES,” he yelled, his face contorted with anger. “I wish I could go back in time and change everything.”
The venom in his words was palpable, and it stung more than any physical blow could. Our daughters, our life together, everything we had built was being torn down in this moment of raw emotion. Suddenly, we heard a noise behind the door. When we checked, there was no one there, and we dismissed it as the creaking of an old house. Little did we know, that sound was a harbinger of the events that would soon unfold.
The Missing Child
The next day, our lives took an unexpected turn. It was 6 pm, and Lisa, our 12-year-old, was always home by this time. Panic set in when she didn’t show up. As worry gnawed at us, Sara, our second-born, came running with tears streaming down her face, clutching a letter.
Steve snatched the letter from her hand and began reading. His face went ashen, his eyes widened with fear. He turned to me, his voice trembling, “This is serious.”
The letter was a ransom note. It claimed that Lisa had been kidnapped and demanded an exorbitant amount of money for her safe return. The instructions were clear: no police, no tricks, or we’d never see her again.
The Race Against Time
Our world was shattered. The next hours were a blur of frantic phone calls, desperate plans, and heart-wrenching decisions. Steve, usually stoic and composed, was a mess. His obsession with having a son seemed insignificant now compared to the possibility of losing his daughter.
The experience taught us that the value of family isn’t determined by gender but by the love, respect, and support we give each other. Steve learned to cherish his daughters and our marriage, realizing that true happiness comes from within and is nurtured by the bonds we share.
Our lives were forever changed by that harrowing experience, but it also brought us closer, forging a stronger, more resilient family. The past year had been incredibly tough, but it led to a new beginning, one where we could all be truly happy together.
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