When my daughter-in-law suddenly started calling me “Mom” after years of coldness, I wanted to believe it was real. I’m 65, a widow, and not one to share my business—but what happened five months ago still echoes in my chest.
Melissa married my son Brian six years ago. Beautiful, polite, but distant. She never called me “Mom,” never brought the kids by unless it was a holiday. I baked, I called, I left voicemails. I stayed in my lane. And I missed my grandkids, Lily and Sam, more than anything.
Then out of nowhere: “Hi Mom! Just checking in.” Followed by visits, banana bread, hugs. I wanted to believe it was genuine.
Then I overheard her on the phone. “I feel sick calling her Mom… Just until she signs the equity transfer.” The plan was to get me to sign over my house, disguised as a college fund for the kids.
I didn’t confront her. I smiled, served tea, and later called my lawyer. I rewrote everything—will, house, assets—into a trust for my grandkids. Melissa and Brian were locked out. No one could touch a cent.
Brian admitted he knew part of the plan. Melissa tried to keep pretending. I invited them for dinner, handed them the trust paperwork, and said: “Love shouldn’t come with a price tag.”
They left without a word. I haven’t heard from Melissa since. Brian sends photos, but they’re cold now. Detached.
Last week, a purple envelope came in the mail. Lily’s crayon drawing: three stick figures, one with gray hair, one with a tutu, one holding a lemon tart. “I love you, Grandma. I hope you always live in your big house.”
And that—that—was enough.