They Robbed Me, so I Made Them Homeless

The day before I am supposed to move into a nursing home, my daughter-in-law, Emily Freeman, cancels the deposit I have already paid without my permission.

"It's not easy for Ryan to earn money. Instead of helping us save money, you want to stay somewhere so expensive," Emily complains.

I frown and explain that I paid with my own money.

Her expression darkens as she rants, "Isn't your money our money? Besides, how much money can you possibly have? Didn't you get all of it from Ryan anyway?

"You don't help take care of the kids or do any housework. Now, you're just bleeding us dry so that you can enjoy yourself!"

My son, Ryan Pratt, sides with her and criticizes me as well. "Mom, this is such a waste of money. If you ask me, you might as well go to a senior community and get a bed there for ten dollars. Someone will still take care of you."

I am so furious that I faint on the spot and am rushed to the hospital. With the refunded money, Ryan takes Emily and goes on vacation abroad with his in-laws.

After being discharged, the first thing I do is put the apartment I once gave my son as a wedding gift up for sale with a real estate agent.

Three days after my son, Ryan Pratt, brought me to live at his house, I found a decent nursing home. By the time I finished paying the fees and signing the contract, it was already past 6:00 pm.

When I returned home, my daughter-in-law, Emily Freeman, was sprawled on the couch watching TV. The remnants of her pizza sat abandoned on the coffee table.

She shot me an irritated glance as I walked through the door. "Where have you been? You didn't come back to cook dinner. I had to pick up Mason myself and put him to sleep."

I did my best to ignore the dissatisfaction dripping from her voice as I began clearing the messy table. "I told you this morning that I had something to take care of and couldn't pick Mason up. I spent the afternoon finding a nursing home. I'll be moving there next week."

Emily's eyes, which had been glazed over with boredom, suddenly lit up. She twisted around to face me.

"A nursing home? We just brought you here to live with us, and now you want to leave? Which one did you find?"

Her words sounded disapproving, but her tone gave her away. On the day my husband was buried, she and my son had held my hand and spoken with such apparent sincerity about wanting me to move in with them.

After I arrived, though, I quickly sensed Emily's dislike and impatience simmering beneath the surface.

I told her the name of the nursing home. Her excitement vanished.

A beat passed before she spoke again, urgency creeping into her voice. "Everglade Manor? How much per month?"

"Five thousand."

She practically shrieked. "Five thousand dollars? That expensive? Your son may earn good money, but we can't afford you throwing it around like this!"

I kept my tone even. "I'm using my own money. You don't need to pay for me."

Emily had already jerked upright from her slouch against the cushions. She let out a cold laugh.

"How much money could a regular office worker possibly have saved for retirement? It's still the money Ryan gave you before.

"You're canceling it tomorrow! It's bad enough you won't help us with childcare and housework like other mothers-in-law, but you also want to drain five thousand dollars a month to pamper yourself? You really think we're that easy to take advantage of?"

She stood abruptly and stormed into the bedroom. Within moments, I heard her voice rising and falling as she made a phone call.

I stood frozen in the living room, a mix of hurt and anger building in my chest. If they didn't want to live with me, why had they insisted on bringing me here in the first place?

Back home, I had familiar neighbors and friends. I could take care of myself perfectly well. They had insisted I come, even going so far as to rent out my house.

Now I was taking the initiative to spend my own money on a nursing home, and Emily still wasn't satisfied?

Carrying my frustration with me, I retreated to my bedroom, determined to talk with my son when he got home. But Ryan still wasn't home by 11:00 pm. I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer and fell asleep.

The next morning when I woke, Ryan was already gone. He usually dropped off my grandson, Mason Pratt, at school on his way to work, but there was no sign of him. Emily wasn't home either.

Only Mason sat on the couch, absorbed in a tablet. I hurriedly got him ready and took him to kindergarten myself.

The moment I dropped him off and turned toward the supermarket to buy groceries, my phone buzzed with a message.