“Cash or Card?” My Daughter-in-Law Asked Coldly After Dinner – Treating Me Like I Was Just Her Personal Wallet.

We left the tiny room. Jessica was in the living room, sitting on her new sofa, looking at her phone. She didn’t even look up as we passed, but I stopped.

Something in me broke, or maybe it was fixed. “Jessica,” She looked up.

“I want you to know something. You can keep the furniture, you can keep the new curtains, you can keep everything you changed.” “But this house, these walls, this roof—I paid for all of it with my sweat, with my hands. And I’m going to get it back.” Jessica laughed, but it was a nervous laugh.

“Good luck with that. The house is in Ryan’s name legally. You signed the papers. You have zero right to it.” I took one step closer—just one. “Do you know what’s saddest about all this?”

“It’s not that you took my house. It’s not that you made me live in a storage room.” “It’s that you convinced my son that it was okay. That’s what I’ll never forgive you for.” The words hung in the air.

I walked out of the house with Eleanor behind me. I heard fast footsteps. “Mom!”

It was Ryan; he had finally come downstairs. He was in the doorway, disheveled in wrinkled clothes. “Mom, wait! We have to talk!”

I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. “There’s nothing to talk about, Ryan. It’s all been said.” He came down the steps, toward me.