I thought Heather hit her limit when she asked me to sell my land so she could splurge on designer bags and spa days. But when I discovered the legal documents she secretly had drawn up, I stopped playing nice. She assumed I’d cave, but one quiet move on my part unraveled everything.
When Heather married my son, Matt, I welcomed her wholeheartedly. She came into the marriage with a toddler from a previous relationship, and I embraced that little boy as if he were my own grandson.
Later, when she and Matt had a child together, I stepped up like any mother would: babysitting whenever needed, dropping off groceries unprompted, and even gifting Heather my grandmother’s china as a keepsake when the baby was born.
I never expected thanks or recognition. I did it out of love. Being part of their lives — even in small ways — was enough for me.
In the beginning, their marriage seemed solid. But soon, the tone of Matt’s phone calls began to change.
“She keeps saying I need to be doing more,” he confided one night, clearly exhausted. “She says I lack ambition — that I’m just coasting through life.”
I set down my tea. “You’ve got a full-time job, a family, and barely any time for yourself. How is that coasting?”
He sighed. “She says our house is too small, our car too old. She wants more — more money, more status. She’s pushing me to get a second job or land a big promotion.”
I let his words settle before I responded.
“And how do you feel about it?” I asked.
“I’m tired,” he admitted. “I’m working extra hours, trying to keep up. But it’s never enough for her. She keeps comparing me to her friends’ husbands — says they’re more successful.”
I shook my head. “There will always be someone with more. But if she can’t see the value in what you’re already providing, then maybe this isn’t really about material things at all.”
His silence on the other end of the phone was heavier than any words.
“Matt,” I said gently, “not every season is about striving. Sometimes it’s about staying steady. About being present.”
He didn’t say anything, but I could sense the shift — like he was starting to feel trapped. And that scared me.
I had good reason to worry. Because the next time we spoke, he dropped a bombshell.
“Heather thinks maybe… maybe you should sell the land. You don’t really need it, right?”
But that land? It wasn’t just soil. It was memories. It was where my late husband had proposed to me, under the old cedar on the ridge. It was what paid for Matt’s college, what grounded our family when life was uncertain.