They say you never really know someone until you’ve lived with them. I thought I knew my mother-in-law, but everything changed when I decided to follow her. What I uncovered wasn’t just a secret; it was a ticking time bomb that threatened the peace of our home.
I used to think my life was predictable, with its comforting routine. I worked as a freelance graphic designer, which gave me the flexibility to be home most days while still bringing in a decent income.
A woman working on her laptop from home | Source: Midjourney
Xander, my husband, worked long hours at his law firm, so I often had the house to myself. It was peaceful until my mother-in-law, Cordelia, moved in three months ago.
After her husband passed away, she called us one night, her voice trembling.
“Olive, dear… I don’t know how to do this on my own,” she’d sobbed over the phone. “The house is so empty, so lonely… I just need to be around my family.”
An extremely sad senior woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
I glanced at Xander, and he nodded, looking concerned. We agreed to let Cordelia move in; it felt like the right thing to do for a grieving woman who’d just lost her partner of 40 years. But from the start, something felt off.
Cordelia had always been a little strange, but now her behavior was unpredictable. Every Thursday, she would leave early in the morning and return late in the evening, her clothes carrying a terrible stench: something rotten and damp, like decay. It lingered, clinging to the air and making me question what she was really up to.
A woman looks thoughtful and curious while sitting at home | Source: Midjourney
“Mom, where were you today?” Xander asked her one Thursday evening as she shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes avoiding ours. I stood by the stove, pretending to stir a pot of soup, trying not to wrinkle my nose at the smell.
“Oh, just out with some old friends,” she said, waving a hand dismissively, her smile tight and unconvincing.
A senior woman forces a smile while looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
“Every Thursday?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. “That must be some social circle.”
She glanced at me, her eyes lingering a moment too long, then shrugged. “We like to meet regularly. It’s good for the soul, you know, catching up with old friends.”
But that smell — it was like she’d been crawling through a sewer. The scent lingered long after she’d passed, a pungent blend of garbage and something wet and decayed. I could feel my curiosity gnawing at me, the way you can’t help but poke at a sore tooth.
A curious woman standing in the kitchen and looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
One Wednesday night, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Xander,” I whispered, nudging him awake. “Are you seriously buying that story?”
He blinked sleepily. “What story?”
“Your mom’s ‘out with old friends’ story,” I replied. “Every Thursday? And that smell… it’s not normal.”
He sighed. “Maybe she’s just grieving in her own way, Olive. People cope differently.”
I felt my jaw tighten. “And what way is that? Dumpster diving?”
He chuckled softly, half-asleep, “Let it go, love. It’s probably nothing.”
A man chuckles softly while lying in bed at night | Source: Midjourney
But it didn’t feel like “nothing.” It felt like a secret, and I needed to know.
The next Thursday, I called in sick and decided to follow her. I waited by the window, peeking through the blinds like some kind of amateur detective. Cordelia left the house at her usual time, dressed in her oversized coat, clutching her handbag tightly.
I kept a safe distance as she walked down the street, turning left at the end and then another left into an alley I didn’t even know existed. My heart pounded in my chest as I tailed her.
A woman is out on the street, looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
She stopped at the corner and looked around like she was checking for someone or something.
“Where are you going, Cordelia?” I whispered, more curious than ever.
I was expecting something harmless, maybe even laughable, like an old ladies’ knitting club or maybe a bingo night in a creepy basement. But what I found inside was nothing like that.
Cordelia didn’t meet up with friends. Instead, she made her way through the shadiest part of town, slipping into an old, run-down building that looked like it could collapse at any moment.
A senior woman standing outside an old building | Source: Midjourney
I hesitated outside, the walls covered in graffiti and the windows boarded up, but I took a deep breath and followed her inside. The air was thick with smoke, the kind that sticks to your skin, and the room was filled with the low hum of murmurs and distant laughter.
That’s when I saw it: a hidden, illegal casino tucked away in the back, reeking of stale smoke and the sour smell of desperation. The dimly lit room was filled with flashing lights and the sounds of poker chips clinking filled the air.
Stacks of poker chips on a table | Source: Pexels
And there, in the middle of it all, was my mother-in-law. Not just “hanging out with friends,” but gambling away every penny she could get her hands on, her eyes fixed on the cards in front of her, her hands trembling with each bet she placed.
I stayed in the shadows, barely breathing, watching her play hand after hand. She looked different, haggard, almost like she was wearing the weight of every decision she’d ever made. Her lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying over the noise.
A grayscale photo of a senior woman sitting in a casino with gambling chips lying on her table | Source: Midjourney
I saw her lose money, win a little, then lose it all again. She seemed almost possessed, her fingers shaking as she reached for the chips, her face lined with a mixture of desperation and obsession.
I wanted to pull her out of there, to grab her by the arm and drag her home, but I couldn’t move. I felt frozen, glued to the spot. I needed to see how far she would go. She didn’t leave until late in the evening, and when she finally did, she looked exhausted.
A senior woman looks exhausted while sitting in a casino | Source: Midjourney
Her eyes were glazed over, and her shoulders slumped like she was carrying the weight of her losses on her back.
I waited until she turned the corner before I followed, keeping my distance. As we walked back, I felt a wave of anger and pity twisting in my stomach. What had she gotten herself into? And why hadn’t she told us?
The next morning, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. At breakfast, I set my coffee cup down a little too hard. “Cordelia, where were you yesterday?” I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.
A woman looks serious while standing in the kitchen and looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
She barely looked up from her cereal. “With friends, like I told you.”
“Stop lying, Cordelia,” I snapped. “I followed you. I know where you were.”
Her spoon clattered against the bowl, and she went pale. “You… you followed me?”
Xander looked between us, confused. “What’s going on?”
“She wasn’t with friends, Xander,” I said, my gaze fixed on her. “She was at an illegal casino, gambling. And from the looks of it, she’s been doing it for a while.”
A senior woman gambling in a casino | Source: Midjourney
Cordelia’s face crumpled, and she broke down. “I… I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I’ve lost everything… everything. I had nowhere else to go. That’s why I begged you to let me stay. I was ashamed, and I didn’t know how to tell you…”
Xander’s face turned a deep shade of red. “You mean to tell me you’ve been lying to us this whole time? Using us?”
“I didn’t mean to!” she cried. “I didn’t know how to stop. I thought maybe… maybe I could win it all back.”
A grayscale photo of a senior woman looking sad and desperate | Source: Midjourney
I felt a pang of guilt, but it was overshadowed by the anger boiling inside me. “You’ve been draining us, Cordelia. We took you in because we cared, not so you could feed your addiction.”
She looked at me, her face streaked with tears. “I know, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll change. Just… don’t throw me out. Please.”
That night, Xander and I lay in bed, unable to sleep. “We have to do something,” I whispered. “We can’t just let her keep doing this.”
Xander sighed deeply. “What do you suggest, Olive? Tough love?”
A man looking at his wife while sitting in bed at night | Source: Midjourney
I nodded. “Exactly. If she’s not going to stop on her own, then we’ll have to make her stop.”
The following Thursday, I handed her a large sum of cash, more than she had seen in one place since she’d moved in with us. Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I saw that familiar spark of greed.
“Go ahead,” I said, forcing a smile. “Take this and do whatever you want with it.”
A woman forcing a smile while looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
She hesitated for just a second before snatching the money and stuffing it into her purse.
“Thank you, Olive,” she murmured, her voice shaking, but she didn’t meet my eyes. And then she was gone, practically running out the door.
Xander stood behind me, his arms crossed. “Are you sure about this?”
“Trust me,” I replied. “She won’t get far.”
Earlier that day, I had made a few calls, and by the time Cordelia reached the casino, the place was swarming with undercover cops. The raid went down right as she was about to hand over the cash.
Two cops standing in a casino | Source: Midjourney
I wasn’t there to see it, but I could imagine the look on her face: shock, maybe a little betrayal, as they caught her red-handed, along with the owners of the illegal casino.
That evening, the phone rang. It was the police. “Mrs. Fields?” the officer said. “We have your mother-in-law in custody.”
“We know,” I replied calmly. “And we’re not bailing her out. You should know she’s been struggling with a gambling addiction. We want her to get help.”
A woman talking on her phone | Source: Midjourney
The officer seemed taken aback but eventually agreed to include our statement in the report. The judge showed no mercy; Cordelia was sentenced to mandatory rehabilitation and a hefty fine.
Months later, when she was released from rehab, Cordelia looked different. She seemed smaller, more fragile. She stood in our doorway, wringing her hands.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice raw. “I know I hurt you both, and I’m ready to make it right. I want to rebuild my life.”
A senior woman looks sad and ashamed | Source: Midjourney
Xander and I exchanged a look. He stepped forward, his expression soft but firm.
“We’re willing to give you another chance, Mom,” he said, “but on our terms. We’ve found you a modest apartment nearby. We’ll cover the rent, but only if you keep your word and attend your support group meetings.”
Cordelia nodded eagerly, tears in her eyes. “I will. I swear. Thank you… thank you for giving me a chance.”
As we watched her walk away to her new home, I couldn’t help but feel a flicker of hope mixed with the fear of another betrayal.
A woman looks hopeful and a bit fearful while standing outside her house and looking at something | Source: Midjourney
We’d done all we could, and the rest was up to her. The ball was in her court, and only time would tell if she could truly change.
But when Natasha starts to see a change in Marlene’s behavior, she begins to get worried about the old woman. Eventually, when the truth is revealed, Natasha doesn’t know what to do.
Two women cooking together | Source: Pexels
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My Parents Gave Me $10,000 to Pay for College — I Was Shocked to Find Out What They Wanted in Return
My Parents Gave Me $10,000 to Pay for College — I Was Shocked to Find Out What They Wanted in Return
I am about to graduate high school and I have been applying to universities and going on tours. My parents decided to gift me $10,000 to cover college costs. I was excited about this gift until they told me what they wanted in return. I refused their terms and walked away but now they are calling me ungrateful.
Parents giving cash gift to daughter | Source: Getty Images
Growing up in a small state with big dreams, I always envisioned my future in New York pursuing my dreams. My vibrant brushstrokes, which had been a part of me almost all my life, kept my dream going.
My room was a kaleidoscope of colors, filled to the brim with paintings that spoke volumes of my journey through high school. I won art competitions and its perks were evident in the array of accolades adorning my walls.
A young woman painting | Source: Getty Images
But art wasn’t just about the trophies; it was about the stories behind each brushstroke, each piece holding a piece of my heart. Among these masterpieces, a subtle hint of my side gig lingered, paintings created with love, for lovers, whispering tales of romance and passion.
A room with framed artwork | Source: Getty Images
Painting was more than a hobby to me, it was my passion and my identity. My parents, on the other hand, saw it as a fleeting interest, something that would never sustain a ‘real’ career. They encouraged me to explore more ‘practical’ fields, but my heart was set on pursuing an art degree in New York, a city that pulsed with creativity and opportunity.
A woman painting her room | Source: Getty Images
One evening, amidst my college applications and tours, the dinner table conversation started off innocently enough. My parents had a surprise for me, a gesture so generous it left me speechless. “We’ve decided to give you $10,000 to help pay for college,” my mom announced, her smile as warm as the summer sun.
I was over the moon. “Thank you so much! This means I can apply to my dream art schools in New York!” I exclaimed, visions of bustling city streets and inspiring art galleries dancing in my head.
A happy daughter receiving cash gift from parents | Source: Getty Images
But the warmth quickly faded as my dad cleared his throat, signaling the onset of conditions I hadn’t anticipated. “There are two rules,” he said sternly. “First, you can’t leave the state for university. And second, you can only choose from the degrees we approve of — medicine or law. We don’t think an art degree is the right path for you.”
My heart sank. “But I’ve been painting my whole life. You know how much this means to me,” I countered, trying to keep my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.
A daughter sad at her parents terms | Source: Getty Images
“We’re doing this for your own good, Ruth. Stop being ungrateful. We just want you to have a secure future,” my mom chimed in, her voice softer but no less firm.
The argument that ensued was not just heated; it was a clash of dreams and practicalities, each word sharp with the tension of unmet expectations. “How can you call it help if it comes with strings that strangle my dreams?” I cried out, my voice cracking under the strain of emotion. My parents, steadfast in their stance, responded with equal fervor.
A mother repremanding daughter | Source: Getty Images
“Ruth, we’re not trying to strangle your dreams, that is an ungrateful thing to say. We’re trying to ensure you have a future that’s not dependent on whims,” my dad countered, his tone laced with frustration and concern.
“Art isn’t a whim! It’s who I am. Don’t you understand? By restricting me to medicine or law, you’re asking me to give up a part of myself,” I shot back, desperation creeping into my voice. Each word felt like a plea for them to see me, to really see the person I was and the dreams I harbored.
Very upset parents scolding their daughter | Source: Getty Images
My mom sighed, her usual composure faltering. “We’ve seen too many struggles in fields like art. We don’t want that life for you. Can’t you see we’re doing this out of love?”
“But love shouldn’t come with conditions that force me into a mold I don’t fit,” I argued, my heart aching with the need to be understood. “I appreciate the gift, I really do. But if it means sacrificing my passion, my dreams, then what’s it worth? Isn’t my happiness and fulfillment important too?”
Angry father with daughter | Source: Getty Images
The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. I stood there, feeling more alienated than ever. It was clear that the gap between us wasn’t just about the money or even about my career choice; it was about recognition, about them not validating my identity and aspirations.
Unable to bear the weight of their expectations and the pain of feeling so fundamentally misunderstood, I stormed out, the sound of my departure echoing through the house.
A daughter leaving home | Source: Getty Images
The door slammed shut behind me, a symbolic closure to a conversation that left me feeling more lost and alone than before. The gift that was meant to pave my way to the future now felt like chains binding me to a path I couldn’t walk, a future I couldn’t accept.
In the weeks that followed, I sought refuge at my friend’s place, a sanctuary where I could escape the stifling atmosphere of my home. It was a time of reflection and, surprisingly, of understanding. I realized that my parents’ intentions, albeit misguided, came from a place of love. They wanted me close, and safe in a career they deemed secure.
A sad daughter | Source: Getty Images
But a fire still burned within me, a desire to follow my dreams. I started working on a presentation, pouring my heart into every slide. I gathered testimonials from successful artists, statistics on the demand for creative professionals, and a detailed budget plan to manage my expenses beyond the $10,000 gift. My aim was to show not just the viability of an art degree but the depth of my commitment to my passion.
A daughter thinking about her future | Source: Getty Images
With the presentation ready, I reached out to my parents, asking for a chance to discuss my future. They agreed, and on the day of the meeting, a mix of nerves and determination filled me. As I walked into the hotel lobby to meet my parents, a knot tightened in my stomach, and my palms grew clammy with nerves.
Nervous woman walking | Source: Getty Images
Despite my determination, fear gnawed at me, whispering doubts and uncertainties. The weight of the impending conversation pressed heavily upon me, each step forward feeling like a leap into the unknown. Yet, amidst the fear, a flicker of hope persisted, driving me forward with the belief that this meeting could change everything.
Nervous daughter presenting to parents | Source: Getty Images
“Mom, Dad, I understand your concerns, but I need you to see things from my perspective,” I began, as soon as we were done with the pleasantries. Clicking through slides that represented my dreams and plans. I spoke of compromise, of understanding, of a future where passion and pragmatism could coexist.
A woman presenting | Source: Getty Images
“Pursuing art is not just an urge; it’s my passion, my calling. I need the freedom to explore this path fully,” I said meeting my parents’ gaze with determination.
Acknowledging their worries, I continued, “I know you want what’s best for me, and I appreciate that. So, here’s what I’m proposing, regular check-ins and updates on my progress. You’ll see firsthand how committed I am to making this work. Please, trust me to follow my dreams.”
Parents listening to their daughter | Source: Getty Images
As I talked, I saw the change in their expressions, from skepticism to contemplation, and finally, to understanding. “We never realized how much this meant to you,” my dad admitted, his voice softer than I’d heard in weeks. “Your presentation… it’s clear you’ve thought this through.”
Happy parents with daughter | Source: Getty Images
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