Our Daughter Received a Flat as a Gift from Her Father—But When the Groom’s Mum Tried to Move the Whole Family In, All Hell Broke Loose

Author Walton MerrittReading 3 minViews 2

Our daughter wed not long ago, choosing a young man of good sense, though he hailed from modest beginnings. My husband and I, if truth be told, were not altogether pleased, yet it was her life to live and her choice to make.

Upon their marriage, my husband gifted our daughter a charming flat, so that the young couple might have a place of their own and not endure the hassles of renting. The pair were very grateful for such a fine present, as were the grooms parents, who rarely missed a chance to admire the flat during their frequent visits.

Soon, our daughter confided in me that her mother-in-law all but lived there, leaving her with scant privacy, scarcely able to ring her friends. Matters grew tense when her mother-in-law suggested that she, along with her husband and the rest of the family, should be registered at the address as well. Her plan was to relinquish her own dwelling, sell it, and, with the proceeds, buy a larger home for them all to sharedividing the new flat amongst the family, for, in her eyes, things ought to be shared amongst kin.

Our daughter, always polite, declined the proposal, finding it rather peculiar. Yet her mother-in-law would not let the matter rest. She began calling nearly every dayonce attempting to cajole, then growing ever more insistent and dramatic. She accused our daughter of failing to love her son, even threatened divorce and the seizing of the new flat. Her son, earnest though he was, could not persuade his mother to see sense.

We resolved not to interfere at first, believing it wisest to allow the young couple to sort out their own difficulties. However, when our daughter’s tears became frequent companions, we felt compelled to act.

My husband, a man not easily ruffled, called upon the mother-in-law himself. He told her, plainly and firmly, that she was to leave our daughter in peace, and warned that, should she persist, he would be obliged to seek help from the police. The effect was instantaneous: she calmed herself at once, claiming she had only our daughters best interests at heart, and that her intentions had been misunderstood.

From that day forward, the trouble ceased. Our daughter was at last free from her distress and now enjoys her home, and her life, with renewed happiness.

Why I Don’t Want to Leave My Children with Their Grandmothers I’m 31 years old, a full-time mum raising two daughters aged 3 and 1 by choice—and here’s why. When I had my first child, I naively assumed the grandmothers would naturally step in to help. In reality, they were more of a hindrance than a help, and I found myself managing on my own. Here’s how it went for me: After my daughter’s birth, and especially once we got home, I felt completely helpless—not knowing where to even start with a newborn. What seems basic to me now, after two kids, felt overwhelming back then. Naturally, there weren’t any “instructions” on caring for a baby written in my head! I expected the older generation to have all the answers—how to change, bathe, feed, trim nails, and care for a baby. But it quickly became clear their advice conflicted—even about bath time! Over time, I mastered nappies and more, and I’m grateful to both my mum and mother-in-law. They still make me smile with their very “British granny” advice: Granny 1 (my mum-in-law): – Recite a prayer over the bath water and only let the child drink that! – Six months later, I bought a water filter. – Only use grey soap on the baby, and apply it to any rash. – Your children are poorly because you’re raising them “wrong” (though never clear why!). – If your baby cries, take them to a local “healer”—that’ll fix it. Granny 2 (my mum): – Babies crying? Ignore it—it’ll pass. – Fever? Give paracetamol, problem solved. – You buy them far too many toys, you know. – I can babysit Saturdays at 1pm, but only until 4—then I’m off to the cinema! – Sweets and salty snacks for the baby? Why not, start at 6 months. Let them try anything if they reach for it. I love my mum but I do now question a lot about my own upbringing! There were times I was left with my gran and subsisted on pasta all day, while at home it was always fatty foods. My coughs were sometimes ignored until I ended up ill…and now I understand my tummy troubles as an adult! The bottom line is: I get on with our grannies, but I can’t imagine leaving my kids with them for more than a few hours. Closely supervised? Sure. But am I overprotective? Maybe—but I’m just not comfortable with the alternative!

Why Should It Matter Who Cared for Grandma? Legally, That Flat Should Be Mine! – My Mum Argues Bitterly With Me My own mum is threatening to take me to court. Why? Because Grandma’s flat didn’t go to her—or even to me—but to my daughter. My mum thinks it’s a grave injustice. She insists Grandma’s flat should rightfully be hers. But Grandma chose otherwise. Why? Probably because my husband and I lived with Grandma and cared for her during her final five years. My mum could quite rightfully be called selfish. Her wants and interests have always come before anyone else’s. She’s had three marriages but just two children: me and my younger sister. My sister and I have a great relationship. But things with Mum are a different story. I can’t even remember my dad. He divorced Mum when I was only two. Until I was six, Mum and I lived at Grandma’s. For some reason, I thought Grandma was terribly unpleasant—maybe because Mum was always in tears. Only later, as an adult, did I learn that Grandma was actually a good person, just desperate to set her daughter straight. Later, Mum married again and we moved in with my stepdad. That’s when my sister was born. Mum stayed with him for seven years, then divorced him too. This time we didn’t return to Grandma’s; instead my stepdad went off to work and let us stay in his flat. Three years later, Mum married a third time and we moved in with her new husband. Obviously, he wasn’t thrilled about his new wife’s kids, but he never treated us badly—he simply ignored us. So did Mum, who was busy being wrapped up in her new relationship, riddled with jealousy and dramatic outbursts. Every month, Mum would start packing her bags, but my stepdad always managed to talk her out of leaving. My sister and I got used to it, and eventually stopped caring. I took over raising my sister because Mum had no time. Luckily, both our grandmothers helped us a lot. I eventually left for university accommodation, and my sister went to live with Grandma. Dad always helped her, but Mum only called us at Christmas. I grew up accepting Mum as she was—the kind of parent who never worried about us. My sister, however, could never forgive her, and especially resented that Mum didn’t show up for her graduation. We both grew up. My sister married and moved to another city. My boyfriend and I lived together for ages but were in no hurry to wed, renting a place and visiting Grandma often. We were close, but I tried never to be a nuisance. Then Grandma fell ill and was hospitalised. The doctors told me she needed plenty of care, so I started coming daily—bringing groceries, cooking, cleaning, and, most importantly, making sure she took her medicines. For six months, this was life. Sometimes my boyfriend came too and handled the odd DIY job. One day, Grandma suggested we move in to save money for our own home. Of course we agreed. Grandma liked my boyfriend, and we all got on well. Six months later, I found out I was pregnant. We decided to keep the baby and Grandma was overjoyed about her great-grandchild. We had a simple wedding and took the family out to a café—my mum didn’t even show up or call with congratulations. When my daughter was just two months old, Grandma fell and broke her leg. Caring for a newborn and Grandma was almost impossible alone, so I called Mum for help. She refused, saying she wasn’t well and would come by another time—a promise she never kept. Six months later, Grandma suffered a stroke. Suddenly, she was bedridden. The care was gruelling, and I don’t know how I’d have managed without my husband. Grandma slowly regained some mobility and speech, and lived another two and a half years—long enough to watch her great-granddaughter learn to walk. She passed away quietly in her sleep, leaving us heartbroken. Mum only came to the funeral. A month later, she turned up demanding that I move out so she could claim the flat as her own. She was sure she’d inherit it—completely unaware Grandma had signed the property over to my daughter after she was born, leaving Mum without a penny. Mum was furious, demanding I hand over the flat or she’d sue. “Look how cunning you are! You tricked that old woman out of her flat and now you’re living there yourself! You won’t get away with this! It makes no difference who cared for Grandma—the flat should be mine!” But Mum won’t be getting that flat. I know this for sure—I’ve checked everything with the solicitor and notary. We will stay in the home Grandma gave us. And if our next child is a girl, we’ll give her Grandma’s name.