My heart was pounding, my son squirming beside his wife beside me.
“We lied about what?” My voice was cool and collected, but firm.
My daughter-in-law crossed her arms. “It is something we never actually needed, that space for a family.” We thought it would be easier for you all to move out so that we could have the house to ourselves. That means that mom has a place need to stay now and this is best for us.” I realised the air left my lungs. And my own son! My own son! Told me he was giving me the house—so his wife could build a future—so they could start a family—and build a home. They had only wanted me gone.
I turned to him. “Is this true?”
His face reddened. He looked away. “Mom, it wasn’t meant to hurt you. “Downsize we just… we thought it was time for you to.”
That wasn’t theirs to decide how to use—my home, all I made with his father. I had left it to him, thinking there was something I could do that was good. I was being told that I was manipulated, that I was kind and I let myself be used.
I had clenched my hands at my sides. My daughter in law shrugged, “I didn’t leave my home so you could bring someone else in I repeated this time slower, measured.” “Well, it’s our house now.”
That hurt more than I thought it would. She wasn’t wrong, not legally. I had signed it over. What hurt, though, was how she said it—as if it was no one’s place but hers, this place which was the place where, despite my husband’s absence, we had raised our son, where we had laughed, wept, celebrated birthdays and anniversaries, and paid our respects at the departure of another.
I struggled to swallow another lump in my throat and turned again to my son. “If you feel that way, then it’s clear there is nothing left to say.”
Before they could respond, I left.
—
After my sister’s house, I sat and stared blankly at the cup of tea she had given me.
I finally said, ‘they lied to me, Mary.’ “The house didn’t start a family, that’s what they didn’t want.” They just wanted me out.”
Mary sighed. “I was afraid of that. ‘You gave them something they hadn’t earned, and now they show you who they really are.”
I shook my head. “I just don’t understand. “He didn’t raise him anymore. I thought I raised him better than this.”
She stretched across the table and held my hand. “You did. However, when people receive too much too easily, sometimes this is when you’ll see their true colors. ‘He took your kindness for granted.’”
I closed the eyes, and a dull ache shot through my chest. “What do I do now?”
Then Mary hesitated and said, ‘You start thinking about yourself for once.’ They may have the house, but they don’t get your peace.”
—
Days passed by and I attempted to move on, but I couldn’t shake the pain. Then one evening, my phone rang. It was my son.
“Mom, we need to talk.”
I almost didn’t answer. But I did.
My daughter in law wasn’t around when I arrived at their house; the house that was once mine. He sat me down and I could see that he was more nervous than I’ve ever seen him.
“Mom… He ran a hand through his hair and admitted, ‘I messed up.’ ‘When you left last day, I was thinking what we did.’ We realized we were wrong. We shouldn’t of lied to you. We shouldn’t have treated you that way either.’’
I folded my arms. “What changed?”
His jaw tightened. “My mother-in-law moved in.”
“And?”
He muttered: “It’s been a nightmare…” “She criticizes everything we do. She’s demanding. She behaves as if she owns the place. And the worst part? “She always takes her side over mine every time,” I say.
The irony almost made me laugh.
“I went on, ‘you threw you own mother out to make room for somebody else’s’.”
His face fell. “I guess I did.”
Silence stretched between us.
Finally he said, “I don’t expect you to forgive me.” “I just wanted to let you know I was wrong.” “I wish that I could take it back.”
I sighed, for my anger remained there, but it softened from the regret I saw in his eyes. I thanked him for saying that. “But you made your choices. “Oh and now you have to live with them.”
When I stood up to leave, he looked up at me. “Mom, would you ever move back?”
I looked back at him and saw the uncertainty, the regret, this boy who used to be my little son but became a man who made very big mistakes.
I exhaled. “No, sweetheart. This was my home once. But not anymore.”
So, with that, I walked away, knowing for once in a long time, that I was finally doing me.