When my MIL handed us the deed to a dream house at our wedding, I thought we’d hit the jackpot. But a week after moving in, I discovered, her generosity was a trap. I confronted my wife and demanded we return the house, but her reply shocked me.
Sarah and I were six years into the most solid, unshakeable love. Our wedding was the culmination of that, a celebration of all we’d built together. Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better, Sarah’s mother stood to toast us.
“To my darling daughter and her new husband,” Janice said, holding up her glass. The room hushed, all eyes on her as she beamed at us. “May your life together be as strong and secure as the foundation you build upon, starting with this.”
A waiter wheeled over a silver tray bearing a sleek folder.
Janice opened it with a flourish, revealing the deed to a house. Gasps rippled through the crowd as Janice handed it to me with the practiced grace of a queen. My heart swelled.
A house! I turned to Sarah, expecting her to share my excitement, but her hand on mine felt stiff and clammy. Her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Can you believe this?” I whispered, leaning close. She nodded, her voice barely above a murmur. “It’s…
generous.”
Her hesitation should have been a clue, but I chalked it up to wedding-day jitters. That was my first mistake. I almost cried when we moved in.
This wasn’t any old house but a five-bedroom colonial in an upmarket neighborhood ideal for families. I didn’t have much growing up and it felt like I was now living the dream. Sarah, however, wandered from room to room like she was looking for something she’d lost.
I’d catch her staring out the window, chewing her lip until it turned white. Sometimes, she disappeared with her phone for ages, always giving me a vague answer when I asked what she’d been doing. “Babe, what’s wrong?” I asked one evening after dinner.
“Don’t you like it here?”
She sighed, avoiding my eyes. “It’s just… a big adjustment. Newly married, starting our lives together in this house…”
Adjustments I could handle.
But her distance? That gnawed at me. The first crack came during a dinner at Janice’s a few days after we moved in.
The three of us sat around her pristine dining table, the smell of rosemary chicken wafting through the air. “So, have you spoken to my lawyer, yet?” Janice asked, her voice honeyed but sharp, “I’d like you both to sign the contract as soon as possible.”
“Contract?” I set my fork down, the word sticking in my ears like a bad tune. Janice tilted her head, her expression perfectly balanced between feigned confusion and patronizing sweetness.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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