Betrayed by Gifts: A Family Drama
My life was pretty steady until the whole row with my daughter-in-law blew up. Up till then, my relationship with Eleanor, my son’s wife, had been civil—no deep affection, but no real fights either. We’d exchange pleasantries, and I made sure not to meddle in their marriage. But what happened next turned everything upside down. Now, I don’t even know how to look her in the eye after such a betrayal.
I’m retired but still work part-time, living alone in a cosy flat on the outskirts of Manchester. The only family nearby is my son William and my two precious granddaughters, Emily and Charlotte—and, of course, Eleanor, if I can even call her family after this. My world revolves around them. Sure, I’ve got mates, but it’s all surface-level—a cuppa here, a quick chat there. The real joy is my grandkids, and I’d do anything for them.
Like any grandma, I love spoiling Emily and Charlotte—baking them treats, buying toys, keeping up with trends so I can surprise trendy dresses or fun backpacks. My pension and part-time wages let me indulge them, and seeing their happy faces? Priceless. I even make sure Eleanor gets nice things—birthday gifts, little treats—just to keep the peace in the family.
Before Eleanor’s birthday, I asked William what she’d like. Straight away, he said, “One of those fancy slow cookers—the latest model. She loves cooking, she’ll go mad for it.” I knew it wasn’t cheap, but for her sake, I tightened my belt. In the shop, I drove the poor sales assistant up the wall—testing every feature, comparing models, double-checking details. After three hours, exhausted but satisfied, I picked the perfect one. Back home, I took it out of the box, admiring its glossy finish.
Just then, my neighbour Margaret popped in. When she spotted the slow cooker, she gasped—”Margaret, that’s the dream right there! Cooking’ll be a breeze now. Must’ve cost a pretty penny?” I told her the price, and she practically choked—”Blimey, I could never afford that!” I admitted I wouldn’t have splurged for myself, but for Eleanor—thanks to William’s suggestion—I made an exception. “You’re the mother-in-law of the year,” Margaret said. We had tea, admired the slow cooker again, and she left.
Eleanor’s birthday went brilliantly. She was over the moon when she saw the gift, thanking me a dozen times, even asking where to put it on the counter. We parted on such good terms—better than ever—and I thought all was well. But storm clouds were gathering.
Two weeks later, Margaret came round again, looking uneasy. “Margaret… I don’t know if I should say this, but your Eleanor’s selling that slow cooker.”
I corrected her—*What?* She *wanted* that thing! Where?”
“On that marketplace app—dirt cheap, too. I’d buy it myself if I didn’t know it was from you.”
We pulled up the listing, and there it was—my slow cooker, nearly brand new, up for sale! My face burned. Curiosity got the better of me, and I clicked on “other items by seller.” Wish I hadn’t. Page after page of gifts I’d given the girls, William, even Eleanor herself—dolls, dresses, even the jumper I’d painstakingly picked for William! All listed like junk.
Margaret, seeing me go pale, apologised and left. I couldn’t hold back—I rang Eleanor. “So, how’s the slow cooker? Made any stews yet? I must pop round for a cuppa.”
She hesitated—”Oh, well… you know—”
“*I know, love, I know!*” I cut in. “Cheap as chips, eh? And the girls’ dresses? Their toys? I give from the heart, and you flog it all online? If you needed cash, I’d have handed you an envelope! Or are the sweets I buy the girls next?”
She knew the game was up and turned defensive—”What’s the big deal? They’re *my* things—I’ll do what I like!”
We rowed like never before. Next, I called William, hoping for backup, but turns out he’d no clue about his wife’s little side hustle. The slow cooker? Still on their counter—just for show, I reckon. But the real knife twist? He wouldn’t take my side. “Mum, stay out of it,” he muttered, and *that* hurt worst of all.
This isn’t just a squabble. What Eleanor did was low. My gifts, my love for the girls—all reduced to listings on some app. How do you trust someone who tramples over your kindness like that? How do you look them in the eye?
