My 3 Children Visited Me For The First Time In Years To “Save” Me. Then I Found Their Secret Group Chat Titled “Mom’s Situation.” Now They’re All Disinherited And My Granddaughter Is Getting Everything.
The Uninvited Guests
They hadn’t called in three years, and yet here they were—all three of them—sitting in my living room with real estate brochures spread across my coffee table like a verdict. I was still holding the watering can when I heard the car doors slam. Three of them, one after another.
I set the can down by the begonias and wiped my hands on my apron, watching through the screen door as my children walked up the path like strangers visiting an open house. My son Kevin came first, briefcase in hand, wearing that suit he always wore when he wanted something.
Behind him, my daughter Patricia, heels clicking on the pavement, sunglasses pushed up into her hair like she was auditioning for a magazine cover. And last, my youngest, Danny, hands shoved in his pockets, looking everywhere except at me.
68 years old, and I could still read them like picture books.
“Mom,” Kevin said, stepping onto the porch with that smile he saved for clients. “You look great. The garden’s really coming along.”
I didn’t move from the doorway.
“The garden’s been coming along for 40 years. You’ve just never noticed,” I said.
Patricia laughed. Too bright, too quick. Always so sharp.
“Mom, can we come in? We brought lunch.”
She held up a paper bag from some restaurant I’d never heard of. Probably cost more than my weekly groceries. I stepped aside and let them in. Not because I wanted to, but because I’d spent my whole life stepping aside for them.
Old habits, I suppose, are the hardest to break.
The Presentation
They settled into the living room, the same room where I’d read them bedtime stories, where I’d helped them with homework, where I’d sat alone every Christmas for the past five years while they celebrated with their in-laws in other states. The furniture had faded. The curtains needed replacing. But the walls still held their school photos, their graduation pictures, their wedding portraits.
Evidence of a life I’d given to raising them.
“Teas already made,” I said. “I’ll get cups in the kitchen.”
I took my time, listened to them whisper in the other room. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew the tone. The planning tone. The “something we need to discuss” tone.
When I returned with the tea tray, Kevin had spread papers across my coffee table. Charts, graphs, property listings. My house, I realized, was circled in red on one of the pages.
“What’s all this?” I asked, setting down the tray.
Kevin cleared his throat.
“Mom, we’ve been talking, all of us. And we think it’s time to have a serious conversation about your future.”
“My future,” I repeated.
Patricia leaned forward, her voice soft like she was talking to a child.
“This house is too big for you, Mom. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, all this yard work… and the neighborhood isn’t what it used to be.”
“The neighborhood is fine,” I said. “The Hendersons still bring me tomatoes every summer. The Martinez family shovels my driveway in winter.”
Danny finally spoke, not looking at me.
“It’s about being practical, Mom. Houses like this, they’re worth a lot right now. Market’s hot. You could sell, move into something smaller. Maybe one of those senior communities with activities and… and what…”
“Bingo nights and cafeteria meals,” I interrupted.
Kevin held up a hand.
“Just hear us out. If you sold the house, you’d have enough to set yourself up somewhere nice, and there’d be some leftover. Money you could invest, or…”
He paused, glanced at his siblings.
“…money you could help the family with.”
The Real Reason
There it was. The real reason they’d driven six hours to sit in my living room. Not to check on me, not to see if I was lonely or sick or struggling, but to discuss what they could gain from what I’d spent my whole life building.
“Help the family,” I said slowly. “Which family would that be? The one that forgot to call on my birthday last March? The one that didn’t visit when I had my hip replaced? That family?”
Patricia’s smile flickered.
“Mom, that’s not fair. We’ve all been dealing with our own things. Kevin’s business has been struggling. Danny’s going through the divorce. And Mark and I are trying to… trying to…”
“What?” She hesitated.
“We’re trying to expand. The investment property in Florida didn’t work out the way we hoped, and we’re a little underwater right now.”
I looked at each of them. Kevin, who’d borrowed $15,000 eight years ago to start a consulting firm and never mentioned repayment. Patricia, who’d asked me to cosign her mortgage when she was 29 and then refinanced without telling me, leaving me liable for her debt for three more years. Danny, who’d called me crying at 2 a.m. when his wife left, who I’d wired money to for a lawyer, who’d never once said thank you.
“How much?” I asked.
Kevin blinked. “What?”
“How much do you need?” I asked. “That’s why you’re here. So let’s skip the real estate presentation and get to the number.”
Danny shifted uncomfortably. Kevin smoothed his tie. Patricia looked at her nails.
“The house is worth about 400,000,” Kevin finally said. “If you downsize to an apartment, you’d need maybe 50 for deposits and moving costs. That leaves 350. Split three ways.”
“Split three ways,” I repeated. “You’ve already divided it up.”
“It’s just a starting point for discussion,” Patricia said quickly. “We’d never pressure you. But think about it, Mom. You’re almost 70, living alone. What if something happens? At least if you were in a community, there’d be people around, and you’d know that you helped us when we needed it most.”
I set my teacup down carefully. So carefully because my hands wanted to shake, and I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
