My Son’s Wife Texted: “We Appreciate The House… But Dorothy Doesn’t Want You At Thanksgiving…”

The Tally

That night I sat in my apartment, the one I’d moved into after selling the family home when my wife Margaret passed 5 years ago. Didn’t need all that space anymore. The place was quiet. Too quiet.

I’d been looking forward to Thanksgiving. To seeing my grandkids, to Emily showing me whatever new drawing she’d made, to Jacob explaining some complicated thing about dinosaurs that I’d pretend to follow.

My daughter Sarah called around 8. She lived in Vancouver, worked in tech, busy with her own life.

“Dad, Daniel told me about Thanksgiving. It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. That’s completely out of line. It’s one dinner.”

“Sarah, it’s not about the dinner. Dad, it’s about respect.” She paused. “Has this kind of thing happened before?”

I thought about it. Started adding things up in my head like I was tallying a quote for a job.

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe last Christmas. Dorothy insisted on opening presents at their place on Christmas morning instead of coming here like we usually did. She wanted the kids to wake up in their own beds, experience Christmas morning the right way. Made sense at the time.”

“Okay.”

“And last summer I’d planned to take the kids to Canada’s Wonderland. Had it scheduled for weeks. Day before, Clare calls, says Dorothy and Richard are in town unexpectedly. Wants to take the kids to the ROM instead. More educational, she said.”

“Dad…”

“Easter, Dorothy wanted them to come to Montreal. My birthday, Daniel canceled our dinner because Dorothy had gotten them tickets to some show. When Jacob had his sixth birthday party, Dorothy reorganized the whole thing. Moved it to a different venue, said the place Clare had chosen wasn’t appropriate.”

I stopped. Hearing it all listed out loud like that, it sounded worse than I’d realized.

“How long have you been keeping score?” Sarah asked quietly.

“I wasn’t. Not intentionally. I just… I kept telling myself it was fine. That I was being flexible. That it was important for Clare to have a good relationship with her mother. At the expense of the kids having a good relationship with their grandfather?”

I didn’t answer. Sarah sighed.

“What are you going to do?”

“Nothing. What can I do?”

“You could tell Daniel this isn’t okay.”

“He made his choice, Sarah. He chose not to cause conflict with his mother-in-law over his father.”

“So you’re just going to accept it?”

I looked around my apartment again. At the photos of Emily and Jacob on my bookshelf. At the Father’s Day card Emily had made me last year, still sitting on my desk because I couldn’t bring myself to put it away.

“I don’t know yet.”

After I hung up with Sarah I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about that house in Oakville. Not just the money, though $200,000 was nothing to sneeze at even for someone who’d saved carefully their whole life. But the work I’d put into it. The weekends I’d spent there after they moved in, fixing the porch, repairing the foundation, updating the electrical.

Daniel had been too busy with work and I’d told him it was fine, that I enjoyed the projects. I’d rebuilt the back deck myself. 72 years old, out there with my tools, measuring and cutting and nailing. Building a space where Daniel could have summer barbecues with his family. Where I thought I’d be welcome.

Thanksgiving came and went. I had dinner at a diner on Dundas Street. Turkey was dry, stuffing was from a box, gravy was thin. Waitress felt sorry for me, I could tell. Gave me extra pie.

My phone stayed quiet all day. No call from Daniel. No call from Claire. No video call from the grandkids. Around 8 that evening I got a text from Daniel: “Hope you had a good day Dad.”

That was it. No apology, no acknowledgement of what he’d done. Just a perfunctory message to ease his conscience. I didn’t respond.

Hard Truths

The next Sunday Daniel called. “Dad, you want to come over? Kids have been asking about you.”

“When’s Dorothy leaving?”

“She left yesterday.”

“I see. So now that your mother-in-law is gone I’m allowed back in the house I bought you?”

“Dad, don’t be like that.”

“Like what? Honest? You’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

I felt something shift in my chest. 42 years of business had taught me when someone was trying to negotiate from a position of bad faith. Daniel was using the same tactics I’d seen from contractors who’d tried to cheat clients. Minimize the problem, make the victim seem unreasonable, act like asking for basic respect was an imposition.

“Tell me something, Daniel. When you and Clare were looking at houses, do you remember what you said to me?”

He was quiet.

“You said you wanted your kids to grow up the way you did. With a grandfather who was around. Who taught them things. Who was part of their lives. You said that’s why you wanted to stay in the GTA instead of moving to Calgary for that job. Remember?”

“I remember.”

“So what changed?”

“Nothing changed Dad. You’re still part of their lives.”

“On whose terms?” No answer. “I’m going to tell you something and I want you to really hear it. When your mother was sick those last two years, Clare was wonderful. She helped with the nursing care. She organized meals. She sat with Margaret so I could get some rest. I will always be grateful for that. But that doesn’t mean I owe her mother unlimited access to my grandchildren at my expense.”

“Nobody’s saying you owe anyone anything.”

“That’s exactly what you’re saying. You’re saying I should accept being pushed aside whenever Dorothy decides she wants something. You’re saying I should be grateful for whatever scraps of time I get with Emily and Jacob.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying Daniel? Explain it to me. Make it make sense.”

I heard him breathing on the other end of the line.

“Clare’s mother is… she’s difficult. If we don’t do what she wants, she makes Clare miserable. It’s easier to just go along with what she wants.”

And there it was. The truth.

“So you chose easier.”

“I chose my marriage.”

“No son, you chose to prioritize your mother-in-law’s comfort over your father’s dignity. There’s a difference.”

I hung up.