I spent all my life savings to buy a beautiful house for my son and daughter-in-law. But on the day of the housewarming, my daughter-in-law told me not to come because she was afraid I would ruin the atmosphere of the party. I just nodded.
The next morning, I decided to take back everything that belonged to me. I’ve always tried to be a good mother. It probably sounds cliche, but when you’re widowed at 59 and left alone in an empty house, you begin to especially value family ties.
My only son, Broen, was the center of my universe from the moment he was born. Perhaps too often I put his interests ahead of my own, but isn’t that what mothers do? When Leonard, my husband, passed away from a heart attack 8 years ago, I received a pretty decent insurance payout and the savings we’d been saving all our lives.
Leonard was prudent financially and I was frugal. Thirty-five years of teaching physics at Georgetown High School had taught me to live frugally. The habit of saving money stayed with me even after retirement.
My son married Sarin Flet before his father died. I remember Leonard whispering in my ear during the wedding ceremony. I hope she makes him happy.
Something about her is unsettling. At the time I wrote his doubts off as just paternal jealousy. Now I realized that the husband was right in his fears.
From the first days of marriage, Saran made it clear that socializing with me was a necessary formality. She smiled politely in my presence but never asked about my affairs or health. When the twins, Emma and Edgar, were born, Seren was reluctant to let me see them, as if I were a stranger rather than their own grandmother.
Broen noticed the tension but preferred not to interfere. My son, who had always been calm and peaceful, had turned into a willless creature around Saran, repeating her words and decisions. He was working in it, earning good money.
But Serene’s ambition demanded more. “Mom, you know how important it is for kids to grow up in a good neighborhood,” Broen had said 3 years ago when he and Seren had decided to buy a bigger house. I knew they couldn’t afford the down payment on a property in the neighborhood Siren had chosen, so I helped them by giving them almost a third of my savings.
“You’re a real lifesaver, Dearree,” Seren said then with a smile that didn’t touch her eyes. It was one of the rare times she called me by my first name rather than just she or your mother in conversations with Broen. I visited about once a month.
Saren always found a reason to cut my visit short. A migraine, an important call. The kids were tired.
The grandchildren, now 13 years old, treated me differently. Emma, despite her teenage years, was always happy to see me, interested in my stories about teaching physics. Edgar, on the other hand, seemed to copy his mother’s coldness.
The idea of buying a house for them came to me last fall. I noticed an ad for a beautiful two-story mansion in an upscale Georgetown neighborhood near a park. It was exactly the type of house Serene had always dreamed of, with a large kitchen living room, four bedrooms, and a garden.
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