After My Husband’s Funeral, My In-Laws Moved In and Told Me to Leave

A Childhood Interrupted

My name is Julie and this is the story of how my life was turned upside down not once but twice. I guess I should start from the beginning.

I was born to loving parents, Larry and Joanna David, in a small suburban town. My dad was a journalist and my mom worked as a nurse.

We weren’t rich, but we were happy. Life was pretty normal until I turned 14 and then everything changed.

It was a rainy Friday evening when my parents were driving home from a dinner party. I was at home with my grandma watching some silly cartoon when the phone rang.

I’ll never forget the chill that went through me when I heard my grandma crying softly in the kitchen. The next few days were a blur.

They told us mom had died instantly in the crash. Dad survived, but just barely.

When I finally saw him in the hospital, he was just a shadow of the man I once knew. His legs were crushed and the doctor said he’d never walk again.

“Julie,” he whispered, reaching for my hand. “I’m so sorry sweetie. I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t understand why he was apologizing. It wasn’t his fault.

A drunk driver had crashed into their car. But as I got older, I realized he was sorry for what our lives had become.

He was sorry for the struggles we would face, for the mother I had lost, and for the father he thought he could no longer be. But my dad, Larry David, was stronger than he gave himself credit for.

After he got out of the hospital and adjusted to life in a wheelchair, he threw himself into his work. He had always been a talented writer and now he focused all his energy on his job as an editor at the city’s major newspaper.

A Spark of Hope

As I entered my teenage years, dad made sure I had everything I needed. He encouraged me to join clubs, make friends, and have as normal a life as possible.

But the truth was I preferred spending time with him. We watched old movies together, argued about books, and he helped me with my homework.

When it was time for college, dad insisted that I go away to school.

“You need to spread your wings, Kiddo,” he said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

I was hesitant, but I knew he was right, so I went off to college. I went to the State University of New York and studied accounting.

That’s where I met Emma, who became my best friend. Through Emma, I met her second cousin, Paul.

Paul was kind and funny and he didn’t flinch when I told him about my dad. In fact, the first time he met dad, they got along right away, bonding over their shared love of classic rock.

Later, Paul told me: “Your dad is cool and you’re amazing for taking care of him all these years.”

I tried to play it off, but inside I was glowing. For the first time since the accident, I felt like maybe, just maybe, I could have a normal life.

I could have a life with love, laughter, and even a family of my own someday. After graduation, things started to fall into place like a puzzle.

I got a job at the local tax service and Paul started working as a long-haul truck driver. We dated for four years before he proposed to me on a crisp autumn evening in the park where we had our first date.

I was thrilled, but there was one thing I needed to make clear.

“Yes, Paul, but I can’t leave my dad. He needs me.”

Paul smiled wide and said: “I wouldn’t have it any other way. We’ll all live together. Your dad’s apartment is big enough for the three of us, right?”

The Shadows of Disapproval

The wedding was small but beautiful. Dad insisted on wheeling himself down the aisle to give me away.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the place. As I stood there holding Paul’s hand, I felt like I was living a fairy tale.

But every fairy tale has its villains and mine came in the form of my mother-in-law, Maria, and my sister-in-law, Olivia. From the moment I met them, I could tell they didn’t approve of me.

“So your father is handicapped?” Maria asked during our first meeting, wrinkling her nose like she smelled something bad.

“He’s disabled,” I corrected, trying to stay calm. “But he works as an editor.”

“How nice,” she interrupted, clearly not interested.

Then she turned to Paul and asked: “Are you sure about this? There are so many nice girls from good families.”

I felt my face flush with anger and embarrassment, but Paul immediately defended me.

“Mom, Julie is from a good family. Her dad’s disability doesn’t change that. I love her and that’s all that matters.”

That shut Maria up, but I could still see the disapproval in her eyes. Olivia, following her mother’s lead, was just as cold towards me.

After the wedding, true to his word, Paul moved in with dad and me, and our life settled into a comfortable routine. I’d go to work at the tax office while Paul was on the road for days at a time.

When he was home, we’d all have dinner together. But whenever Maria and Olivia visited, the atmosphere in our home changed.

They acted like they owned the place, barely acknowledging dad’s presence. Once I overheard Maria whispering to Olivia:

“It’s a shame. Paul could have done so much better. Now he’s stuck with this girl and her crippled father. What if they have children? Can you imagine the genes?”

I was furious, but I kept quiet for Paul’s sake. I tried to keep the peace, but it was getting harder and harder.

One evening after a particularly tense visit from Maria and Olivia, I broke down in tears. Paul found me in our bedroom crying.

“Hey, hey,” he said, pulling me into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

“Your mom and sister,” I said, sobbed. “They hate me. They think I’m not good enough for you because of dad.”

Paul’s face hardened.

“That’s ridiculous. You and your dad are my family now. If they can’t accept that, it’s their problem, not ours.”

His words comforted me, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of our troubles with Maria and Olivia.

Building a Home

As the months went by, Paul’s trucking business began to grow. He was always on the road, traveling across the country in his big rig.

I missed him terribly when he was gone, but I focused on my work at the tax office and spent my evenings keeping dad company. One crisp autumn evening, as I was helping dad into bed, Paul called.