My MIL was never satisfied with me. She made a million remarks every time we met. But that day, her usual nitpicking crossed the line. Gertrude declared that I wasn’t beautiful enough for her son. That was the last straw, so I entered a beauty contest! But even there, she continued to sabotage me.
David and I had recently returned from our honeymoon, and our life together was filled with love and happiness. However, my mother-in-law, Gertrude, never took me seriously.
She criticized me constantly, no matter what I did. Even that evening, during dinner, she found faults in everything.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Grace, dear, have you ever tried seasoning the soup with thyme? It would improve the flavor significantly,” Gertrude’s tone dripping with condescension.
I forced a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, Gertrude.”
David, oblivious to the tension, looked up from his plate and said, “I think the soup is perfect, Grace.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Gertrude’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“The presentation of the food on the plates could be more refined. And that lipstick, my dear, it really doesn’t suit your skin tone.”
I bit my lip, trying to maintain my composure.
“I’ll consider that next time,” I murmured, feeling my cheeks flush.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
David, as usual, didn’t notice the tension. He was often lost in his business thoughts.
“Sorry, ladies, I have to check my email. I’m expecting an important letter,” he added, apologizing as he left.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Once he was gone, Gertrude turned to me, her smile vanishing.
“Grace, you must understand. You’re not beautiful enough for my son.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I felt a lump form in my throat but managed to nod.
Without saying a word, I left the hose and retreated to my small atelier, a place that brought me immense joy.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Designing and sewing clothes was my passion, but even this, Gertrude belittled, considering it an undignified occupation for someone in her family.
As I sat there, feeling dejected, I noticed an invitation from a friend to a beauty contest she was organizing. I picked it up, reading the details.
Despite my doubts, I decided to enter. I needed to prove my worth, not just to Gertrude, but to myself.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
***
The following weeks were a whirlwind of activity. When I first told David about entering the beauty contest, he was incredibly supportive.
“Grace, I think it’s a great idea,” he said, holding my hands. “You should do it for yourself.”
His encouragement gave me the strength I needed to go through with it. I underwent intensive training, attended workshops, and participated in rehearsals.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
All the contestants lived together in a hotel, cut off from their families, only interacting with each other. Many of the girls were envious and willing to do anything to win, like Chloe, who often sabotaged others.
One morning, I saw Chloe “accidentally” knock over a fellow contestant’s makeup bag, scattering its contents everywhere.
“Oops, sorry!”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Despite this, I quickly made friends and impressed everyone with my kindness.
“Grace, you’re a lifesaver,” said Emma, another contestant, as I helped her fix a ripped dress.
“It’s nothing, really,” I replied with a smile. “We’re all in this together, right?”
During a rehearsal, I had a heartfelt conversation with Katie, a contestant I had befriended. We sat in a quiet corner of the auditorium, watching others practice. Chloe was listening as always.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Katie asked, her voice tinged with anxiety.
“I think so,” I replied. “I’m going to present a clothing collection I designed. It’s created for everyday wear.”
“That’s amazing, Grace. You’re not just competing; you’re making a difference.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Thanks, Katie. What about you? What’s your talent performance?”
“I’m going to sing,” she said with a shy smile. “I’ve always loved singing, but I’ve never performed in front of such a large audience before.”
“You’ll be great,” I assured her. “You’ve got an incredible voice.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
***
Later that evening, I was in my hotel room, organizing my outfits for the next day, when there was a knock on the door. It was my friend, Lily, who had invited me to the contest.
“Hey, Grace,” she said, glancing around the room. “How are you doing? How’s the preparation going?”
“Hi! I’m a bit nervous, but everything is coming together. Thanks again, Lily, for inviting me to this contest. It means a lot.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sure you’ll do great,” she said warmly. “Actually, I need you to sign some documents regarding your participation. Do you have a pen?”
“Sure, let me find one for you,” I said, turning to my desk.
When I turned back, I saw Lily quickly stepping away from my wardrobe, trying to act casual.
“Here you go.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Thanks,” she took a pen, her eyes avoiding mine. She handed me the documents, and I noticed her hands trembling slightly.
I decided not to comment on her actions. Instead, I took the documents and signed them politely.
“All done,” I said, handing them back to her.
“Great,” she said, forcing a smile. “Good luck tomorrow, Grace. I know you’ll shine.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Thanks,” I replied. “I appreciate your support.”
We exchanged pleasantries, and she left the room quickly. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, but I had no time to dwell on it.
I hung the garment bag with my dress in the wardrobe and decided to get some rest. As I lay in bed, thoughts of the contest swirled in my mind.
I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
***
The day of the contest arrived, and everything was going well. The air buzzed with excitement as contestants performed their talents, singing, dancing, and displaying their unique skills.
When my turn came, I presented my clothing collection, each piece crafted with care and dedication. I took a moment to steady my nerves and began to speak.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Good evening, everyone. My name is Grace, and I have a deep love for designing and sewing clothes. Tonight, I want to share with you a collection that is very close to my heart.”
I gestured to the models wearing my designs as they walked across the stage. Each outfit was unique, showcasing my skills and creativity. The audience watched intently, their eyes following every detail.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“I have always believed that fashion should be accessible to everyone, regardless of their circumstances,” I continued.
“That’s why my dream is to use my talent to help those in need. I want to create beautiful, affordable clothing for families who cannot afford high-end fashion. These clothes you’re seeing tonight are part of that vision.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
The audience began to murmur, clearly moved by my words. I pressed on.
“Every piece in this collection will be donated to families who need them the most. It’s my way of giving back to the community and making a difference, one stitch at a time. Fashion is not just about looking good; it’s about knowing that someone cares.”
As I finished speaking, the models lined up for a final walk. The audience stood up, clapping and cheering, and my heart swelled with pride and joy.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
David and Gertrude came to congratulate me. David handed me a beautiful bouquet of pink peonies.
“You were amazing, Grace,” he said, giving me a warm hug.
“Thanks, David.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Gertrude, however, leaned in and whispered in my ear:
“Don’t celebrate too soon. This contest isn’t meant for someone like you.”
Her words stung, but I forced a smile and thanked them both.
Backstage, the emotions of the day caught up with me. But I couldn’t let Gertrude’s words break me. I pulled myself together.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Suddenly, the organizer ran up to me, looking frantic.
“Grace, we have a problem. That’s about your dress.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to see it for yourself,” she said, leading me to the dressing area.
I opened the garment bag. My breath caught in my throat when I realized it was Katie’s dress that had been spoiled. The fabric was torn, and the seams were ripped apart.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Katie, who had been standing nearby, burst into tears.
“What am I going to do now? This contest is so important for my future.”
Everyone suspected Chloe, who had boasted about doing anything to win, but I had a different suspicion. I took a deep breath and put my arm around Katie.
“It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure something out.”
“But how?” Katie sobbed.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
I thought for a moment, then made a decision.
“Katie, you take my dress for the final runway.”
Katie looked at me, shocked. “But what about you? What will you wear?”
“You need this more than I do. I can wear something else.”
“Grace, I can’t believe you would do this for me. Thank you so much.”
I smiled and handed her the dress. “Go get ready. You deserve to shine.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
As Katie hurried off to prepare, I found a simple dress I had made earlier. It wasn’t as glamorous as the one I had planned to wear, but it would do.
I changed quickly and took a moment to steady myself.
Back on stage, all the contestants appeared in stunning gowns. Katie wore my dress and looked absolutely radiant.
The audience murmured, noticing the contrast between my simple dress and the glamorous outfits around me. But I held my head high, knowing I had made the right choice.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
When it was my turn to speak about my future plans, I stated that I intended to be an ordinary woman who supported others, not chasing fame.
Once again, the audience gave me a standing ovation.
I caught a glimpse of Gertrude’s face, her eyes narrowing with frustration. It was obvious that she had orchestrated all that.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Chloe wouldn’t have had the cunning to pull off something so intricate—it was clear now who was behind it all.
The moment of truth was approaching, and soon, I would finally be able to dictate my own rules in this game with my mother-in-law.
***
The judges declared Katie the winner, and I received the People’s Choice award.
As I stood on the stage, holding my trophy. The audience cheered and applauded.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
After the contest, David found me backstage. His eyes were shining with pride and love.
“Grace, you were incredible. You don’t need beauty contests to prove your worth. You’ve already shown your inner beauty and deserve all the respect and love in the world.”
“Thanks, David,” I said, feeling a warmth spread through me. “That means a lot.”
The support from the audience, especially David, made me remember who I am.
But there was one more thing I needed to do. I approached Gertrude, who was standing near the exit and barely concealed her frustration.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Gertrude, I know you were behind the sabotage. You bribed the organizer, my former friend. She confessed everything.”
Gertrude quickly masked her surprise with a cold smile.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Grace.”
“Enough. This ends now. You tried to undermine me, but it didn’t work. I’ve shown my worth, and no amount of sabotage can change that.”
David stepped forward as he finally understood the situation.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Mother, Grace is right. It’s time you accept her for who she is. She deserves respect and love, and I won’t tolerate any more of your schemes.”
Gertrude opened her mouth to argue but then closed it, her face turning red with anger and embarrassment. She realized she had been caught and had no more excuses to hide behind.
“We’re leaving now,” David said, taking my hand.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“We’re going to celebrate our victory and love. You can join us if you choose to accept Grace and treat her with the respect she deserves.”
Gertrude remained silent. David and I turned and walked away, leaving her behind.
The moment of truth had arrived, and I had finally stood up to Gertrude. David squeezed my hand, and I looked up at him, feeling a deep sense of gratitude.
“Let’s go celebrate,” he said with a smile.
“Let’s do that.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Tell us what you think about this story, and share it with your friends. It might inspire them and brighten their day.
My 16-Year-Old Son Went to Stay with His Grandmother for the Summer – One Day, I Got a Call from Her
When my 16-year-old son offered to spend the summer taking care of his disabled grandmother, I thought he’d finally turned a corner. But one night, a terrifying call from my mother shattered that hope.
“Please, come save me from him!” my mother’s voice whispered through the phone, barely a breath.
A scared elderly woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
Her words were sharp with fear, a tone I’d never heard from her. My stomach knotted. Before I could respond, the line went dead.
I stared at my phone, disbelief mixing with shock. My strong, fiercely independent mother was scared. And I knew exactly who “him” was.
An angry woman | Source: Pexels
My son had always been a handful, but lately, he’d crossed new lines. At sixteen, he was testing every boundary he could find. Rebellious, headstrong, a walking storm of attitude and defiance.
I remembered him coming home from school, slinging his backpack down with a certain grin that I didn’t recognize. “I was thinking about going to Grandma’s this summer,” he’d said. “I mean, you’re always saying she could use more company. I could keep an eye on her.”
A smiling teenager | Source: Pexels
My first reaction was surprise and a little pride. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf, becoming responsible. But looking back now, as I sped down the darkening highway, his words nagged at me in a way they hadn’t before.
I’d blinked, surprised. “You… want to go stay with Grandma? You usually can’t wait to get out of there.”
A shocked woman | Source: Pexels
“I’ll help take care of her,” he’d said. “You could even let the caregiver go, Mom. Save some money, you know?”
The more I drove, the more pieces of our recent conversations slipped into place in my mind, forming a picture I didn’t like.
“People change,” he’d shrugged with a strange smile. Then he looked up at me with a half-smile. “I mean, I’m almost a man now, right?”
A smiling teenage boy with a phone | Source: Pexels
I’d brushed it off then, thinking maybe he was finally growing up. But now, that smile felt… off. Not warm or genuine, but like he was playing a part.
As I drove, I remembered other details, things I’d dismissed at the time. A week into his stay, I’d called, wanting to check on my mother directly. He’d answered, cheerful but too fast, like he was steering the call. “Hey, Mom! Grandma’s asleep. She said she’s too tired to talk tonight, but I’ll tell her you called.”
A concerned woman on her phone | Source: Freepik
Why didn’t I push harder?
My mind raced back to how it all began. It had been just the two of us since his father left when he was two. I’d tried to give him what he needed to stay grounded. But since he hit his teenage years, the small cracks had started widening.
An angry teenage boy | Source: Freepik
The only person who seemed to get through to him now and then was my mother. She had a way of disarming him, though even she admitted he was “testing her patience.”
I dialed my mother’s number again, willing her to pick up. My thumb tapped the screen anxiously, but still, nothing.
The sky darkened as the houses became sparse, her rural neighborhood just up ahead. With every mile, my mind replayed his too-smooth excuses, his charming act.
A woman on her phone in her car | Source: Freepik
As I pulled up to my mother’s house, a chill ran through me. Her lawn, once so tidy, was now overgrown, weeds tangling around the porch steps. The shutters had peeling paint, and the lights were off, as though no one had been home in weeks.
I stepped out of the car, feeling disbelief twisting into a sick anger. Beer bottles and crushed soda cans littered the porch. I could even smell cigarette smoke drifting out through the open window.
A littered porch | Source: Midjourney
My hands shook as I reached for the door, pushing it open.
And there, right in front of me, was chaos.
Strangers filled the living room laughing, drinking, shouting over the music. Half of them looked old enough to be college kids, others barely looked out of high school. My heart twisted, a mixture of fury and heartache flooding through me.
A furious woman | Source: Pexels
“Where is he?” I whispered, scanning the crowd, disbelief giving way to a focused rage. I shouldered through people, calling his name. “Excuse me! Move!”
A girl sprawled on the couch glanced up at me, blinking lazily. “Hey, lady, chill out. We’re just having fun,” she slurred, waving a bottle in my direction.
“Where’s my mother?” I snapped, barely able to hold back the edge in my voice.
A shouting woman | Source: Pexels
The girl just shrugged, unconcerned. “Dunno. Haven’t seen any old lady here.”
Ignoring her, I continued through the packed room, shouting my son’s name over the blaring music. I looked from face to face, my heart pounding faster with every step. Every second that passed made the house feel more like a stranger’s, more like a place my mother would never allow, let alone live in.
Teenagers partying | Source: Pexels
“Mom!” I called, my voice desperate as I reached the end of the hall, near her bedroom door. It was closed, the handle faintly scratched, as though it’d been opened and closed a hundred times in the last hour alone.
I knocked hard, heart racing. “Mom? Are you in there? It’s me!”
A weak, trembling voice replied, barely audible over the noise. “I’m here. Please—just get me out.”
A woman knocking frantically into the closed door | Source: Midjourney
I felt a wave of relief and horror as I fumbled with the handle and threw the door open. There she was, sitting on the bed, her face pale and drawn, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. Her hair was mussed, and I could see dark circles under her eyes.
“Oh, Mom…” I crossed the room in a heartbeat, falling to my knees beside her and wrapping my arms around her.
An elderly woman covering her ears | Source: Freepik
Her hand, frail but steady, clutched mine. “He started with just a few friends,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “But when I told him to stop, he got angry. He… he said I was just getting in the way.” Her voice wavered. “He started locking me in here. Said I was… ruining his fun.”
A sickening wave of anger surged through me. I’d been blind, foolish enough to believe my son’s promise to “help out.” I took a shaky breath, stroking her hand. “I’m going to fix this, Mom. I swear.”
An elderly woman in her bedroom | Source: Freepik
She nodded, gripping my hand, her own fingers cold and trembling. “You have to.”
I walked back to the living room, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. And there was my son, leaning against the wall, laughing with a group of older kids.
When he looked up and saw me, his face went pale.
“Mom? What… what are you doing here?”
A shocked teenage boy | Source: Freepik
“What am I doing here?” I echoed, my voice steady with a calm I didn’t feel. “What are you doing here? Look around! Look at what you’ve done to your grandmother’s home!”
He shrugged, trying to play it cool, but I saw his mask slipping. “It’s just a party. You don’t have to freak out.”
“Get everyone out of here. Now.” My voice was steel, and this time, it cut through the noise. The whole room seemed to freeze. “I’m calling the police if this house isn’t empty in the next two minutes.”
A furious woman | Source: Freepik
One by one, the partiers shuffled out, murmuring and stumbling toward the door. The house cleared out, leaving only broken furniture, empty bottles, and my son, who now stood alone in the wreckage he’d made.
When the last guest was gone, I turned to him. “I trusted you. Your grandmother trusted you. And this is how you repay her? This is what you thought ‘helping’ looked like?”
A woman confronting her son | Source: Midjourney
He shrugged, a defensive sneer twisting his face. “She didn’t need the space. You’re always on my case, Mom. I just wanted some freedom!”
“Freedom?” My voice shook with disbelief. “You’re going to learn what responsibility is.” I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of each word. “You’re going to a summer camp with strict rules, and I’m selling your electronics, everything valuable, to pay for the damage. You don’t get a single ‘freedom’ until you earn it.”
An angry woman in her living room | Source: Midjourney
“What?” His bravado faltered, fear flickering in his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I am,” I said, voice colder than I’d ever heard it. “And if you don’t change, you’re out of the house when you turn eighteen. I’m done with excuses.”
The next day, I sent him off to camp. His protests, his anger all faded as the summer passed, and for the first time, he was forced to face the consequences.
A teenage boy in a camp | Source: Pexels
As I repaired my mother’s house that summer, I felt the pieces of our family begin to mend. Bit by bit, room by room, I cleared the broken glass, patched up the walls, and held on to hope that my son would come home a different person.
After that summer, I saw my son start to change. He grew quieter, steadier, spending evenings studying instead of disappearing with friends.
A boy doing his homework | Source: Pexels
Small acts like helping around the house, apologizing without being prompted became routine. Each day, he seemed more aware, more respectful, like he was finally becoming the man I’d hoped for.
Two years later, I watched him walk up my mother’s steps again, head bowed. He was a successful gentleman now, about to graduate school with honors and enroll in a nice college. In his hand was a bouquet, his gaze sincere and soft in a way I’d never seen.
A young man with flowers | Source: Freepik
“I’m sorry, Grandma,” he said, his voice thick with regret. I held my breath, watching as the boy I’d fought to raise offered her a piece of his heart.
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.
Leave a Reply