Betrayal by the Gift: A Family Drama
My life had been peaceful, uneventful, until the scandal with my daughter-in-law erupted. Before that, my relationship with Eleanor, my son Thomas’s wife, had been civil—neither warm nor hostile. We exchanged pleasantries, and I made sure not to interfere in their family. But what happened turned everything upside down. Now, I cannot fathom looking her in the eye after such betrayal.
I am a pensioner still working, living alone in a cosy flat on the outskirts of Manchester. My closest family in the city is Thomas, my two adored granddaughters—Sophie and Emily—and, of course, Eleanor, if she can even be called family after this. My world revolves around them. I have friends, but our bonds are light—tea, a few words, and then farewell until next time. My true joy is my granddaughters, for whom I’d do anything.
Like any grandmother, I adore spoiling Sophie and Emily. I bake them cakes, buy them toys, keep up with children’s fashion to gift them pretty dresses or bright backpacks. My pension and wages allow small luxuries, but their happy faces are priceless. I included Eleanor too, ensuring she had thoughtful gifts for holidays—nothing too grand, just enough to keep the peace. All for harmony.
Before Eleanor’s birthday, I asked Thomas what she might like. Without hesitation, he replied, “A slow cooker—the newest model. She loves cooking; she’d be thrilled.” I knew it wasn’t cheap, but for her sake, I tightened my belt. In the shop, I pestered the poor sales assistant, checking every feature, comparing models, scrutinising details. After three exhausting hours, I chose the perfect one. At home, I unwrapped it to remove the price tag, admired it, and felt pleased.
Just then, my neighbour Margaret popped in. Spotting the slow cooker, she gasped.
“Susan dear, what a dream! Cooking would be sheer delight. May I ask—how much was it?”
I told her, and Margaret’s eyes widened.
“Goodness, I’d never manage that!”
I admitted I’d never spend so much on myself, but for Eleanor—at Thomas’s suggestion—I made an exception. Margaret praised me. “What a generous mother-in-law they have!” We sipped tea, admired the slow cooker once more, and parted cheerfully.
Eleanor’s birthday went splendidly. She beamed when she saw the gift, thanked me endlessly, even asked for advice on where to place it in the kitchen. We parted warmly, better than ever, and I assumed all was well. No storm clouds in sight.
Weeks later, Margaret visited again—but her face was troubled.
“Susan, to tell or not… Well, your Eleanor is selling the slow cooker.”
I was stunned.
“Selling it? She adored it! Where?”
“Online listings. Priced low—I’d have bought it myself if I didn’t know it was your gift.”
We opened my laptop, and there it was—my slow cooker, nearly new, up for sale! My face burned. Curiosity led me to check Eleanor’s other listings—a mistake. Dolls, dresses, even the jumper I’d carefully chosen for Thomas—all listed like unwanted rubbish.
Margaret, seeing my shock, apologised and left. Unable to hold back, I dialled Eleanor.
“Eleanor, how’s the slow cooker? Cooked anything nice? I’d love to visit for tea.”
She hesitated. “Oh… well…”
“Oh, I know, darling, I know!” I cut in. “Selling it so cheaply? You could at least ask for more! And the girls’ dresses, their toys—all online. I gave them with love, and you toss them away? If you needed money, I’d have handed it to you! Or will you sell the sweets I buy the girls too?”
Eleanor, caught, turned defensive. “What’s the fuss? They’re mine to do as I please!”
We argued like never before. Then I called Thomas, hoping for support—but he hadn’t known about his wife’s “business.” The slow cooker still sat in their kitchen, likely for show. Yet the deepest cut was his indifference. “Mum, stay out of it,” he said, and those words wounded most of all.
This was no mere quarrel. What Eleanor did was cruel. My gifts, my love for the girls—all reduced to listings online. How can I trust her now? How do I face someone who trampled my feelings so carelessly?
