My son and his wife chose to put the country house I had given them up for sale, shattering my heart.
When Theo announced his wedding, joy filled me. Since becoming a widow three years ago, loneliness had settled on my shoulders like a weight. Living in a tiny Alpine village, I had hoped to bond with my future daughterinlaw, help raise their children, and feel the warmth of a family again. Nothing unfolded as I imagined, and now their decision to sell the home I gifted them is the final straw that broke my spirit.
From the start, my relationship with Chloe, my daughterinlaw, was strained. I tried not to intrude, even though her habits often bewildered me. Their flat in Lyon was perpetually messyshe only cleaned grudgingly. I kept quiet to avoid quarrels, yet inside I worried for Theo. What hurt even more was his refusal to cook. He survived on readymade meals or pricey restaurant dishes. I saw him bearing the households burden alone while she blew her meager salary on beauty salons and clothes. Still, I clenched my teeth to prevent any argument.
To support Theo, I often invited him over for dinner after work. I would make homemade dishespotaufeu, quiches, piestrying to remind him of a cozy home. One day, before Chloes birthday, I offered to help with the cooking. No need, she snapped. Weve booked a restaurant. I dont want to spend the evening cooking like a servant. Her words cut me. In my day we did everything ourselves, I whispered. And restaurants are so expensive She snapped back, Dont count on our money! We earn our own! I swallowed my tears, but her contempt wounded me deeply.
Years passed. Chloe gave birth to two grandchildren, my beloved Amélie and Lucas. Their upbringing, however, left me disheartened. The children were spoiled, never hearing a no. They stayed up late, eyes glued to their phones, oblivious to discipline. I dared not speak up for fear of pushing them away. My silence became my only shield, yet it gnawed at my soul day after day.
Then, a few weeks ago, Theo delivered a blow I could not recover from: they decided to sell the country house I had given them a year earlier. That refuge, tucked among pines and birches beside a lake, was the heart of our family. My late husband Pierre adored the place. Every summer we tended the garden, cultivated the vegetable patch, and watched the cherry trees bloom. After his death I returned for a few more years, but lacked the strength to maintain it. With great sorrow I gifted it to Theo, convinced they would spend summers together, that the children would grow up breathing fresh air and swimming in the lakes clear water.
Chloe refused. No plumbing, no running waterthis isnt a vacation, she declared. Wed rather go to the Côte dAzur! Theo backed her up: Mom, honestly, were not interested. Well sell and go to Greece. Anger rose in me. What about your fathers memory? I murmured. I thought youd all enjoy it together My son only shrugged. We dont want it. Its not our thing.
My heart tore apart. The house was more than a plot of land; it held Pierres laughter, his dreams of seeing our grandchildren love it as we did. Now they were ready to discard it like an old piece of furniture for a few sunfilled days. I feel betrayednot only by my son but also by my own naivety. I endured everything in silence to keep the peace, and today I realize that my silence let them forget what truly mattered. That ache, I fear, will never fade.
My Son and His Wife Choose to Sell the Country Cottage I Gifted Them, Shattering My Heart.
