When Connie and Jim’s granddaughter, Mae, just got married, they decided to contribute to her honeymoon. But when they reveal their choice of hotel, Mae responds with entitlement, saying that they ruined everything for her. Instead of retaliating, the couple decides to teach her a lesson.
I’ve always been the doting grandmother. It was something that I looked forward to after having my children. I didn’t think that I’d share my story here, but this was too outrageous to keep to myself. This is how my husband, Jim, and I taught our youngest granddaughter a lesson she won’t soon forget.
An elderly couple at the beach | Source: Pexels
Our youngest granddaughter, Mae, is getting married. She’s always been a bit of a princess, expecting the best of everything.
“I’m high maintenance, Gran,” she would tell me, often while painting her nails or doing something of the sort.
A woman painting her nails | Source: Pexels
But because she’s the youngest, Jim and I got to spend the most time with her after we began slowing down with our jobs. So, when her boyfriend, Nathan, proposed, we were cautiously optimistic.
“I don’t think she’s rushing into it,” Jim told me as we sat down to breakfast one morning. “But I just wish that she would wait a little longer, you know, give us time to get involved in the wedding.”
A breakfast setting on a wooden table | Source: Pexels
Jim loved Mae. And despite us having so many other grandchildren, she was definitely his favorite. He would move mountains for her just because she asked.
So, when her wedding rolled around, we were more than happy to oblige when she came to us asking if we could help pay for her honeymoon.
A grandfather and his granddaughter | Source: Pexels
We wanted to give her a memorable gift, and this was the best way we could contribute, knowing that she would love it. And more than that, it would be a lovely way for her to start her new life with Nathan.
“We’ll do what we can,” I told her when she picked me up so that we could go to her final dress fitting together.
A woman driving a car | Source: Pexels
“But really, Gran,” she said enthusiastically. “It’s going to be great! And the fact that you and Grandad are doing it for me, that’s going to make it a lot more special.”
We got into the store and I watched my granddaughter change into her gown.
She looked absolutely stunning. I couldn’t believe that our youngest granddaughter was about to embark on one of the greatest adventures of her life.
A woman in her wedding gown | Source: Midjourney
Afterward, Mae came home with me.
“I’m going off all carbs from next week, Gran,” she said. “But I’d kill for your fried chicken and mashed potatoes.”
“Coming right up, honey,” I said.
Fried chicken on a tray | Source: Unsplash
As she made herself at home, I began to make my way around the kitchen. When Jim got in, Mae pulled out her phone and began scrolling.
“I’ve had some ideas about the honeymoon,” she said, showing us her phone.
“Right!” Jim exclaimed. “Show us what you have in mind.”
A woman holding a phone | Source: Unsplash
Of course, knowing our granddaughter, it was going to be something lavish.
Mae showed us a luxurious resort in the Caribbean. The place was stunning but incredibly expensive.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Jim told her while I tossed the chicken in the hot oil. “But we just don’t have that kind of money.”
A person eating fried chicken | Source: Pexels
Mae pouted, her eyes wide.
“But don’t fret!” Jim said quickly. “We’ll sort something out.”
I knew that even though Jim wanted to give Mae everything, there was no way that we could get Mae and Nathan to the Caribbean. But he just wouldn’t want to disappoint her.
A wooden deck over water | Source: Pexels
Mae left our home after eating with us, the topic of the honeymoon long forgotten as I did the dishes.
“We can’t afford it, Connie,” Jim told me as he poured himself another glass of juice.
“Then, we have to be open and honest with Mae,” I said. “She knows that we can’t spend a ridiculous amount of money just for her honeymoon. It’s not going to work.”
A person pouring juice | Source: Pexels
“But I can’t disappoint her,” Jim said solemnly. “So, I’m going to look for something with the same aesthetic.”
My husband sat with his laptop for hours. Two cups of tea and hundreds of hotels later, we finally found one that had excellent reviews and was within our budget.
An elderly man using a laptop | Source: Pexels
We booked it and surprised Mae with the news over the phone.
“It’s all sorted! Your honeymoon is all booked and ready to go!” Jim said.
“That’s great, Grandad,” she said. “Send me the links and I’ll look at it in the morning.”
An elderly man on the phone | Source: Pexels
I thought that she seemed grateful, but that didn’t last very long.
The next morning, as I was stirring oatmeal, Mae came over in a rage, her tone dripping with entitlement.
“Grandma, Grandpa,” she said. “I looked up the hotel you booked for Nathan and I. It’s just a joke, right?”
A bowl of oatmeal | Source: Unsplash
Jim and I looked at each other, he frowned slightly.
Mae, on the other hand, continued to speak through the silence.
“This place is a dump compared to what I showed you. Why would you choose such a disgusting hotel? Are you really trying to ruin my honeymoon?”
An elderly man covering his mouth | Source: Pexels
I was completely taken aback by Mae. Yes, she was spoiled. But she hadn’t been raised like this at all.
We had spent a lot of time finding a nice place and spent a significant amount of money on the hotel. I explained that we thought it was a beautiful hotel and that it had great reviews.
“Well, I guess it’s fine if you don’t care about making my honeymoon special. Thanks for nothing.”
An elderly woman covering her face | Source: Pexels
I was furious. I felt a sense of disappointment that I had never felt before. We all knew that Mae behaved a certain way, but I was so sure that she would have changed her ways silently.
She was on the threshold of becoming a wife.
“I don’t think she meant it,” Jim said, trying to make up for Mae’s attitude.
A close-up of a woman | Source: Pexels
“Stop, Jim,” I said. “Stop trying to make Mae seem like someone she’s not. We need to teach her a lesson.”
It took my husband some convincing, but he eventually gave in when he realized that he couldn’t change anything about Mae.
We started by calling the hotel and canceling the reservation completely. Then we moved on to the next phase of our plan.
An elderly woman on the phone | Source: Pexels
“It’s an upgrade, darling,” I said to Mae on the phone while Jim made us some hot chocolate one evening, a week before the wedding.
“It’s going to be better than the hotel we showed you!”
“Thanks, Gran!” Mae said.
Two mugs of hot chocolate | Source: Unsplash
She said she was thrilled and couldn’t stop gushing about how grateful she was that Jim and I had finally changed the honeymoon plans for her.
On the day of the wedding, Jim handed her the envelope with the details. Inside, we included fake reservation documents for an extravagant resort that didn’t actually exist.
A white envelope on a table | Source: Midjourney
Thanks to an editing site on the internet, the documents looked professional and real. We also included a note that said:
Enjoy your dream honeymoon, Mae.
Love, Gran and Grandad.
A person using a laptop | Source: Unsplash
The rest of their reception went well, with Mae and Nathan dancing along to three songs.
“Three, because we couldn’t decide on just one for the first dance,” Mae explained after.
Eventually, the cake was cut and the evening began to wind down with the bridal car ready and parked at the entrance of the venue.
A couple cutting their wedding cake | Source: Unsplash
Nathan and Mae got in, not knowing that when they got to their honeymoon destination a few hours away, there wouldn’t be a reservation.
On cue, Mae called us later, fuming.
“What did you do? There is no reservation! Just a motel that looks like it needs to be fumigated! We’re stranded. How could you do this to me?”
An angry bride | Source: Unsplash
“Oh, darling,” I said. “It looks like maybe there was a mix-up. Maybe you should have appreciated the original gift.”
She was livid, but there was nothing she could do. They had to scramble for a room at the motel, and it wasn’t anything near the luxury she had expected.
They returned two days later, after Nathan had convinced her to make the most of their trip. Mae was still fuming, but we knew that she had learned a valuable lesson about gratitude and entitlement.
A rundown seaside motel | Source: Midjourney
She came over and asked me to bake her some cookies while we had a long conversation about her behavior.
“I’m sorry, Gran,” she said. “I know that I’m a lot, and I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. It was a humbling experience.”
Sometimes the best way to teach someone a lesson is with a bit of creative revenge.
Cookies on a plate | Source: Unsplash
What would you have done?
A Mysterious Van Was Parked Across My House for a Month—One Night, I Heard a Baby Crying Inside
A mysterious van showed up across the street one day and never left. I told myself it wasn’t my business to snoop. But sometimes, the things we ignore are the ones meant to find us. I just didn’t know how much that van would change everything… until I heard a baby crying inside one night.
I’m Catherine, 32, a single mom to twin 13-year-old twin daughters… and someone who clawed her way up from nothing. People see my nice house in Willow Brook now and assume I’ve always had it together. They don’t see the terrified 18-year-old girl who once had nowhere to go.
A woman looking through the window | Source: Pexels
“Mom, we need more milk,” Phoebe called from the kitchen one Tuesday evening as I kicked off my heels by the front door.
“And can Jasmine come over this weekend?” Chloe added, not looking up from her phone.
I dropped my work bag with a thud. “Hello to you too, my precious dolls who I haven’t seen all day.”
The twins exchanged that look, the one that said they were humoring me, before both mumbling their hellos.
I smiled despite my exhaustion. My girls were growing up so fast… both with their father’s golden curls and my stubbornness. I’d done everything for them, and somehow, we made it.
Twin teenage sisters | Source: Pexels
“Yes to milk, maybe to Jasmine!” I said, heading to the kitchen. “Let me get dinner started first.”
That’s when I noticed it through the window—a faded red minivan parked directly across the street. It was a strange spot. Nobody ever parked there.
“Hey girls, do either of you know whose van that is?” I gestured out the window.
Phoebe shrugged. “It’s been there since morning. Thought it was Mrs. Carter’s nephew visiting.”
A red vintage minivan parked on a barren lawn | Source: Pexels
I frowned but let it go. In our neighborhood, everyone generally minded their own business… a policy I’d appreciated plenty of times over the years.
“Just seemed odd,” I said, turning back to the pantry.
But over the next few weeks, the minivan became a quiet obsession. It never moved. Nobody got in or out whenever I noticed. The windows were tinted just enough that you couldn’t see inside. I even asked Mrs. Carter about her nephew.
“Don’t have one,” she replied, squinting across at the mysterious vehicle. “Thought it belonged to your friend.”
“Not mine,” I said.
Days passed and the van remained.
Close-up shot of a red van | Source: Pexels
Sleep had been my enemy since the girls were babies. That night, exactly four weeks after I’d first noticed the van, insomnia hit hard again.
At 2 a.m., I gave up on sleep and decided a walk might help. The neighborhood was silent as I slipped out in sweatpants and a hoodie. The spring air held a chill that made me hug myself as I walked.
Thirteen years ago, I’d walked neighborhoods like this one… nicer neighborhoods where I didn’t belong. I still remember pushing a second-hand double stroller, desperately trying to get the newborn twins to sleep while I had nowhere to go.
“You don’t know how lucky you are!” I whispered to my sleeping street.
A lonely woman walking on the street at night | Source: Unsplash
I was rounding the block back toward home when I passed the minivan again and stopped dead in my tracks.
A cry—unmistakably a baby’s cry—was coming from inside.
I froze, my heart suddenly hammering. The cry came again, followed by a soft shushing sound. Someone was in there.
Before I could think better of it, I approached the van and knocked gently on the window.
“Hello? Are you okay in there?”
A baby crying | Source: Pixabay
Silence fell instantly. Then rustling. The side door slid open just a crack, and a young woman’s face appeared. She looked pale, exhausted, and absolutely terrified.
“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t call anyone.”
Her eyes were red and puffy. In her arms was a baby girl, couldn’t have been more than six months old. The little one was letting out the faintest, broken whimper.
“I’m not calling anyone,” I said, raising my hands slightly. “My name’s Catherine. I live right there.” I pointed to my house.
She hesitated, then opened the door a bit wider. The inside of the van was neat but obviously lived-in, adorned with a makeshift bed, a small cooler, and clothes neatly folded in plastic bins.
A van interior | Source: Pexels
“I’m Albina,” she finally said. “This is Kelly.”
The baby looked up at me with huge, dark eyes that were all too familiar. I’d seen those same scared, uncertain eyes in the mirror 13 years ago.
“How long have you been living here?”
“About a month. I move around…. and try not to stay in one place too long.”
The spring breeze picked up, and she shivered. That did it for me.
“Come with me,” I said. “It’s too cold for the baby out here.”
“I can’t—”
“You can. Just for tonight. No strings, no calls to anyone. Just a warm place to sleep and maybe a decent meal.”
A mother holding her baby | Source: Pexels
Albina looked at me like I was offering her the moon. “Why would you help us?”
I thought about giving her some line about being a good neighbor, but something in her eyes demanded honesty.
“Because thirteen years ago, I was you. And someone helped me.”
***
My kitchen felt too bright after the darkness outside. Albina sat rigidly on the couch, Kelly dozing against her shoulder as I warmed up leftover chicken soup.
“She’s beautiful,” I said, nodding toward the baby.
Albina’s face softened. “She’s everything.”
“How old?”
“Seven months next week.”
An emotional mother holding her baby close | Source: Pexels
I placed a bowl of soup in front of her. She hesitated, then shifted Kelly to one arm and picked up the spoon with her free hand. She ate like someone who hadn’t had a proper meal in days.
“Where’s her dad?”
Albina’s jaw tightened. “Gone. The second I told him I was pregnant.”
I nodded. “Yeah. Mine too.”
Her eyes met mine, surprised. “You have kids?”
“Twin girls. Thirteen now.” I smiled slightly. “They’re sleeping upstairs. Phoebe and Chloe.”
“Alone? Just you?”
“Just me. Always has been.”
A depressed woman | Source: Pexels
Albina looked down at her soup. “I don’t know how you did it with two children.”
“Barely,” I admitted. “We were homeless for a while. Living in my car until it got repossessed. Then shelters. Crashing on acquaintances’ couches. It was… rough.”
“That’s where I’m headed,” she whispered. “I had to leave my apartment last month when I couldn’t pay the rent. Dad left me this van when he died last year. It’s all I have left.”
She gestured to a small sewing kit on the table. “I make baby clothes. Sell them at the flea market on weekends. It’s not much, but…”
“But it’s something,” I finished for her.
A vintage sewing kit on the table | Source: Pexels
“I’m scared they’ll take her,” Albina said, her voice cracking as tears welled up in her eyes. “If anyone official finds out we’re living in a van… they’ll say I can’t provide for her.”
I reached across the table on impulse and squeezed her hand. “It’s not gonna happen. Not on my watch.”
Sometime after midnight, my twins discovered our guests.
“Mom?” Phoebe stood in the kitchen doorway, looking confused. “There’s a baby in the guest room.”
Albina had finally fallen asleep, Kelly tucked beside her on the bed.
I sighed. “Come here, you two. We need to talk.”
Twin sisters holding hands and standing in the hallway | Source: Pexels
The girls sat across from me at the kitchen table, still half-asleep but curious.
“That’s Albina and Kelly,” I explained. “They needed a place to stay tonight.”
“Why?” Chloe asked.
I took a deep breath. “Because they’ve been living in that van across the street.”
Their eyes widened.
“Living there?” Phoebe echoed. “Like… actually living?”
“Yes. Just like we lived in our old car for a while after your dad left.”
The twins exchanged looks. We didn’t talk about those days often.
Two little girls sitting in a car trunk | Source: Freepik
“You never told us it was that bad,” Chloe said, her eyes downcast.
“You were babies. You don’t remember. And I’ve tried very hard to forget.”
“What happens to them now?” Phoebe interrupted.
I looked at these amazing young ladies I’d somehow raised despite everything and felt a certainty settle over me.
“Do you remember Ms. Iris?”
They both nodded. Ms. Iris was practically family and the kind older woman who’d given me my first real chance.
“She found me crying outside the diner where she worked. Two babies, no home, no hope. And you know what she did? She hired me on the spot. Let us stay in her spare room. Watched you two while I took night classes.”
An older woman standing outside a store | Source: Pexels
I looked toward the guest room where Albina and Kelly slept. “Someone did that for us once. Maybe it’s our turn now.”
The next morning, I called in sick for the first time in three years.
“You sure about this?” Albina asked, bouncing Kelly on her hip as I made pancakes. The twins had already left for school, surprisingly excited about our new guests.
“About pancakes? Definitely. About you staying here? Very much.”
“You don’t even know me.”
I flipped a pancake. “I know enough. I know you’re a good mom. I can see it.”
A woman making pancakes | Source: Pexels
Albina’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m trying so hard.”
“That’s all any of us can do.” I set a plate in front of her. “Now eat. Then show me these baby clothes you make.”
Her designs were beautiful and simple but unique. Delicate embroidery on onesies, handmade bonnets, tiny cardigans… all made with obvious care despite her limited resources.
“Albina, these are amazing,” I said, examining a tiny dress. “You should be selling these online, not just at flea markets.”
A woman with folded baby clothes | Source: Pexels
She shrugged. “Online? I don’t even know where to start.”
I smiled. “Lucky for you, e-commerce marketing is literally my job.”
***
It’s been four years since that night. Four years since I heard a baby crying and found my past sitting in a minivan across the street.
Kelly often runs through my living room now, a whirlwind of curls and laughter at four years old. “Auntie Cathy! Look what I drew!”
“It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” I’d tell her, taking the colorful scribble.
A little girl flaunting her drawing | Source: Freepik
One day, Albina visited with a laptop under her arm. “Guess who just got an order from that boutique in Vancouver?”
“No way! That’s international shipping now!” I high-fived her.
“Albina’s Little Blessings” has grown from a desperate mother’s side hustle into a thriving business. Albina’s handmade children’s clothes now ship nationwide, and she has three part-time employees helping with production.
They moved into their own apartment two years ago, though Kelly still has regular sleepovers with her “aunties” Phoebe and Chloe when they’re home from school.
Sometimes I look at Albina and can hardly believe she’s the same frightened young woman I found in that van.
A woman sewing clothes | Source: Pexels
“You saved us,” she told me once.
But that’s not quite right. What I did was simple: I recognized myself in her story and refused to walk away. I broke the cycle that might have trapped another young mother in the same desperation I once knew.
That minivan is long gone now. Albina sold it last year and used the money to expand her business. But sometimes when I can’t sleep, I still find myself looking out my window at that empty spot across the street… the spot where everything changed.
A woman looking out the window | Source: Pexels
Not every cry in the night needs to go unanswered. Not every struggle needs to be faced alone. Sometimes, the kindness of a stranger is all it takes to rewrite a story.
And sometimes, the people we help end up helping us heal parts of ourselves we didn’t even know were still broken.
Lending a helping hand | Source: Pexels
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