We all hope for a supportive and loving mother-in-law, but sometimes, reality delivers something far different.
These jaw-dropping stories reveal the outrageous antics of entitled MILs who cross boundaries, manipulate, and wreak havoc. From a wedding day power struggle to a shocking home birth hijacking, these unbelievable tales will have you gasping and cheering for the daughters-in-law who bravely fight back.
A bride screaming | Source: Midjourney
My MIL Demanded to Sit Between Me and Her Son at Our Wedding – She Didn’t Expect Me to Agree So Easily
When I agreed to Patricia’s absurd demand on my wedding day, I saw the look of triumph on her face. She thought she’d won, and that I’d back down like I always had before.
But this time was different.
When I got engaged to Ethan, I knew I wasn’t just marrying him.
I was also marrying into his tight-knit, borderline suffocating relationship with his mother, Patricia. From the moment we announced our engagement, she seemed to think it was her wedding, not mine.
A man holding a woman’s hand | Source: Pexels
“Oh, Julia, lilies are too plain for a wedding,” she’d said during our first meeting with the florist, wrinkling her nose. “Roses are more elegant. Ethan loves roses, don’t you, sweetheart?”
I just smiled as I reminded myself to pick my battles. But it wasn’t just the flowers.
She had opinions on everything. And guess what? She even had the audacity to tell me what to wear on my big day.
“Are you sure you want to wear something so… fitted?” she asked during a fitting. “It might be uncomfortable for the ceremony.”
A mature woman looking straight ahead | Source: Midjourney
I laughed it off, but deep down, I was fuming.
One evening, I invited her over for dinner. I spent hours cooking Ethan’s favorite lasagna from scratch, with garlic bread and a Caesar salad.
When she arrived, I greeted her warmly.
When Ethan tasted the lasagna, he couldn’t help but praise my cooking skills. But Patricia couldn’t watch her son speak in my favor.
“Well, of course, it’s good,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Lasagna isn’t exactly rocket science, is it?”
A dish of lasagna | Source: Pexels
Ethan didn’t even notice what her mother said, while I could feel my cheeks burning.
Later that evening, as I cleared the plates, she cornered me in the kitchen.
“Julia,” she began, “I know you mean well, but a man like Ethan needs more than just a pretty face and a passable lasagna. Marriage is a lot of work, dear.”
I wanted to snap back, to tell her to stop undermining me in my own home. But instead, I nodded and said, “Thank you for the advice, Patricia. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Similar incidents kept piling up. But even with that, I never expected Patricia to pull a stunt at the wedding itself.
A bride standing at her wedding | Source: Pexels
That was the moment I realized I couldn’t stay silent anymore.
The day of the wedding was beautiful.
I should’ve been focused on the joy of marrying Ethan, but the moment Patricia arrived, it was clear the spotlight wasn’t mine to keep.
She stepped out of her car in a white, floor-length lace dress with glittering rhinestones, a small train trailing behind her.
A woman at her son’s wedding | Source: Midjourney
For a second, I thought she’d accidentally swapped dresses with me. Then I realized it wasn’t an accident.
“Ethan, darling! Look at you!” Patricia beamed, rushing over to him as I stood just a few feet away. “Doesn’t he look like the most handsome man in the world, Julia?” she asked, not waiting for an answer as she smoothed his tie and kissed his cheek.
I smiled tightly. “He does, Patricia. You must be so proud.”
“Oh, I am,” she gushed. “He’s always been my rock, my number one.”
That was Patricia’s signature move. To make sure everyone knew exactly where she stood in Ethan’s life.
At that point, I reminded myself to breathe.
A woman in her wedding gown | Source: Midjourney
When it was time for the reception, I was ready to let go of the small jabs and focus on enjoying the evening.
Ethan and I walked to the head table, hand in hand, smiling at our guests. But just as we reached our seats, I noticed Patricia hovering nearby.
Before I could process what was happening, she grabbed a chair from a nearby table, dragged it loudly across the floor, and wedged it right between Ethan and me.
“There!” she announced, plopping down with a smug smile. “Now I can sit next to my son. I wouldn’t want to miss a moment with him on such a special day.”
A mature woman at her son’s wedding reception | Source: Midjourney
A ripple of gasps spread through the room.
I glanced at Ethan, waiting for him to say something, anything, to put this situation right.
Instead, he just shrugged.
“Patricia, this is the bride and groom’s table,” I said. “We’re supposed to sit together.”
“Oh, Julia,” she sighed. “Don’t be so sensitive. I am the most important woman in his life, and I always will be. You should respect that.”
That’s when Ethan finally spoke up. But he didn’t say what I wanted him to.
“It’s fine, babe,” he said, as if this were no big deal. “It’s just a chair.”
A man at his wedding | Source: Midjourney
Just a chair? Alright.
“You know what, Patricia?” I said with a sweet smile. “You’re absolutely right. Let’s do it your way.”
Her face lit up with surprise, and she grinned as though she’d won.
Little did she know, I had a plan in my mind that would make her face flush with embarrassment.
A young woman thinking about her plan | Source: Midjourney
Patricia leaned back in her chair, basking in what she clearly thought was her victory.
Meanwhile, Ethan busied himself greeting guests as though nothing unusual had happened.
I stayed seated for a few minutes as I forced a smile and pretended to go along with the charade.
“Excuse me for a moment,” I said, standing up and smoothing my dress. “I need to step away for a bit.”
Neither Patricia nor Ethan paid much attention as I walked toward the hallway.
A bride walking away | Source: Midjourney
Once I was out of sight, I pulled out my phone to make an important call.
“Hi, this is Julia,” I said, my voice calm. “I need to make a last-minute adjustment to the cake. Yes, I know it’s short notice, but it’s really important.”
The person on the other end hesitated for a moment before asking for details. I smiled to myself.
A close-up shot of a woman’s lips | Source: Pexels
“I’ll send you a photo right now,” I continued. “Just follow the instructions, and make sure it’s delivered before the cake cutting. Can you make it happen?”
The answer was a tentative yes, and I quickly sent over the picture and specifics.
By the time I returned to the head table, Patricia was still holding court, reliving one of Ethan’s childhood stories for the hundredth time.
A woman standing in a hallway | Source: Midjourney
I sat down quietly, keeping my eyes on her and mentally counting down the moments until my plan unfolded.
Then came the time for the first dance, and I was ready for Patricia’s next move.
Sure enough, as the music started and Ethan extended a hand toward me, Patricia swooped in like a hawk. I stood there and watched as they swayed to the music.
A woman ready for the dance | Source: Midjourney
Patricia beamed as she danced with her son, while the guests exchanged uneasy glances.
“That’s… unusual,” I heard one guest murmur.
“Isn’t the first dance supposed to be with the bride?” another whispered.
But I just smiled, keeping my expression serene.
This was all going exactly how I wanted it to.
A woman smiling at the camera | Source: Midjourney
After what felt like an eternity, Ethan finally returned to the table.
“Sorry about that,” he mumbled as he sat down.
“It’s fine,” I lied.
And then came the moment I’d been waiting for. The cake cutting.
The lights dimmed, and my bridesmaids carried in the three-tiered masterpiece.
Patricia’s smile widened as the cake approached, but when it came fully into view, she looked at it with wide eyes.
A close-up shot of a woman’s face | Source: Midjourney
Perched on top of the cake were two figurines, and they were not of a bride and groom.
Instead, they showed a groom and his mother, posed arm-in-arm. The resemblance was uncanny. Ethan’s tie and Patricia’s pearl necklace were all there.
“Surprise!” I cheered. “How’s the cake, Patricia?”
“Julia…” she stammered, her voice trembling. “W-What is this supposed to mean?”
A woman standing outdoors | Source: Midjourney
I stood up slowly with the microphone in my hand.
“Patricia, Ethan,” I smiled as I looked at them. “I wanted to honor the bond you two share. It’s clear to everyone here that you’re the real pair of the evening. So, please cut this beautiful symbol of your relationship together. You deserve it.”
The room erupted into murmurs, a few stifled giggles escaping here and there. Patricia’s hands shook as I placed the knife in her grasp.
“Go on,” I said sweetly. “Everyone’s watching.”
A woman at her wedding reception | Source: Midjourney
“Julia,” she hissed through gritted teeth. “This is inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate?” I echoed with mock surprise. “Oh, Patricia, don’t be so sensitive. After all, you’re the most important woman in his life. Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me?”
A ripple of laughter spread through the guests, and I knew I had them on my side. Meanwhile, Patricia’s friends exchanged awkward glances.
Two women attending the wedding reception of their friend’s son | Source: Midjourney
I leaned into the microphone one last time. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have better things to do than fight for scraps of attention on my own wedding day.”
I turned on my heel, signaled to my bridesmaids, and walked out of the reception.
Behind me, I heard chairs shuffle, whispers grow louder, and the faint clinking of glasses. The crowd was beginning to disperse, leaving Patricia and Ethan in the awkward spotlight.
A close-up shot of a woman with a serious look | Source: Midjourney
By the time we reached the limo, my bridesmaids and I were laughing so hard, we could barely breathe.
We popped champagne and toasted to freedom. They understood why I did what I did, and why I would soon be filing for annulment from Ethan.
My MIL Gifted Us a House for Our Wedding – A Week After Moving In, I Demanded We Return It or End Our Marriage
Sarah and I were six years into the most solid, unshakeable love. Our wedding was the culmination of that, a celebration of all we’d built together.
A couple on their wedding day | Source: Midjourney
Just when I thought the day couldn’t get any better, Sarah’s mother stood to toast us.
“To my darling daughter and her new husband,” Janice said, holding up her glass. “May your life together be as strong and secure as the foundation you build upon, starting with this.”
A waiter wheeled over a silver tray bearing a sleek folder. Janice opened it with a flourish, revealing the deed to a house.
A woman holding a folder | Source: Midjourney
My heart swelled. A house! I turned to Sarah, expecting her to share my excitement, but her hand on mine felt stiff and clammy. Her smile didn’t quite meet her eyes.
This should have been a clue, but I chalked it up to wedding-day jitters.
That was my first mistake.
I almost cried when we moved in. This wasn’t any old house but a five-bedroom colonial in an upmarket neighborhood ideal for families. I didn’t have much growing up, and it felt like I was now living the dream.
Sarah, however, wandered from room to room like she was looking for something she’d lost.
A woman wandering through a large house | Source: Midjourney
“Babe, what’s wrong?” I asked one evening after dinner. “Don’t you like it here?”
She sighed, avoiding my eyes. “It’s just… a big adjustment. Newly married, starting our lives together in this house…”
Adjustments I could handle. But her distance? That gnawed at me.
The first crack came during a dinner at Janice’s a few days after we moved in. The three of us sat around her pristine dining table.
“So, have you spoken to my lawyer, yet?” Janice asked, her voice honeyed but sharp, “I’d like you both to sign the contract as soon as possible.”
A woman seated at a dinner table | Source: Midjourney
“Contract?” I set my fork down.
Janice tilted her head. “Oh, I assumed Sarah would’ve told you by now.”
Across from me, Sarah’s knuckles whitened against the stem of her wine glass. Her shoulders tensed, and she stared at the table like it might swallow her whole.
“Mom,” she started.
But Janice held up a hand, a soft laugh spilling from her lips. “Sarah was probably waiting for the right time. It’s about the contract for the house, Jeremy. I may as well explain the terms now, I suppose.”
A cheerful woman | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t trust myself to speak.
“See, you don’t actually own the house, I do, and there are certain terms you need to accept so you can stay. For instance, no painting of the walls. You’ll also need to work close by, so you stay within 15 miles of me. After all, it’s important to have family nearby.”
My pulse quickened. “What happens if we don’t follow these ‘guidelines’?”
A concerned man | Source: Midjourney
Janice gave an airy wave of her hand. “Well, I could always revoke your right to live there. But that won’t happen as long as we’re all on the same page.”
Her eyes sparkled with something darker. “The agreement also gives me co-parenting rights over my grandchildren. Oh! And I want my first grandchild within the next two years.”
She might as well have slapped me.
An angry man | Source: Midjourney
I stared at Sarah, silently begging for some kind of reaction. But she wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her silence was the loudest answer of all.
When we got home, I couldn’t hold back. “What the hell was that?”
Sarah hesitated. “I didn’t know how to tell you.”
“Tell me what?” I demanded. “That your mother thinks she can control every part of our lives?”
Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I thought I could manage it. I thought if I just went along with it, things would be easier.”
A distressed woman | Source: Midjourney
“For who? For her?” My voice softened as I stepped closer. “What about us, Sarah?”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice so small it barely reached me. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
Her words stung because they were laced with truth. I didn’t know what to do either.
We’d only been living there for a week when I reached my breaking point. One night, as I headed to bed, I overheard Sarah on the phone with Janice.
A man eavesdropping in a corridor | Source: Midjourney
“Yes, I understand,” she said quietly. “No, I’ll convince him not to take the promotion. Like you said, the new office is outside the 15-mile limit.”
My blood ran cold. The promotion I’d been working toward, and my wife intended to sabotage it to comply with my controlling MIL’s whims.
“Sarah.” My voice was hard as I stepped into the room. She spun around, her face pale.
“I-I was going to tell you,” she stammered. “She just wants what’s best for us.”
“Us?” I scoffed. “No, Sarah, she wants what’s best for her. And you’re letting her. This has to stop.”
A man appealing to someone | Source: Midjourney
She shook her head. “You don’t understand. If we don’t do this her way, she’ll take everything.”
“Then let her,” I snapped. “I’m not playing this game anymore. It’s me or her, Sarah. Either we return the house and shake off the leash your mom’s trying to put on us, or I leave. Make a choice.”
The silence that followed was unbearable.
“Maybe you should leave,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Maybe… you’re better off without me.”
A heartbroken woman | Source: Midjourney
Packing that night was a blur. Anger, heartbreak, and confusion swirled in a relentless loop.
Then I saw Sarah’s diary. It sat open on the edge of the nightstand. I hadn’t meant to look, but the hurried script caught my eye.
Sarah’s diary detailed how Janice had manipulated the courts to gain custody of Sarah, even though she’d begged to stay with her father. Sarah was only eight years old at the time.
Once she had custody, Janice treated her terribly. The situations Sarah described sounded like the plot of a psychological thriller.
A man reading a diary | Source: Midjourney
But the most chilling part came near the end. Sarah wrote about Janice’s veiled threats to repeat history. If Sarah ever crossed her, Janice had made it clear she had the power to take our future children, just as she’d taken Sarah from her father.
My hands shook as I put the diary down, my heart breaking. Sarah wasn’t weak; she was terrified.
Behind me, the bedroom door creaked.
I turned to see Sarah standing there, her face pale, her eyes wide with fear as she noticed what I was holding.
A woman standing in a doorway | Source: Midjourney
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice trembling.
She sank to the floor, sobbing. “Because she’ll destroy everything, Jeremy.”
“No,” I said firmly, crouching to meet her eyes. “She won’t. Not this time. We’re leaving, Sarah. Together.”
The confrontation with Janice was everything I expected.
When I called to tell her we were returning the house, her voice dripped with venom.
A man speaking on his cell phone | Source: Midjourney
“You ungrateful little boy,” she hissed. “You think you can escape me?”
“I know I can,” I said. “You don’t own us, Janice. Not anymore.”
A year later, I stood on the balcony of our tiny apartment, watching Sarah water the potted plants she’d insisted we bring.
There was a lightness to her now, a freedom I hadn’t seen in years. Therapy was helping her unpack the weight of her mother’s influence, and though the scars remained, they were healing.
A smiling woman on a balcony | Source: Midjourney
“We did it,” she said softly, sliding her hand into mine.
I nodded, pulling her close. “Yeah. We did.”
My MIL Insisted on Being Present for My Home Birth — But Then She Slipped Out of the Room, and I Heard Strange Voices Outside
The moment I told Josh I wanted a home birth, his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. But it was nothing compared to the reaction we got from his mother, Elizabeth.
A pregnant couple sitting on a wooden bench | Source: Unsplash
“Oh, Nancy! This is wonderful news!” Elizabeth gushed, clasping her hands together. “I simply must be there to support you both. I can help with anything you need!”
I exchanged a glance with Josh, my eyebrows raised. His shrug told me he was leaving this one up to me.
I bit my lip, mulling it over. Maybe an extra pair of hands wouldn’t be so bad, right?
“Alright,” I finally conceded. “You can be there.”
A young lady looking up | Source: Midjourney
The big day finally arrived. Our midwife, Rosie, was setting up her equipment when Elizabeth burst through the door, her arms laden with bags.
“I’m here!” she announced, as if we might have missed her entrance. “Where do you need me?”
I was about to answer when a contraction hit, stealing my breath. Josh was at my side in an instant, his hand on my lower back as I tensed and groaned.
“Just… just put your things down for now,” I managed to gasp out.
A pregnant woman lying down as her partner kisses her | Source: Pexels
As the contraction eased, I noticed Elizabeth fidgeting with something, her eyes darting around the room. She looked more nervous than excited now. And I knew that something was seriously off.
“Are you okay?” I asked, frowning.
She turned around, startled. “What? Oh, yes! Just thinking about what I can do to help. You’re doing just fine, honey. Just keep it up.”
A senior woman crossing her arms | Source: Pexels
Before I could press further, she was out the door, muttering something about getting me some water.
Josh squeezed my hand. “Want me to talk to her?”
I shook my head. “No, it’s fine. She’s probably just nervous. It’s our first baby, right?”
As my labor progressed, Elizabeth’s behavior became increasingly odd. She’d pop in, ask how I was doing, then disappear again. Each time she returned, she seemed more flustered.
During a particularly intense contraction, I gripped Josh’s hand so hard I thought I might break it. As the pain ebbed, I became aware of a strange sound.
Grayscale shot of a couple holding hands | Source: Unsplash
“Josh,” I panted, “do you hear that?”
He cocked his head and listened. “Sounds like… voices?”
I nodded, relieved I wasn’t imagining things. “And is that music?”
Josh’s brow furrowed. He kissed my forehead and turned around. “I’ll check it out. Be right back.”
As he left, Rosie gave me an encouraging smile. “You’re doing great, Nancy. Not long now.”
When Josh returned, his face was ashen as though he’d seen a ghost.
A man looking somewhere | Source: Midjourney
“What is it?” I asked.
He ran a hand through his hair, looking pained. “You’re not going to believe this. My mother is throwing a party. In our living room.”
I stared at him, certain I’d misheard. “A what?”
A startled woman’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
“A party,” he repeated, his voice edged with frustration. “There are at least a dozen people out there.”
The pain of labor was nothing compared to the rage that coursed through me. I struggled to my feet, ignoring my midwife’s protests.
Josh supported me as we made our way to the living room. The scene that greeted us was surreal. People were mingling, drinks in hand, as if this were a casual Sunday barbecue.
A banner hanging on the wall read: “WELCOME BABY!”
A banner at a party | Source: Midjourney
Elizabeth stood in the center of it all, holding court with a group of women I’d never seen before. She hadn’t even noticed our arrival.
“What the hell is going on here?” I bellowed.
The room fell silent, all eyes turning to us. Elizabeth spun around, her face paling as she saw me.
“Nancy! Holy Christ! What are you doing here? You’re supposed to—”
A smiling senior woman in a black suit | Source: Pexels
“Elizabeth, what’s going on over here?”
“Oh, I… we were just…”
“Just what? Turning my home birth into an exhibition?”
Elizabeth had the audacity to look offended. “Now, Nancy, don’t be dramatic. We’re just celebrating!”
“Celebrating? I’m in labor, Elizabeth! This isn’t a social event!”
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, you wouldn’t even know we were here! I thought you’d appreciate the support.”
I felt a contraction building and gritted my teeth against the pain and anger. “Support? This isn’t support. This is a circus!”
Josh stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. “Everyone needs to leave. Now.”
As people scrambled to gather their things, Elizabeth tried one last time. “Nancy, you’re overreacting.”
I rounded on her, my words clipped and cold. “This is my home birth. My moment. If you can’t respect that, you can leave too.”
A distressed woman holding her face | Source: Midjourney
Without waiting for a response, I turned and waddled back to the bedroom to finish what I started, leaving Josh to deal with the aftermath.
Hours later, I held my newborn son in my arms. Josh sat beside us, his eyes full of wonder as he stroked our baby’s cheek.
We sat in comfortable silence until a soft knock at the door broke the spell.
A newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
Elizabeth peeked in, her eyes red-rimmed. “Can I… can I come in?”
I felt my jaw clench. “No!”
Elizabeth’s face crumpled. “Please, Nancy. I’m so sorry. I just want to see the baby.”
I looked at Josh, conflicted. He squeezed my hand gently, his eyes understanding but pleading.
“Fine. Five minutes.”
A person holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
Elizabeth entered slowly, as if afraid I might change my mind. “Nancy, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just got so excited and carried away.”
I didn’t respond and just stared at her stonily. Josh cleared his throat. “Would you like to see your grandson, Mom?”
Elizabeth nodded, tears spilling down her cheeks as Josh carefully transferred our son into her arms.
A man holding a newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
After a few minutes, I spoke up. “It’s time for him to feed.”
Elizabeth nodded, reluctantly handing the baby back to me. She lingered for a moment at the door. “Thank you for letting me see him,” she said softly before leaving.
As the door closed behind her, Josh turned to me. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “No. What she did… I can’t just forgive and forget, Josh.”
In the weeks that followed, I wrestled with how to move forward. Part of me wanted to exclude Elizabeth from our son’s first celebration as petty revenge for her home birth hijinks.
A party table with flower arrangements | Source: Pexels
But as I watched her dote on our baby during her visits, always respectful of our space and routines, I realized there was a better way.
When it was time to organize the baby’s first party, I picked up the phone and called her.
“Elizabeth? It’s Nancy. I was hoping you could help with the preparations for the baby’s party next weekend.”
A woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
The silence on the other end was deafening. Finally, she spoke. “You want my help? After what I did?”
“Yes. Because this is what family does. We forgive, we learn, and we move forward together.”
I could hear the tears in her voice as she replied, “Oh, Nancy. Thank you. I promise I won’t let you down.”
A smiling senior woman talking on the phone | Source: Pexels
True to her word, Elizabeth was a model of restraint and support during the party. She helped quietly in the background, beaming with pride as we introduced our son to our friends and family.
As the last guest left, she approached me, her eyes glistening. “Thank you for letting me be part of this, Nancy. I see now that this is how you celebrate. With love and respect.”
I smiled, feeling the barriers between us crumble. “That’s exactly right, Elizabeth. Welcome to the family!”
A smiling young woman | Source: Midjourney
My MIL Ruined Our Daughter’s Tiny Kitchen ‘For Her Own Good’ – We Taught Her Actions Have Consequences
My husband Simon and I have a five-year-old daughter named Hope, and I’m six months pregnant with a boy. Our lives are busy but filled with joy. As parents, Simon and I believe in giving Hope autonomy, especially when it comes to food.
A pregnant couple with their little daughter | Source: Midjourney
We want her to understand her body’s needs and make healthy choices. To support this, we set up a cute little semi-functional kitchen for her.
It had a mini fridge and a sink Simon rigged up with a weak pump. Hope kept her snacks there: everything from bananas to chocolates.
She could grab what she wanted and even “cook” little things like fruit salad or muesli. Dangerous stuff was off-limits, of course, but she loved helping us cook. This setup meant she didn’t go nuts over candy or chips because she could have them whenever she wanted.
A little girl preparing a salad in her semi-functional mini kitchen setup | Source: Midjourney
Hope adored it.
But not everyone was a fan of our parenting choices. My mother-in-law, Eleanor, was staying with us for a while, and she had very different views. She thought we were going to make Hope obese by allowing her to have snacks whenever she wanted.
“Grace, this is absurd,” Eleanor said one afternoon, watching Hope munch on a muesli bar. “She’s going to spoil her dinner.”
A muesli bar lying on a plate | Source: Midjourney
“Mom, it’s fine. She knows what she needs,” Simon responded gently.
On the first night Eleanor arrived, she took away the muesli bar Hope was eating because dinner was at 6 p.m., and it was around 4 p.m. Hope’s face crumpled, and she looked at me with wide eyes.
“Grandma, please! I’m hungry now,” she pleaded.
“Give it back to her, Mom,” Simon said firmly. Eleanor relented, but her disapproval was clear. I thought that was the end of it, but I was wrong.
A senior woman taking away a muesli bar from a little girl | Source: Midjourney
Last night, our babysitter got sick, and we asked Eleanor to watch Hope from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. Hope goes to bed at 7:30 p.m., so it seemed easy enough. Simon and I went out for a rare dinner date.
When we returned home around 10 p.m., the house was in chaos. Hope was awake and crying, her tiny kitchen was completely ruined.
My heart sank as I rushed to comfort her. “Hope, sweetie, what happened?” I asked, hugging her tightly.
A little girl looking very upset | Source: Midjourney
“Grandma threw away my kitchen,” she sobbed. “She made me eat fish, and I couldn’t. It was so yucky.”
Simon went to talk to Eleanor while I stayed with Hope. When he came back, he looked furious.
“Mom forced Hope to eat fish, even though she gagged. Then she threw out her food when Hope tried to make something else. And when Hope threw up, she sent her to bed without anything,” Simon explained, his voice shaking with anger.
Roasted fish steak with green beans and lemon served on a plate | Source: Pexels
“What?” I gasped. “Eleanor, how could you?”
Eleanor stood in the doorway, arms crossed. “She needs discipline, Grace. She can’t just eat whatever she wants whenever she wants.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “We’ve talked about this. You overstepped.”
Simon joined me, his expression stern. “Mom, your behavior was unacceptable. If you can’t respect our parenting choices, you won’t be welcome to stay here.”
A man gets angry at his mother who appears shocked by his reaction | Source: Midjourney
“I’m only trying to help,” Eleanor muttered, but she looked away, knowing she had lost this battle.
Simon and I spent the rest of the night cleaning up the mess and reassuring Hope. We were sure we could salvage her kitchen. As I tucked her into bed, she clung to me tightly. “Mommy, don’t let Grandma take my kitchen away again.”
“I promise, sweetie,” I whispered, kissing her forehead. “I won’t let that happen.”
The next morning, I woke up to a disaster. I walked into the living room, expecting to find Hope playing quietly. Instead, I found her sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her face.
A little girl crying while sitting on the floor | Source: Midjourney
“Mommy, my kitchen! It’s gone!” she cried.
I rushed outside, feeling a knot tighten in my stomach. There it was: Hope’s beloved tiny kitchen set, her mini fridge, and all the little cooking utensils strewn across the yard.
The rain from the night before had soaked everything. The fridge lay on its side, water dripping from its edges. The wooden parts of the kitchen set were swollen and splintered.
A semi-functional little kitchen setup lies ruined in the front yard after a rainstorm | Source: Midjourney
“Simon!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “Come look at this!”
Simon came running out, his face paling as he took in the scene. “What the hell happened?” he muttered.
Just then, Eleanor stepped out of the house, a cup of coffee in her hand, looking entirely unbothered. “Good morning,” she said, completely ignoring the chaos in the yard.
“Mom, did you do this?” Simon asked. “We were going to salvage what you had ruined last night. Now, it’s impossible.”
Eleanor took a sip of her coffee. “Yes, I did. It was for her own good. She doesn’t need that ridiculous kitchen. She needs to learn to eat real food, not play around with snacks all day.”
A senior woman holding a mug of coffee while standing on the front porch | Source: Midjourney
Simon stepped closer to his mother, his fists clenched. “This isn’t helping. You’ve crossed a line again.”
Eleanor rolled her eyes. “You two are overreacting.”
“It’s not just toys, Mom,” Simon said, his voice rising. “It’s about respecting our choices as parents. You’ve disrespected us and hurt Hope in the process. You need to leave. We can’t have you here if you can’t respect our boundaries.”
Eleanor’s face turned red. “You’re kicking me out? After everything I’ve done for you?”
A senior woman looks both angry and sad | Source: Midjourney
We both stared at her, resolute in this choice.
“You’ll regret this. You’re being so disrespectful to me as her grandmother.”
Simon shook his head. “We’re doing what’s best for our daughter. If you can’t see that, then maybe it’s best if you stay somewhere else for a while.”
As Eleanor stormed off to pack her things, Simon and I exchanged a look of exhausted solidarity.
A pregnant couple sitting on a sofa discussing a serious matter | Source: Midjourney
That evening, after Eleanor left, we sat down and listed every item she had damaged. The tiny kitchen set, the mini fridge, all the utensils: it added up to quite a sum.
We typed out an itemized list and attached the receipt, then emailed it to her with a firm message: “Your actions have consequences.”
The next few days were tense. Eleanor called several times, accusing us of being disrespectful. But each time, we stood our ground.
One afternoon, as I was folding laundry, Hope came up to me. “Mommy, will Grandma ever come back?”
A woman talking to her little girl | Source: Midjourney
I sighed, unsure of how to explain the complexities of adult disagreements to a five-year-old. “I don’t know, sweetie. But we need to make sure that everyone who loves you also respects you.”
Hope nodded thoughtfully. “Can we get a new kitchen?”
“We will, Hope. We’ll find an even better one,” I promised, giving her a reassuring smile.
A woman tucking her daughter into bed | Source: Midjourney
Simon walked in, overhearing our conversation. “And this time, we’ll make sure no one can take it away from you,” he added, ruffling her hair.
I was proud of us. We were teaching Hope that her feelings mattered and that we would always stand up for her.
We were a team, and no matter what challenges came our way, we would face them together. For our family.
A pregnant couple cuddling in bed | Source: Midjourney
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
Single Dad Struggles Raising Triplets, One Day Finds Out They Aren’t His — Story of the Day
A man struggles to raise his triplets after his wife’s death, believing they were his own. However, things soon hit rock bottom one day when he meets a stranger in the cemetery and learns the babies he had been devoted to raising for so long were not really his.
Dried, rotten brown leaves crunched under Jordan Fox’s boots as he pushed his baby stroller into the Manhattan cemetery’s ornate gateway. Dry flowers and half-burnt candles were strewn across the lawn. A gust of wind howled through the row of Eastern red cedar, breaking the grave silence as he proceeded to his late wife Kyra’s tomb. It was her first death anniversary.
“We’re going to see mama…” he told baby Alan, one of his triplets resting his bulky diapered bottom on his left hip. The other two, Eric and Stan, lay in the stroller, watching the sky and babbling at seeing dragonflies.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Upon reaching, Jordan’s heart raced at seeing a silhouette of a stranger, seemingly in his late 50s, standing near Kyra’s grave. The man adjusted his Irish cap as he leaned to brush the tombstone with the epitaph that read: A twinkle in our eyes & hearts is now on the skies. — In Loving Memory of Kyra Fox.
Jordan tried hard to remember but could not recognize the tall, stout man. “Who is he, and what’s he doing near my wife’s tomb?” he wondered and approached him…
“Amen!” said the man with a lopsided smirk as he finished with the sign of the cross, grimly turning around to greet Jordan. He smiled, eagerness filling his eyes as he raised his hand for a handshake but withdrew it as soon as his gaze shifted to the babies.
Jordan’s eyebrows narrowed in surprise. He wanted to know who this guy was and what he was doing at Kyra’s grave. As far as Jordan could recall, he had never seen this man around before…not even at Kyra’s funeral. “So, who is he then? And what’s he doing here?” Jordan was puzzled.
“I’m offering you $100,000! I’m ready to give you more if you want. Take the money and give me the babies.”
“You must be Jordan Fox…It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fox,” the guy uttered. “I knew you would come here today, and I was waiting for you. I’m Denis…from Chicago…Kyra’s ‘old’ pal.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Jordan was a little surprised because Kyra had never told him about having such a friend from Chicago who was old and whose name was Denis.
“Nice to meet you, Denis. I’m not sure I know you…Have we met before? I haven’t been to Chicago before.”
“Not really! I just arrived in Manhattan. I found out that…” Denis paused and gulped after seeing the babies again. “Can I see your babies…if you don’t mind?”
Jordan hesitated and pretended to ignore the man’s request because he was not ready to trust his tots with a stranger. Denis took that as a no but wouldn’t stop himself from walking forward and leaning over the stroller to see the other two babies.
“They are angels! Sweet little cinnamon rolls! They have my nose and eyes…and chestnut hair…” “And those big lashes…I had them when I was little!” blabbered Denis. He then looked up, saying the unthinkable Jordan was not prepared to hear.
“Mr. Fox, I know this might not make any sense to you, but…I know you’ll be wondering who I am and why I’m here. I’m the boys’ REAL FATHER, and I’ve come here to take them.”
“EXCUSE ME??” Jordan frowned and wanted to smack the man in the face for even saying this. He spared him for his age and tried to steal his way past him, thinking he was crazy.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Mr. Fox, please believe me. I’m the father of the kids. A mistake I made in the past is still haunting me. I want to correct it before it’s too late. Please send the kids with me. I even have an amazing offer for you.”
“Are you crazy, old man? Get outta my way before I call the cops,” Jordan held the stroller and baby Alan tighter and ignored the guy.
But Denis wouldn’t budge, and he began disclosing intricate details about the late Kyra that startled Jordan.
“Kyra, your wife…She loved disco and bikes….was a brunette with a taste for art and French cuisine…Soupe à l’oignon and crème brûlée were her favorites. She was allergic to peanuts and had a small burn scar on her right thigh..and she had this…”
“ENOUGH…STOP!” Jordan yelled. “I don’t want to hear a word more about my wife. Who the hell are you, and how do you know all this? What do you want?”
“I told you I’m the father of her kids. Mr. Fox, I know it’s weird, and I cannot get custody of my children. I know that, okay? But I’m sure you wouldn’t want to waste your youth on them and will appreciate my company in raising them. You are young and charming and still have an entire life ahead of you. But look at me. I am old and have nobody other than these babies. I want them back. Please hand them over to me and move on.”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And it’s none of your business what I need to do in life, okay? Are you outta your mind, old man? You sound crazy…Go get a life. I don’t know you and think you’ve mistaken me for someone…Back off. And stay away from my children.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Mr. Fox, the kids are mine, and that’s the truth…and I’m ready to do anything to take them with me. But I don’t want to mess things up for you since you raised them for so long. So lemme get this straight — I’m offering you $100,000! I’m ready to give you more if you want. Take the money and give me the babies.”
“I know more about your wife Kyra than you know about her. Take your time and get back to me, alright? Here’s my card.”
Tears of shock and grief sprang into Jordan’s eyes. He could not believe Denis knew so much about Kyra. For a moment, he wanted to think it was a fib, and some random older man was playing a prank on him. Alas, Jordan could not get over Denis mentioning the burn mark on Kyra’s right thigh.
“It’s not a bribe, Mr. Fox. See, I want to thank you for raising my babies, okay? And you needn’t worry about anything. I’m fifty-seven and have enough experience in raising kids. You must be glad to put them in good, trustworthy hands. I know what you must be feeling. But don’t worry. Take your time to think about it and do get back. Call me on this number, alright? I’ll be waiting. Denis Roberts hates a no for an answer, so….”
Denis tucked a visiting card into Jordan’s hand and hurried away, leaving him with more than just a shock and a heartbreak.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
The flickering flame and candle smoke on Kyra’s tombstone snapped Jordan to the moment. He placed the bouquet on the grave, and after a minute of observing silence, he hurried out of the cemetery with his babies. For a moment, he was haunted by all that Denis told him.
Jordan could not focus on the road. He stopped his car at random intervals on the roadside, trying to concentrate, but in vain.
“Was everything she told me a lie then? How could she do this to me?” he cried, hallucinating Kyra sitting near him on the passenger seat. Jordan needed answers to many questions and did not want to buy Denis’s words.
But the part about the burn scar on her right thigh? He couldn’t help but suspect her, considering the circumstances under which he met her two years ago.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
It was the spring of 2016. Jordan was making cocktail shots behind the bar counter when his gaze fell on a young and beautiful Kyra. She was with her friends and was the noisiest in the gang. Jordan thought she was pretty and desired to date such a gorgeous woman but never found the means or time to do it. As days passed, Kyra began frequenting the bar, and Jordan was more than delighted to attend to her whenever she visited.
“One more Margarita on the rocks, please!” she often told him with a glossy smile flickering across her face. Kyra never even looked at Jordan ‘differently’ and only treated him as a kind, young bartender. But he had already fallen head over heels for her. He would leave for the night shift daily, rehearsing a smile and adjusting his hair, black bow tie, and muted gray shirt at least a dozen times, confident about impressing Kyra.
One night, Jordan was crushed after seeing her kissing another guy in the pub. Reality hit him hard when he understood Kyra was just treating him like a barkeeper and nothing special. Heartbroken, Jordan started keeping his distance from her, knowing she would never be his. However, one night, he could not hold himself back when he saw Kyra bitterly crying alone in the lounge.
“Miss, hey, are you alright?” he asked and saw her boyfriend, Shawn, dancing with another girl. Jordan’s heart melted, and he could partially guess what had hurt Kyra. Her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed. Streaks of warm tears ran down her cheeks, leaving discolored patches of smudged eyeliner on her makeup.
“I want to go somewhere…can you please take me away. I feel like dying,” she buried her face and wept into her palms. She cried her heart out to a stranger, but Jordan did not treat her like one. She meant more than anything else to him, so he was ready to do anything to calm her down.
He took an hour off and offered to drop her home as she was too drunk to leave alone.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Shawn and I have known each other for six months,” Kyra ranted, her breath stinking of alcohol. “That pervert! He dumped me for that stupid Lily…What does she have that I don’t? Jerk! He said he didn’t want to continue this with me. What an —”
“I’m so sorry for you. Be strong, Miss. It happens…and life has to go on. Maybe he doesn’t deserve you at all. It’s his loss…Please don’t cry. I’m always here as your friend whenever you need me, alright?”
Kyra nodded, her dewy-eyed stare fixed on Jordan before passing out on the seat. He awakened her upon reaching outside her house and helped her get out.
“Thanks, Jordan!” Kyra smiled through the fogged window of the car glass. “See you around!”
After that, their meetings became a ritual. Jordan and Kyra fell in love and started dating. They danced, toured across the night-lit streets of Manhattan, and kissed before saying I love you! He asked her to promise to quit drinking, and she agreed. She asked him to promise not to leave her like her ex-boyfriend, and he assured her that.
It had only been two weeks since their love story bloomed when Kyra told Jordan she was pregnant with his triplets and persuaded him to marry her. He was shocked because it happened too quickly. He was not prepared for this but was thrilled about becoming a father.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Soon, the couple married in a private ceremony, and it felt strange when nobody from Kyra’s family attended the wedding. Jordan knew nothing about her parents, and when he asked her, she told him they were dead. That was all he knew, and he did not bother her again because he didn’t want to hurt her. At that time, nothing mattered to him more than starting his life with her, and he blindly trusted her.
It all felt like a wicked joke now. Jordan kept staring at the wedding ring he was still wearing after Kyra’s death and understood she had always kept him in a web of lies.
“I was an IDIOT! Everything she told me was a LIE…Her love was a game…she married me because she needed a man to father SOMEONE ELSE’S KIDS.”
“I should’ve known the babies were not mine when she told me she was pregnant in just two weeks. I was so stupid! She cheated on me…that too with an old man. How disgusting!” he sniffled, tears endlessly spilling from his bloodshot eyes.
The babies suddenly woke up and started crying in the backseat. Jordan was so disturbed and upset, and he wished to run somewhere where he could no longer hear those cries. But at the same time, he could not start hating his babies just because someone told him they were not his. He was confused about the depth of truth in Denis’s claims, so he returned home immediately, still skeptical about the next step.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pixabay
Jordan decided to forget about the encounter with the stranger and got to work. He put the babies in the crib, scooping one each at a time to remove their diapers. First went Alan, and then Eric, and then Stan. He bathed his babies and changed their diapers. He sang a lullaby, trying his best not to sound like a starving bear growling in the woods.
Once the three slept in their cribs after eating, Jordan started doing the dishes, and before he could finish, he smelled something burning. “Oh, damn, the spaghetti!” he shrieked, almost getting his fingers burnt while trying to remove the pan from the stove. He then remembered the laundry and ran upstairs to a bathroom overflowing with foam. Jordan had used too much detergent due to stress. It felt like it rained only problems in his life that day.
He saw it was almost time to hurry to the bar for the night shift. He then called Mrs. Wills, his elderly neighbor, to come over to watch the kids.
“Thank you, Mrs. Wills…I’ll be here till you come,” he told her and went to check his babies. They were fast asleep in their crib. Jordan was tormented at seeing them and could not be peaceful. Earlier, he felt he had the energy and spirit to do anything for his children. But now, everything seemed so different and sour, and Denis’s words kept ringing in his head.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“Why did you do this to me, Kyra? I never lied or cheated on you…how could you do this then? You had always lied to me about everything, and I’m not able to tell which is true and which is not…even on the day you died, you told me you were at the party. I still don’t know where you went that night,” Jordan whimpered, tears running across his creases as he recalled the dark day that still haunted him.
It was a rainy night, and Jordan was restless as he kept looking out the window to see if Kyra had come. His phone started heating up due to his constant calls to all her friends, asking if she was with them. Kyra had told him she was at a friend’s party, but nobody had seen her around. Her phone was switched off, probably due to a dead battery, and Jordan began to panic as it was close to midnight. His newborn babies started crying. They were hungry, and he didn’t know how to calm them down.
Jordan had somehow put his babies to sleep. He took his phone to see if Kyra had called and got a call from the station instead.
“Yes, Jordan Fox here.”
“Mr. Fox, we are calling from the station. Could you please come to the morgue? We need help in identifying a woman’s body.”
Jordan started sweating as he rushed to the hospital after leaving his babies with his neighbor. He was called to identify a young woman’s body found in a car accident that night.
He slowed down and almost froze when the thin white sheet over the body was lifted for identification. Jordan’s heart sank, and it rained tears in his eyes. Kyra’s lifeless body lay still, and it was later revealed she was under drug overdose at the time of the crash.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Jordan’s world changed after that. He felt numb, weak, and afraid to raise his babies alone. He was guilty for the one being alive, and at some point, his tears stopped due to anger. Jordan could not forgive Kyra for leaving him with such a massive responsibility on his shoulders. He couldn’t accept her loss and move on but forced himself to do it after seeing his children.
They were the only reason that kept him going. He vowed to himself he would do everything to give his kids a good life. Jordan did not date any other woman after that because he still loved Kyra. He still wore their wedding ring and believed she had gone nowhere.
He stepped into the shoes of both mother and father for his three little sons and devoted his entire life to them. Jordan shuttled between work and his babies and barely found any time for himself. He had forgotten what a restful night looked like. He stopped chilling with his friends and started living a life that was more about his babies than about himself.
But now, after learning he was not their real father, he started doubting if he could see them the same way again and if he would genuinely want to spend his time and energy raising them.
“I can’t do this anymore…I just can’t,” Jordan stammered, shoving his chair, its legs scraping against the wooden floor, waking his babies up. A strange thought struck his mind as he slammed the door shut and walked away without even saying his usual “Thanks and have a good day!” to his neighbor Mrs. Wills when she came to watch over the kids.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Jordan could not be peaceful that entire night in the pub. He returned home after his shift but went straight into his room to find Denis’s card. He didn’t even stop to look at his babies or cuddle with them like usual.
Jordan came out of his room minutes later, his gaze shifting to the three little ones gesturing at him and babbling ‘Da-Da’ in their baby language, asking him to carry them.
Jordan’s heart sunk to the ground. “How could I…How could I even think about abandoning you? I cannot live without you guys…you are my everything…God, how did I even think of leaving them?” he cried, his eyes now focused on the call that was already connected to Denis.
“Hello? Hello…anyone there?” the faint voice of the older man seeped through the phone.
“Mr. Roberts, it’s me, Jordan.”
“I was waiting for your call, Mr. Fox. I’m so happy you called me…finally! So, what have you decided? When shall I meet you with the check and take the babies?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Getty Images
“I’m sorry, Mr. Roberts…but I cannot accept your offer. A father is one who raises his children — not necessarily the one who gives birth. I may not be their real father, but they are still my children. I cannot imagine a life without them,” Jordan said sternly and politely.
“Mr. Fox…wait a minute…please. Look, we can talk about this again, alright? You don’t understand…I want my babies. I cannot live without them.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Roberts. Even I cannot live without them. They are my world. And I don’t want your money. You cannot trade love for money.”
“I’ll tell the kids about you once they are big. It’s up to them to decide who they choose. But I cannot send them to you because I love them and am THEIR FATHER! Goodbye!”
Denis was disheartened. “Fine, if that’s your decision. But can we meet tomorrow at the café…or maybe at your place? You decide.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Roberts, but I’m busy tomorrow. I don’t think I can…”
“Don’t you want to know the truth fully, Mr. Fox? I have only told you a part of it. There’s still something else you don’t know yet.”
Jordan agreed, catching his breath, surprised by the strangeness of Denis’s question. He took a night shift off the next evening and eagerly waited for the man to meet him at his house.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
Denis showed up a couple of hours later with several boxes. “Just some new sweaters, diapers, and blankets for the babies!” he laughed as he hung his overcoat on the hanger and made himself comfortable. Denis’s gaze fell upon the empty crib, and he understood Jordan had kept his kids away somewhere, far from his sight and grasp.
Jordan hated the silence around. He was impatient to know about the ‘truth’ the man had bragged about, and after a few seconds of only staring at each other, he broke the guy’s silence.
“So…what is it? You said I still need to know something.”
Denis grimly smiled before flapping open his blazer and taking out an old photo. He kept staring at it, and Jordan felt it was weird.
“Mr. Roberts…what is it? Look, I don’t have time, and I’d appreciate it if you make it fast.”
Suddenly, tears started streaming down Denis’s face. He could not hold them back while his gaze was still fixed on the photo.
“Mr. Fox, the babies with you are not yours…they are not mine either. Actually, I’m their GRANDFATHER!”
Denis then handed Jordan the picture of him with Kyra and rose, tearfully making his way to the window.
“Oh my God…Where were you all these days…Kyra told me her parents were DEAD…She never told me anything about you. What happened to you? Why didn’t you come for her funeral?”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“I was such a bad father, Mr. Fox,” cried Denis. “I did something no father would do to his child.”
“After my wife died, I raised my daughter alone. I gave her everything…love, money, and education. I wanted her to live a life I had envisioned, but she lost track and fell astray with her addiction issues.”
“I wanted to send Kyra to rehab and even threatened to disinherit her. But she refused, and things went downhill after that. She started coming home late, and I’d see a random boy dropping her home every night. My name and reputation were getting spoiled, so I kicked her out. She was so furious, and before leaving, she told me I was the worst father and told me not to look for her. I thought she would get back once her money ran out, but she never did. I’m not able to forgive myself for not trying to help my child. I abandoned her, and now she’s gone forever.”
“But how did you find me? And how did you know that the babies aren’t mine?” Jordan interrupted Denis, curious to piece the puzzle together.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t even know my daughter was married, had children, and had died until I recently met Amy, her best friend in Chicago…She told me about you and the babies, so I flew here right away to meet you,” Denis said.
“When she was pregnant, Kyra met her friend and confided her fears. She had told Amy she was afraid you would leave her if you found out the babies weren’t yours.”
“Oh my God…are these her ex-boyfriend Shawn’s children, then?” Jordan was startled.
“I’m not sure about that because my daughter had told Amy she had dated and broken up with three other men around the same time she married you. Kyra herself was not sure who the father was. We still don’t know the real father, and we don’t want to know that,” Denis cried.
“All I can say is I’m happy my grandsons are with a man they can call ‘Dad.’ Mr. Fox, only you can love and raise them well. I am sorry for lying to you that I was their father. I don’t know what got into my head. I was afraid you’d not allow me to raise them, and I knew I’d never get their custody unless you gave them away. That’s why I offered you money. I’m sorry. I’m guilty, and I have no tears left to cry. I’m getting older and only wish to be part of my grandchildren’s lives. I was not a good father, but I wish to be a good grandfather.”
Jordan spoke no more and hugged Denis. It was the least he could do to comfort the grieving old man who could not forgive himself for leaving his daughter’s side when she needed him the most.
With time, Denis started visiting Jordan and the kids often and, at some point, even decided to move in with them. He treated Jordan as his son and was pleased to be a part of his grandchildren’s upbringing.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Getty Images
What can we learn from this story?
- A real parent is not just one who gives birth but one who raises their children with love and care. When Jordan learned he was not the biological father of his triplets, he decided to put things in place by giving them away to Denis, who claimed to be their birth father. But then, Jordan changed his mind, telling Denis that a real father is one who raises his kids and not just one who gives birth.
- Do not make a hasty decision that could make you regret it for a lifetime. When Denis was unable to cope with his daughter’s addiction issues, he told her to go to rehab. When she refused, he kicked her out, knowing little he would never get another chance to see her again.
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