My son and his wife have chosen to sell the countryside house I gave them, shattering my heart.
When Théo told me he was getting married, joy filled me. Since becoming a widow three years ago, loneliness has pressed on me like a weight. Living in a small 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 plan to part with the home I gifted them feels like the final straw that bursts my heart.
From the start, my relationship with Chloë, my daughterinlaw, was strained. I tried not to intrude, even though her habits often baffled me. Their Lyon flat was constantly messyshe only cleaned grudgingly. I kept quiet to avoid conflict, yet I worried for Théo. What hurt even more was his refusal to cook; he survived on readymeals or pricey restaurant dishes. He shouldered the household alone while she blew her modest salary on beauty salons and clothes. Still, I clenched my teeth to prevent an argument.
To support Théo, I often invited him to dinner after work. I would make homecooked mealspotaufeu, quiches, piestrying to give him a taste of a cozy home. One day, before Chloës birthday, I offered to help with the cooking. No need, she snapped. Weve booked a restaurant. I dont want to spend my evening slaving away in the kitchen. Her words cut me. In my day we did everything ourselves, I murmured. 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 deeply.
Years passed. Chloë 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, eyes glued to their phones, oblivious to discipline. I dared not intervene, fearing I would push them away. My silence shielded them, yet it gnawed at my soul each day.
Then, a few weeks ago, Théo dealt me a blow I cant recover from. They have 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. My husband Pierre loved that place. Every summer we tended the garden, grew vegetables, and watched cherry trees blossom. After his death I returned for a few more years, but I no longer had the strength to care for it. With great sorrow I gave it to Théo, convinced they would spend summers there as a family, that the children would grow up breathing fresh air and swimming in the clear lake.
Chloë refused. No running water, no proper bathroomthis isnt a vacation, she declared. Wed rather go to the Côte dAzur! Théo backed her up: Mom, honestly, were not interested. Well sell it and head to Greece. Anger rose in me. And your fathers memory? I whispered. I thought youd all go together My son merely shrugged. Were not into that. Its not for us.
My heart broke. That house was more than a plot of landit held our memories, Pierres laughter, his dream of seeing our grandchildren love it as much as we did. Now they were going to sell it like an old piece of furniture 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 today I realize my silence allowed them to forget what truly matters. That pain, I fear, will never fade.
My Son and His Wife Have Chosen to Sell the Country House I Gifted Them, Shattering My Heart.
