Oh, you won’t believe this family drama—it’s like something out of a soap opera. So, poor Granny got dumped on her grandson to live out her days. And when the family found out what was in the will? They were tearing their hair out!
“Good morning, dear,” Lara winced when she heard her mother-in-law, Marina Pavlovna’s, voice on the phone. If *she* was calling, it meant this “good morning” was about to be ruined.
Lara couldn’t stand Marina, and the feeling was mutual. Not because Lara was a bad person—no, she just had the misfortune of marrying Marina’s least favourite son, Michael. Instant blacklist.
“I’ve got *wonderful* news for you,” Marina sneered. “My mother-in-law, Irene Leonardovna, is moving in with you. Consider it payback for that flat you didn’t earn.”
Lara actually exhaled in relief—this wasn’t *that* bad. Usually, Marina cooked up much nastier schemes. At first, Lara couldn’t figure out why her mother-in-law despised her until Michael explained.
Michael was the eldest of Marina’s three kids. She’d had him young, unmarried, and spent years resenting his existence—even though his presence was the *only* reason she landed a wealthy widower, Jacob Petrovich. Together, they had two more kids—a boy and a girl.
Jacob was sharp, built his business in the ‘80s, survived the ‘90s chaos, and thrived in the 2000s. He never treated Michael differently—same toys, same clothes, same discipline when needed. But Marina? Oh, she *made* sure Michael knew he didn’t belong.
“And *why* did I even have *you*?” she’d hiss, pinching him. “Dark-haired little mistake, sticking out like a crow among doves.”
Not his fault. He didn’t *ask* to be born. Heck, he’s the reason she even met Jacob—the man saw a little boy crying in the park after one of Marina’s tirades and went to comfort him.
Jacob was a good husband and father, generous to all three kids. But Michael’s half-siblings, Mary and Anton, took after their mum, always sneering, “*You’re* no family. Our dad just *pities* you.”
“You know,” Michael told Lara early on, “Jacob’s the only one who ever felt like family.”
Lara got the hint—keep her distance from Marina.
She *still* remembered their first meeting. Marina had scowled and muttered, “*This* is who he brings home? Well, don’t expect a welcome.”
So Michael and Lara built their life *without* help—renting, then buying a flat. Only Jacob ever visited, joking, “Hurry up with the grandkids! I miss the chaos.”
A year after the wedding, he died. At the will reading, the family glared when Michael arrived.
“What’s *he* doing here?” Mary hissed.
But the lawyer shut them up fast—Jacob left his estate to Marina and gave *each* child, *including* Michael, a nice two-bed flat.
Cue the meltdown.
“Who *is* he?!” Mary shrieked, jabbing a finger at Michael. “Why does the *bastard* get anything?!”
Anton snarled at the lawyer, “We’ll contest this!”
The lawyer shrugged. “The property’s already transferred. But in six months, we’ll read the *business* will—*that* you can fight.”
Michael and Lara were over the moon—now they could start a family.
Then came today’s bombshell: Marina demanded they take Jacob’s *mother*, Irene.
Michael called her immediately.
“Get that old hag out of *my* house!” Marina screeched. “I’ve tolerated her long enough—*you* change her diapers!”
Michael’s heart broke. Irene had *loved* them, helped raise his siblings—and now they were tossing her aside after her stroke left her wheelchair-bound.
Without a word, he went to get her. Lara cleared space, and Irene moved in.
Two days later, Anton called, sneering, “Dad gave *you* a flat—*you* deal with Granny.”
No help expected. But Irene? She was *lovely*—chatty, funny, never a burden.
“Your stepdad always said you were the good one,” she told Michael over dinner. “*You’re* my family now.”
Four months later—next will reading. The lawyer announced Jacob had left *everything*—the business, the money—to *Irene*.
Silence.
Then—Mary and Anton *lunged*.
“Granny’s coming with *me*!” Mary simpered.
“Like *hell*!” Anton snapped.
Irene just chuckled. “Oh, darlings—I’m staying *right here*.”
They stormed out. Marina hissed, “*Vermin*,” at Michael.
Irene winked. “Take me home, love—this calls for champagne!”
She stayed, later signing most of the inheritance to Michael (though she left fair shares for Mary and Anton—who *still* sued and lost).
Anton blew his money, got into shady dealings, and crawled back to Marina. Mary married a gold-digger, had a daughter, then got dumped.
Irene passed just before Lara gave birth—they named the baby after her.
Later, Lara found a note in Irene’s favourite book:
*”Mum, if anything happens, go to Michael. He’s not ours by blood, but he’s the best of them. I’m sorry Mary and Anton turned out this way.”*
Lara wiped a tear and smiled. Jacob was right—she’d married a good man. Lucky her.
