When my daughter got married, she didn’t have a place of her own. I understood that a young couple needed a roof over their heads, so I made a decision—one that would change my life. I gave them my two-bedroom apartment and moved in with my elderly mother. I willingly gave up my comfort, thinking I was doing the right thing for my child.
I had raised her alone. My wife passed away when our little Anna was only eight years old. It was the hardest time of my life, but I had no choice—I had to stay strong for her. I worked day and night to provide for her, making sure she never felt the absence of a mother. My only pillar of support was my own mother, who helped me in every possible way. Without her, I don’t know how I would have survived those years.
Time went by. Anna finished her studies, met Daniel, and decided to start a family. They got married, and I was happy for them, believing this was the beginning of something beautiful.
At first, I considered giving them my mother’s small one-bedroom apartment and keeping my larger one. But then I changed my mind. I thought about their future, their need for space, and in the end, I sacrificed my home for them.
All I expected in return was a little gratitude. A little respect. But what I received was something I never anticipated.
An Unbelievable Demand
As soon as we agreed that the young couple would move into my apartment, Daniel’s mother, Margaret, didn’t hesitate to ask:
— When are you planning to renovate? The apartment is old, and my son and his wife deserve to live in a fresh, modern place.
Her words caught me off guard. My apartment wasn’t luxurious, but it was clean, well-maintained, and comfortable. Did that really not count for anything?
I kept my voice calm as I replied:
— If you think a renovation is necessary, perhaps you’d like to contribute? After all, your son will be living here too, so it would only be fair if both sides helped.
She scoffed and gave me a cold, cutting response:
— I’m not spending money on someone else’s apartment!
I clenched my jaw, swallowing the anger that surged inside me. I could have said a lot in that moment, but I chose to hold back. In the end, I still made some small renovations—not because of her, but for my daughter. I wanted her to feel comfortable in her new home.
And then, I left. I moved in with my mother and tried to stay out of their lives, visiting only when invited. I respected their space. I never imposed.
But Margaret? She had no such boundaries. She practically moved in with them, acting as if it was her home, her territory.
An Unwanted Guest in My Own Family
As Christmas approached, I wanted to do something nice for Anna. I bought groceries, making sure they had enough to prepare a festive meal. The bags were heavy, and I couldn’t pull out my phone to call ahead, so I decided to go straight to their apartment and surprise them.
When I walked in, I saw Margaret sitting comfortably at the kitchen table, sipping tea. In front of her was a neatly written holiday menu.
One glance at that paper was enough.
Anna and Daniel had planned to spend Christmas together—with his parents.
I wasn’t invited.
I stood there, my arms weighed down by the grocery bags, but the real weight was inside my chest. A crushing realization settled over me.
Everything I had done for my daughter—all my sacrifices, all my efforts—meant nothing.
I wasn’t expecting gifts or grand gestures. I didn’t even need a thank-you.
I just wanted to be a part of her life.
But it seemed there was no longer a place for me in it.
