My son and his wife have chosen to put up for sale the rural house I gave them, shattering my heart.
When Theo announced his wedding, a wave of happiness washed over me. Since becoming a widow three years ago, loneliness has sat heavily on my shoulders. 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 house I gifted them feels like the final straw that breaks my heart.
From the start, my relationship with Chloe, my daughterinlaw, was strained. I tried not to intrude on their lives, even though her habits often puzzled me. Their flat in Lyon was perpetually untidyshe only cleaned when forced to. I kept silent, fearing arguments, yet inside I worried for Theo. What hurt even more was her refusal to cook. My son survived on readymade meals or pricey restaurant dishes. I saw him bearing the households weight alone while she splurged her meager salary on beauty salons and clothes. Still, I bit back my complaints to avoid a clash.
To support Theo, I frequently invited him over for dinner after work. I would make homemade farepotaufeu, quiches, piestrying to remind him of a cozy home. One day, before Chloes birthday, I offered to help them with the cooking. No need, she cut me off. Weve booked a restaurant. I dont want to spend my evening cooking like a servant. Her words pierced me. In my day we did everything ourselves, I whispered. And restaurants are so expensive She snapped, Dont count on our money! We earn our own living! I swallowed my tears, but her contempt cut deep.
Years slipped by. Chloe gave birth to two childrenmy beloved grandchildren, Amélie and Lucas. Their upbringing, however, left me despondent. They were spoiled, never hearing a no. They stayed up late glued to their phones, oblivious to any notion of discipline. I dared not intervene, fearing I would push them away. My silence became my sole shield, yet it ate away at my soul each day.
Then, a few weeks ago, Theo delivered a blow I cannot recover from. They decided to sell the countryside house I had given them a year earlier. That refuge, tucked among pines and birches beside a lake, was the heart of our family. Pierre, my late husband, loved that place. Every summer we tended the garden, cultivated the vegetable patch, and watched the cherry trees bloom. After his death I returned only occasionally, lacking the strength to maintain it. With a heavy heart I offered it to Theo, convinced they would spend family summers there, that the children would grow up breathing fresh air and swimming in the clear lake.
Chloe objected. 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 it and head to Greece. Anger rose inside me. What about your fathers memory? I whispered. I thought youd all want to go together My son merely shrugged. We dont want it. Its not our thing.
My heart tore apart. That house was more than a plot of land; it held our memories, Pierres laughter, his dream of seeing our grandchildren love the place as much as we did. Now they were treating it like an old piece of furniture to be sold for a few sunny days. I feel betrayedby my son and by my own naïveté. I have endured everything in silence to keep the peace, and now I realize that my silence let them forget what truly matters. That pain, I fear, will never fade.
My Son and His Wife Decide to Sell the Country House I Gifted Them, Shattering My Heart.
