My son and his wife have chosen to put up for sale the country house I gave them, and it shattered my heart.
When Theo told me he was getting married, joy flooded my spirit. Since I became a widow three years ago, loneliness has weighed on me like a heavy cloak. 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 heart.
From the start, my relationship with Chloe, my daughterinlaw, was strained. I kept my distance, even though her habits often left me puzzled. Their flat in Lyon was perpetually untidyshe only cleaned when she felt forced to. I stayed silent to avoid arguments, but inside I worried for Theo. What hurt me even more was his refusal to cook. He survived on readymade meals or pricey restaurant dishes. I watched him shoulder the household alone while she blew her modest salary on beauty salons and clothes. Still, I clenched my teeth to keep the peace.
To help Theo, I frequently invited him over for dinner after work. I cooked homemade mealspotaufeu, 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 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 murmured. And restaurants are so expensive. She flew into a tirade: Dont count on our money! We earn our own! I swallowed my tears, yet her disdain struck deep.
Years passed. 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, eyes glued to their phones, oblivious to any sense of order. I dared not speak up, fearing I would push them away. My silence became my only shield, but it gnawed at my soul day after day.
A few weeks ago, Theo delivered a blow from which I have not yet recovered: they decided to sell the country house I had given them a year earlier. That retreat, tucked among pines and birches beside a lake, was the heart of our family. My late husband Pierre loved that place. Every summer we tended the garden, harvested the vegetable patch, and watched the cherry trees bloom. After he passed, I returned for a few more years, but I no longer had the strength to maintain it. With a deep ache, I gifted it to Theo, convinced they would spend summers there as a family, that the children would grow up breathing fresh lake air.
Chloe rejected the idea. No indoor plumbing, no running waterits not a vacation, she declared. Wed rather go to the Côte dAzur! Theo backed her up: Mom, honestly, that doesnt interest us. Well sell it and head to Greece. Anger rose in me. And your fathers memory? I whispered. I thought youd all want to go together Theo simply 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 dream of seeing our grandchildren love it as we did. Now they were ready to offload 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 that my silence allowed them to forget what truly matters. That pain, I fear, will never fade.
My Son and His Wife Choose to Sell the Countryside Cottage I Gave Them, Shattering My Heart.
