My Parents Tricked Me Into Thinking They Cared, So I Tricked Them Into Regretting It.

Finding the Truth at Grandma’s

I found my grandmother’s number and called her that evening. She sounded surprised to hear from me but not displeased.

“Well, this is unexpected,”

she said.

“Last I heard, you were having some sort of breakdown.”

“Let me guess,”

I said.

“Mom and Dad told you that.”

“They did indeed,”

she confirmed.

“I had my doubts. You always seemed like the most level-headed one in the family.”

Over the next hour, I gave my grandmother the whole story, starting from childhood and ending with the cafe incident that day. She listened without interrupting, occasionally making small noises of acknowledgment.

When I finished, there was a long silence.

“Your mother was always troubled,”

she finally said.

“And your father enables her worst tendencies. I tried to intervene when you were young, but they cut me off. Said I was interfering.”

A memory suddenly surfaced: my grandmother visiting when I was about eight, getting into a heated argument with my parents, and then not seeing her again for years. I had forgotten all about it.

“So you believe me?”

I asked, my voice smaller than I intended.

“Of course I believe you,”

she said firmly.

“And I think I know what this is really about.”

“What do you mean? Have they mentioned money recently? Asked for loans or financial help?”

she asked.

“Yes, actually. How did you know?”

My grandmother sighed.

“Because they’ve been calling me too, asking for advances on their inheritance. When I refused, they started suggesting I was becoming senile and might need help managing my affairs.”

I felt sick.

“That’s exactly what they’re doing to me. They’ve convinced themselves I’m secretly wealthy.”

“No, it’s worse than that,”

my grandmother said.

“They know exactly what they’re doing. They’ve been doing it for years to different family members. Your grandfather and I eventually had to cut them off completely from any financial support.”

We talked for another hour, comparing notes on their manipulation tactics. It was validating to hear that someone else in the family saw through them, but also devastating to realize how deep and calculated their behavior was.

“I want you to come visit me,”

my grandmother said before we hung up.

“Next month. We have a lot to discuss, and I think you’ll be safer away from them for a while.”

I agreed, feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks. When I told Tyler about the conversation, he was enthusiastic about me visiting my grandmother.

“It’ll be good for you to get away,”

he said.

“And it sounds like she really gets it.”

The next few weeks were relatively quiet. No dramatic appearances from my parents, no new financial attacks.

It felt like the calm before a storm, but I tried to enjoy the peace while it lasted. I focused on work, spent time with friends who supported me, and continued therapy sessions.

Then, 2 days before I was scheduled to fly out to visit my grandmother, I received a plain white envelope in the mail with no return address. Inside was a single photograph of me entering my therapist’s office, clearly taken from a parked car across the street.

On the back was written, “We know everything.” I showed the photo to Tyler, who looked as disturbed as I felt.

“That’s really creepy,”

he said, turning the photo over in his hands.

“You need to tell your therapist about this.”

I called my therapist immediately and arranged an emergency session for that afternoon. I brought the photograph with me, explaining how I’d received it and what had been happening.

My therapist examined the photo carefully.

“This crosses a line into potentially dangerous behavior,”

she said.

“I’m concerned about your safety.”

“What should I do?”

I asked.

“The police won’t do anything without direct threats.”

“Document everything as you’ve been doing,”

she advised.

“But also consider temporarily relocating somewhere your parents wouldn’t know about. Your trip to visit your grandmother is good timing.”

She also suggested I check my car and phone for tracking devices or spyware. Tyler helped me go through my car that evening, checking underneath and in wheel wells for any unusual devices.

We didn’t find anything, but the experience left me feeling paranoid and exposed. The next day at work, I was called into my boss’s office.

She looked uncomfortable as I sat down.

“We received some concerning information about you,”

she began, sliding a folder across her desk. Inside was a printout of what looked like a police report with my name on it, detailing a DUI arrest and a charge of assaulting an officer.

The date listed was during my sophomore year of college.

“This never happened,”

I said immediately.

“This is fabricated. I’ve never been arrested.”

My boss looked relieved.

“I hope that was the case. It didn’t seem like you.”

The email came from an anonymous account, which seemed suspicious. I explained the situation with my parents briefly, emphasizing that they were actively trying to damage my reputation.

My boss was understanding but concerned.

“If you need time off to deal with this, just let me know,”

she said.

“And I’ll alert IT to block future emails from unknown senders.”

I thanked her and went back to my desk feeling shaken. My parents were escalating their attacks, targeting my career now.

I called my lawyer and updated her on the latest developments. She agreed that we had enough for a harassment case but warned me it would mean prolonged contact with my parents through the legal system.

“Going to court against them means you’ll have to see them regularly,”

she explained.

“And family cases can drag on for months or even years. Are you prepared for that kind of sustained contact?”

I wasn’t sure I was. The thought of being in the same room with them repeatedly, having to listen to their lies, was exhausting just to contemplate.

But the alternative—living in constant fear of their next attack—seemed worse.

“Let me think about it,”

I told her.

“I’m visiting my grandmother this weekend. I’ll make a decision when I get back.”

The day before my flight, I received a friend request on social media from my cousin Richard. I hadn’t spoken to Richard in years, but we’d been close as kids before my parents had some mysterious falling out with his parents.

Hesitantly, I accepted the request, thinking perhaps another family member was reaching out in support. Almost immediately, Richard messaged me, asking about my success and investments.

Something felt off about his wording; it was too similar to things my parents had said. I did some checking and discovered the account had been created just a week earlier.

This wasn’t Richard at all; it was a fake account created to gather information about me. I immediately blocked the account and implemented a strict “trust no one” policy regarding family connections.

I warned Tyler to be careful about any messages he might receive that seemed to be from my relatives, as my parents might be creating multiple fake profiles. The next morning, as I was packing for my grandmother’s visit, Tyler called me into the living room.