My son and his wife have chosen to sell the countryside house I gave them, shattering my heart.
When my son, Théo, told me he was getting married, joy flooded my chest. Since becoming a widow three years ago, loneliness has weighed on me like a heavy shroud. 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 turned out as I imagined, and now their decision to part with the home I gifted them feels like the final straw that broke my spirit.
From the start, my relationship with Chloë, my daughterinlaw, was strained. I stayed out of their affairs, though her habits often left me baffled. Their flat in Lyon was perpetually messyshe only cleaned when forced. I kept quiet, fearing quarrels, yet inside I worried for Théo. What hurt even more was his refusal to cook. He survived on readymade meals or pricey restaurant dishes. He bore the entire household burden alone, while she squandered her modest salary on beauty salons and clothes. Still, I bit my tongue to avoid a fight.
To support Théo, I often invited him over for dinner after work. I would whip up homecooked mealsstews, quiches, piestrying to remind him of a cozy home. One day, before Chloës birthday, I offered to help them 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 deep. 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 living! I swallowed my tears, but her contempt wounded me to the core.
Years passed. Chloë gave birth to two childrenmy beloved grandchildren, Amélie and Lucas. Their upbringing, however, left me disheartened. They were spoiled, never hearing a no. They stayed up late, eyes glued to phones, oblivious to discipline. I dared not speak up, fearing I would push them away. My silence became my only shield, yet it ate away at me day by day.
Then, a few weeks ago, Théo delivered a blow I could not recover from. They decided to sell the countryside house I had given them a year earlier. That cabin, 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 a vegetable patch, and watched the cherry trees bloom. After his death I returned a few more summers, but I no longer had the strength to maintain it. With a heavy heart I offered it to Théo, convinced they would spend family summers there, that the children would grow up breathing fresh air and swimming in the clear lake.
Chloë was unwilling. No plumbing, no running waterthis isnt a vacation, she declared. Wed rather go to the Côte dAzur! Théo sided with her: Mom, honestly, were not interested. Well sell it and head to Greece. Anger rose in me. What about your fathers memory? I murmured. I thought youd all go together Théo merely shrugged. We dont want it. Its not our thing.
My heart tore apart. That house was more than land; it held our memories, Pierres laughter, his dream of seeing our grandchildren love it 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 naivety. I have endured everything in silence to keep the peace, and now I see 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 Countryside Home I Gave Them, Shattering My Heart in the Process.
