Every year, Sarah had to devise a new excuse to explain to her family why they wouldn’t be visiting. “I won’t miss a single-family holiday because of your parents!” her husband Peter always insisted. But this time, Sarah stood her ground and defended her family values.
The end of autumn and the beginning of winter had always been my favorite time of year.
Сrisp air carried the smell of woodsmoke, and the golden leaves gave way to the first frost.
It was the season when my family would gather, no matter what, to share holiday dinners and exchange thoughtful gifts.
Those gatherings were the heart of my childhood, moments of warmth and laughter that felt like nothing else in the world.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
But since marrying Peter, those moments had become memories. Each year, I found myself on the phone, explaining to my parents why I couldn’t make it.
Why, once again, I’d be spending the holidays with Peter’s family instead of my own.
My mom would try to sound understanding, but I knew it hurt her. It hurt me too.
This year, though, things were going to be different. For the first time, Peter had agreed to spend Thanksgiving with my parents.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
It had taken weeks of discussion—if you could call the arguments discussions—but he finally relented.
And now, here we were, strolling through the grocery store, picking out a bottle of wine for my mom, a new roasting pan for my dad, and the ingredients for the pumpkin pie I wanted to bake.
I clutched a small bundle of festive napkins with turkeys printed on them and held them up for Peter’s opinion.
He shrugged. His lack of enthusiasm was obvious, and it had been simmering all day.
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“Are you okay, love?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
“Yeah. Couldn’t be better,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.
I sighed.
“Are you still upset about going to my parents’ house?”
He stopped walking and turned to me, his face tight with frustration. “Of course, I’m upset! Why should I skip my family’s holiday for your whims?”
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“My whims?” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “I’ve done this for you every single year since we started dating, Peter. Every. Year.”
“Oh, here we go,” he said with a bitter laugh. “It’s always about you, isn’t it? You didn’t like this, you didn’t like that. What about me? Why don’t you care if I’m happy?”
“Peter,” I said slowly, keeping my voice as steady as possible, “we’ve already talked about this. I just want one season with my parents. If that’s too much for you, maybe we should celebrate separately.”
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His eyebrows shot up.
“Season? Are you saying you’re skipping Christmas with my family too?”
“Yes,” I replied firmly, though my stomach churned.
“This year, I’m spending the holidays with my parents.”
He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound.
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“Fine. Then you can explain that to my parents.”
“I will,” I said, keeping my tone quiet and even.
I felt wrung out, as if every ounce of energy had been drained by this conversation. I just wanted it to be over.
We stood in the aisle for a moment, the silence between us louder than the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.
He grabbed the cart handle and pushed it forward without another word.
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I followed, clutching the napkins to my chest, trying to hold on to the excitement that had felt so real just hours ago.
The tension hung heavy in the car as we neared my parents’ house.
Peter gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set in a way that warned me not to push too hard. But I couldn’t let it go entirely.
“Peter,” I started softly, “please, just be kind to my parents. They’re excited to see us, and they’re nervous about making a good impression.”
He let out a sharp laugh.
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“Oh, great! Now you’re giving me instructions? Should I juggle for them too? Or maybe do a little dance?”
I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “I’m not asking for much. I just want this to go well.”
“Well,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly, “maybe you should’ve just invited them to join us at my family’s house. Wouldn’t that have been easier?”
I shook my head, exasperated. “Peter, they’re old. Traveling for the holidays isn’t easy for them.”
“Great. Just perfect!” he muttered, throwing one hand up dramatically before gripping the wheel again.
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The rest of the drive was silent except for the hum of the engine.
I focused on the frosty trees lining the road, trying to calm the knot in my stomach.
When we arrived, I forced a smile and rang the doorbell.
My mom, Charlotte, opened the door almost immediately, her face lighting up as she threw her arms around us.
“I’m so happy to see you! Finally, you’re here!” she exclaimed, her warmth like a balm to my nerves.
Behind her, my dad, Kevin, offered a small, reserved smile, his usual quiet presence grounding the moment.
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Peter muttered a half-hearted “hello” and walked inside without eye contact.
I gave my mom an apologetic look, silently willing her to understand. Then, with a deep breath, I followed him into the house.
Inside the warm glow of the house, my mom and I moved around the dining room, setting the table with care.
The soft clatter of plates and the occasional hum of her voice filled the space as we arranged the dishes.
In the living room, Peter sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed, while my dad quietly flipped through a magazine beside him.
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Mom glanced toward Peter, her movements slowing. “Is Peter okay?” she asked softly. “He seems… upset.”
I hesitated, trying to find the right words.
“He’s just… frustrated, I think,” I said finally, keeping my voice low. “He wishes we were spending the holiday with his family.”
Her hands paused mid-air, holding a serving spoon. “Oh,” she said, her tone tinged with confusion and sadness. “Did we do something wrong?”
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“No, Mom,” I said quickly. “It’s not you. It’s just—” I stopped, unsure how to explain the unspoken tension between Peter and me. “It’s complicated.”
She looked at me, her brows drawn together.
“We’re not family to him?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.
Her words hit me like a cold wind. I didn’t know how to respond.
Was that how Peter saw it? My family, my parents—were they nothing to him? The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.
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“I’m sorry,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. For Peter’s mood? For his indifference? For years I’d put my family on hold for his?
Mom placed a hand on my arm, her touch warm and steady.
“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart,” she said gently.
But her eyes still held a shadow of hurt, and it lingered in the air as we finished setting the table in silence.
The table was set beautifully, with crisp white linens, shining silverware, and the aroma of roasted turkey filling the room.
For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney
My mom, Charlotte, stood back to admire her work before clapping her hands.
“Everything’s ready! Come and eat!” she said with cheerful warmth, her voice echoing into the quiet living room.
We all gathered around the table. My dad, Kevin, pulled out my mom’s chair for her, and I couldn’t help but smile at his small gesture of old-fashioned chivalry.
Peter followed sluggishly, barely making an effort to engage, and slumped into his seat with a sigh.
The meal began, but the air was tense like a storm waiting to break. My mom tried valiantly to spark a conversation.
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“So, Peter,” she started brightly, “how’s work going? Busy this time of year?”
He gave a noncommittal grunt, stabbing a piece of turkey with his fork.
“Dad’s been working on the deck in the backyard,” I chimed in, trying to fill the silence. “It’s really coming together.”
My dad nodded. “It’s slow, but it keeps me busy. Maybe you could come by and give me some tips, Peter.”
Peter didn’t even look up. “Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, flicking a crumb off the table.
I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Peter,” I said softly, leaning toward him, “what’s wrong? Can I help?”
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He dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter and leaned back in his chair. “Everything’s wrong!” he snapped, his voice loud enough to make my mom flinch.
“How is this even Thanksgiving without my mom’s chocolate pudding?”
“Pudding?” my mom echoed, her voice unsure, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her glass of water.
“It’s fine,” I interjected quickly, trying to calm the situation. “His mom always makes it for him. It’s no big deal.”
Peter scoffed, his eyes blazing. “No big deal? Of course! Because nothing I want ever matters. It’s always about Sarah, isn’t it? What Sarah wants. What Sarah needs.”
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“Peter, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “This is supposed to be a happy day.”
He pushed his chair back, the chair’s legs screeching against the floor. “Listen, I’m done! We’re leaving. Get your coat, Sarah!”
“NO, YOU LISTEN!” my dad shouted after Peter, jumping up from his chair. But Peter just ignored him and walked right past! I saw my dad clutch his chest.
The weight of the moment pressed on me as I stood slowly. My mom’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“No, Mom,” I said, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this.”
I walked to the doorway, where Peter stood waiting, arms crossed.
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“Put your coat on! We’re leaving!” he barked.
“No,” I said, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. “You’re leaving. I’m staying.”
“What? You’re my wife. You’re supposed to listen to me!”
I took a deep breath, meeting his glare.
“You don’t respect my parents, you don’t respect me, and behaving like this, you don’t even respect yourself. I’ve put up with your selfishness for years, hoping the loving man I married was still there. But now, I don’t believe he is.”
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“You want to talk about respect?” he sputtered, disbelief written all over his face.
“Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “Leave, Peter. It’s over.”
His mouth opened, but no words came. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
I returned to the dining room, my heart pounding, and found my parents sitting quietly, their faces a mixture of sadness and concern.
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“I’m sorry, Mom. Dad,” I said, my voice soft but resolute.
“I let this go on for too long. But not anymore.”
Charlotte stood and wrapped me in a warm hug. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters,” she whispered.
For the first time in years, I felt free. I had chosen the family that truly mattered and wouldn’t trade them for anything.
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My Entitled Parents Demanded That I Give Them My New House — My In-Laws Suddenly Stood up for Me
When Carina’s parents kick her out after high school, she has no choice but to navigate her way around life. Years later, after making a success of her life, and her wedding is around the corner, she reaches out to them, only for them to storm into her life, trying to take ownership of what she has worked so hard for.
“Carina,” my mother said, opening a packet of biscuits. “You’re going to regret not going to medical school.”
“Mom,” I replied. “My brain doesn’t work like Jade’s; she’s the doctor in the family, not me.”
A packet of biscuits | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t see why it can’t be the both of you,” she sniffed, dunking a biscuit into her lukewarm tea. “Why do you even waste your time with computers? Those machines are not going to make your life comfortable.”
This wasn’t anything new. My parents hated that I loved computers, and when school was out in the next few months, I was going to be off to college, studying IT.
A girl sitting with a laptop and headphones | Source: Midjourney
“Who cares about cyber security, Carina?” my father asked while he sat down with a pork chop. “Saving people’s lives, honey. That’s what success is. Not playing on computers.”
“Cyber security is how your important details are protected, Dad,” I would always say, rolling my eyes. “It’s how countries keep their people safe.”
Pork chops on a plate | Source: Unsplash
“It’s not good enough,” my mother said from the sink.
After graduation, my parents made me leave the house.
“You’ve chosen this path,” my mother said when I bought my IT textbooks. “So you’re capable of taking care of yourself.”
A pile of books | Source: Midjourney
“I don’t think that’s fair, Mom,” I retaliated. “You let Jade live at home for her whole degree.”
“Yeah, well, she was learning how to save lives, Carina,” she said.
A woman looking through a microscope | Source: Pexels
Fast forward 13 years. I’ve got a successful career, a beautiful house, and the most caring fiancé, Mark, I could have ever asked for.
“Are you sure that I should invite my parents to the wedding?” I asked Mark as we took a walk one evening.
“Yes, darling,” he said, taking my hand. “Why wouldn’t you? I’m so proud of who you are and where you’ve come from. You’ve done all of this on your own.”
A couple holding hands | Source: Pexels
“But they’ve been such horrible people, Mark. I mean, they kicked me out of their home when I got into college. I had to work as a dog groomer to make enough money to cover the rent for my tiny apartment,” I said.
“Yes, I understand that,” my fiancé said diplomatically. “But you’ve made it now. And you’ve made it without them. Look, honey. Our home is yours; it’s in your name, and I love that for us.”
A person grooming a dog | Source: Pexels
Eventually, I gave in. The excitement of our wedding planning made me realize that I was proud of myself and where I had come from.
“I did it without their support,” I told Mark as I fried bacon for us one morning. “So, I’m going to invite them.”
Mark smiled at me while he poured milk into his coffee.
A person pouring milk into coffee | Source: Unsplash
“Good, this is a big moment for us,” he said.
When my parents and sister arrived, they were stunned by my house. They assumed that I was renting a room of the house. Of course, they didn’t think that I was capable of something bigger and better than that.
A beautiful home with a large garden | Source: Midjourney
“Carina! You own this entire house?” my father asked, his eyes wide with disbelief.
“Yes, Dad,” I said, wheeling my mother’s suitcase in, they seemed to think that they were spending the night. “I worked hard for this.”
A suitcase in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“Wow, I didn’t expect this,” my sister said, looking around.
“So, I thought that we could do dinner at a restaurant tonight, and then come home for dessert and coffee. You guys can spend time with Mark and my in-laws.”
They were going to be over at any moment, the first meet and greet almost underway.
But that’s when the entitlement kicked in.
A beautiful living room | Source: Unsplash
My mother’s eyes narrowed as she scanned the living room, taking in my television and other things.
“You know, Carina,” she declared, her tone leaving no room for argument. “We deserve to live in comfort after all we’ve done for you.”
Then, she promptly sat down on the couch.
An older woman sitting | Source: Pexels
“Mom, what are you talking about?” I was incredulous. “This is my home. I bought it with my own money. You did absolutely nothing for me after high school.”
“But we’re your parents,” she insisted. “We should live better than our children. It’s our right. It’s the only right thing.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, my voice rising. “Jade still lives with you because you wanted to baby her after her night shifts. And me? You didn’t care. This isn’t my responsibility.”
An older woman looking around | Source: Pexels
My father stepped in at this point, crossing his arms.
“After everything we’ve sacrificed for you, this is the least you can do.”
“Jade needs a place to stay, too,” my mother said.
“Jade is an adult,” I snapped. “She made her choice to live with you, just like I made my own.”
An older man | Source: Unsplash
I felt bad that I was speaking about Jade in this way, especially because she was sitting on the couch and looking at my plants.
But my sister had chosen my parents when they kicked me out. She barely kept in contact with me, only stopping to text me on my birthday or Christmas morning.
A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Unsplash
At that moment, the door opened, and my future in-laws walked in. I had always been close to them, wanting to find parental figures in Mark’s parents.
“We’ve been hearing this entire conversation from outside,” Tom said.
“Carina’s achievements are hers,” my future mother-in-law, Carol, said firmly. “She’s worked hard for this, and she deserves every bit of it.”
A smiling woman holding a bouquet of flowers | Source: Pexels
My mother turned to her, eyes blazing.
“Who the hell are you? We have rights to this house; she’s our daughter.”
Carol didn’t flinch; she stood with her arms folded, a smile playing across her face.
“Why did you remember that only now? Where have you been all these years? Being her parents doesn’t mean that you can take credit for her hard work. Carina has earned this.”
An angry old woman | Source: Pexels
My parents were stunned into silence, and Jade couldn’t even look up.
“Carina invited you to celebrate her wedding, to celebrate the union of her and our son. To join our families. She did not invite you to berate her and have her hard work claimed,” Tom said.
“She owes you nothing but respect because you raised her, but that doesn’t mean giving up her home,” Carol said.
A young mother and daughter | Source: Pexels
“But we’re her family,” my mother said, clearly not expecting this level of pushback.
“Only by blood,” Mark said, stepping into the house. “Family supports one another. They don’t tear you down. And that’s what you’ve done to Carina for years.”
“You should be so proud of your girl,” Carol continued. “She’s done so much for us. I am so proud of her. Tom, too. She’s the daughter that I wanted all along.”
A smiling man | Source: Pexels
Mark found his way to me, wrapping his arm around my waist.
I looked at my parents, seeing the dawning realization on their faces.
“I love you, I do,” I said. “But this is my life, and you’ve only been in it again for five minutes, and you’re already demanding things of me. Is that fair? I’ve worked too hard to let anyone take that away from me.”
My father sighed heavily.
An elderly man looking down | Source: Unsplash
“We didn’t mean to upset you,” he said.
“Then respect my choice,” I said gently. “Be present for my wedding, but after that, you can go your own way again.”
After the confrontation, my parents seemed to understand, if only a little.
A bride holding a card | Source: Pexels
When we left to the restaurant, everyone was subdued, except for Mark and my in-laws. I didn’t see a point in canceling the dinner because of the confrontation.
We sat down to eat, everyone lost in their own thoughts while Carol made comments about seeing me in my dress.
“Mark, you’re in for such a treat. Carina looks beautiful in that dress,” she said, digging into her salmon.
I smiled at my future mother-in-law. I always knew that she loved me, but her comments of the day had truly made me realize just how much.
A bride with wedding dresses | Source: Pexels
I was lucky. I had gotten lucky with Mark, but even more so with his parents.
I watched as my mother’s face fell when Carol went on, talking about the dress fitting. But I didn’t have it in me to make her feel better.
After dinner, we left the restaurant, parting ways with my parents and sister.
“We’ll see you at the wedding,” my father said, getting into the car.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”
A man sitting in a car | Source: Pexels
Let’s see what happens at my wedding.
What would you have done?
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