I had just retired when my daughter-in-law called. “I’m going to leave my three kids with you. After all, you don’t do anything anymore, so you can watch them while I travel.”
I smiled and ended the call.
I decided to teach her a lesson she would never forget. When she returned from her trip, the children hid behind me. The silence that followed was deafening.
In that moment, as the phone still trembled in my hand, I made the most important decision of my 67 years. My name is Helen Miller. Thirty-five years of teaching at Lincoln Elementary in Columbus, Ohio had prepared me to deal with difficult children, complicated parents, and impossible situations.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—had prepared me for Brooke. That afternoon, I was sitting in my living room enjoying my second day of retirement. Do you know what it’s like to work since you were 22 years old and finally, at 67, have time for yourself?
I had waited for this moment my entire life. My coffee table was covered in brochures and folded maps the way only Americans still do when they’re dreaming: Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, a road trip down the Pacific Coast Highway, little motel coupons tucked inside an AAA guide. Places I had always dreamed of seeing but never could—because first it was raising Michael alone after his father died in that pileup on the interstate, and then it was years of sacrifice to give my son an education.
The phone rang at four o’clock in the afternoon. I saw Brooke’s name on the screen and hesitated to answer. Whenever she called, it was to ask for something.
“Helen,” she began without even a hello. She never called me Mother-in-law—much less Mom. “I have an incredible opportunity in Miami.
It’s a multi-level marketing conference that’s going to change our lives.”
Multi-level marketing. Another one of her schemes where she always lost money. “The kids can’t miss two weeks of school,” she continued.
“So I’ll leave them with you.”
“I’m sorry,” my voice came out as a whisper. “Oh, don’t play deaf. I said I’m going to leave Aiden, Chloe, and Leo with you.
After all, you don’t do anything anymore. You can watch them while I travel. It’s perfect.
Now that you’re not working, you have all the time in the world.”
I don’t do anything anymore. I felt my blood boil. This woman—who had never worked an honest day in her life, who lived off my son like a parasite—was telling me that I did nothing.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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