**A Betrayal for Profit: A Family Drama**
My life was peaceful until the scandal with my daughter-in-law erupted. Until then, my relationship with Elaine, my son’s wife, had been cordial—neither warm nor fraught with arguments. We exchanged pleasantries, and I made sure not to interfere in their family. But what happened turned everything upside down. Now, I can’t even imagine looking her in the eye after such betrayal.
I’m a pensioner, still working part-time, living alone in a cosy flat on the outskirts of Manchester. My closest family here consists of my son Thomas, my two adored granddaughters, Emily and Charlotte, and, of course, Elaine—if she can even be considered family after this. My world revolves around them. I have friends, but our interactions are superficial—tea, small talk, and little more. My true joy is my granddaughters; for them, I’d do anything.
Like any grandmother, I love spoiling Emily and Charlotte. I bake them cakes, buy them toys, and keep up with children’s fashion to gift them trendy dresses or colourful backpacks. My pension and salary allow me to be generous, and seeing their happy faces is priceless. I don’t neglect Elaine either—for holidays, I give something tasteful to keep the peace, buying treats for Thomas too. All for harmony.
Before Elaine’s birthday, I asked Thomas what she might like. Without hesitation, he said, *“A top-of-the-range slow cooker. She loves cooking—she’d be over the moon.”* I knew it wasn’t cheap, but I cut back on my own expenses just to get it. In the shop, I pestered the poor sales assistant—testing functions, comparing models, asking endless questions. Three hours later, exhausted, I chose the perfect one. At home, I unwrapped it, removing price tags, admiring my purchase with satisfaction.
Just then, my neighbour Margaret popped in. Spotting the slow cooker, she gasped, *“Margaret, this is the dream! Cooking will be a breeze now. Mind if I ask what it set you back?”*
I told her the price, and she whistled. *“Blimey, I’d never stretch to that!”*
I admitted I wouldn’t have splurged for myself—but for Elaine, at Thomas’s suggestion, I made an exception. Margaret beamed. *“What a mother-in-law! They’re lucky to have you.”* We sipped tea, admired the slow cooker once more, and parted amiably.
Elaine’s birthday went splendidly. She was overjoyed with the gift, thanking me repeatedly, even asking where best to place it in the kitchen. We parted on warmer terms than ever, and I was certain all was well. No hint of the storm to come.
Two weeks later, Margaret dropped by again, but her expression was grim. *“Margaret, I don’t know if I should say this… but Elaine’s selling the slow cooker.”*
I froze. *“Selling it? But she adored it! Where?”*
*“Online listings. Priced dirt cheap—I’d have bought it myself if I didn’t know it was from you.”*
We pulled up the listing on my laptop. There it was—my nearly new slow cooker, up for sale. My face burned. Curiosity led me to check Elaine’s other listings. I wish I hadn’t. Page after page of gifts I’d given the girls, Thomas, even Elaine herself—dolls, dresses, even the jumper I’d picked for Thomas—all listed like unwanted rubbish.
Margaret, seeing my pallor, apologised and left. Trembling, I dialled Elaine. *“Elaine, how’s the slow cooker? Tried any new recipes? I’ll pop round for tea soon.”*
She hesitated. *“Oh… you know…”*
*“Oh, I know, darling, I know!”* I snapped. *“Why sell it so cheap? Price it higher! And the girls’ dresses, their toys—you’ve put everything up! I give from the heart, and you flog it online? If you needed money, you could’ve asked! Or should I start handing cash instead of sweets for the girls—will you sell those too?”*
Realising denial was futile, Elaine turned defensive. *“What’s the problem? They’re mine—I’ll do as I please!”*
We argued like never before. Next, I called Thomas, hoping for support—but he hadn’t known about Elaine’s “side business.” The slow cooker, incidentally, still sat in their kitchen—for appearances, no doubt. The real dagger? Thomas refused to take my side. *“Mum, stay out of it,”* he said, and that cut deepest.
This isn’t just a petty quarrel. What Elaine did was cold. My gifts, my love for the girls—all reduced to items for sale. How can I trust her now? How do you look someone in the eye after they’ve trampled your feelings so carelessly?
