I grew up believing that my father blamed me for my mother’s death but the truth was heartbreaking.
I never knew my mother, and my father never spoke about her. All I knew was that she had been very beautiful, because of the picture that hung on my father’s study wall, and that she had died very young.
My father was a sad man, a quiet and distant man. I wanted him to notice me, and to love me, but he never did. He rarely spoke to me beyond the perfunctory hello and goodbye, good morning and goodnight. I would have given anything for him to sweep me into his arms and tell me he loved me.
The shadow of my mother’s death followed me my whole life | Source: Shutterstock.com
This strange and strained relationship with my father continued until I was 18, and by then I was a sad and lonely young woman who believed my father hated me. If my father didn’t love me, who would?
But the answer to all my questions was about to be delivered in the most painful and cruel way. My father was hosting a party for his business associates, and among them was a woman whom I knew slightly.
If you don’t leave the past behind you, you deny yourself a future.
I had the feeling that she and my father had a past together — or at least that she wished they did. She greeted me and we started chatting — inconsequential talk about nothing special — and my father walked by.
I gave him my best smile, but he immediately glanced away. The woman saw it all. “Do you know why?” she asked.
I grew up feeling that my father hated me | Source: Unsplash
“Why what?” I asked, confused.
“Why he hates you,” she said.
“My father doesn’t hate me!” I exclaimed. “He’s just not a very demonstrative man.”
“So you don’t know…” she smiled. It was the ugliest smile I’d ever seen. I was about to walk away when she said, “He believes you killed your mother, Karen.”
One day at a party someone told me the truth | Source: Unsplash
I stopped in my tracks. “What?” I gasped.
“Your mother died giving birth to you, surely you know that?” she said.
“No…” I answered. “No, I didn’t know.” I turned my back on her and went looking for my grandmother, my father’s mother, the woman who’d raised me and never told me about my mother’s death.
“How did my mother die?” I asked her angrily. “Was it in childbirth?”
My mother had died in childbirth | Source: Pexels
My grandmother shook her head. “Please Karen, your father asked me never to speak of this with you.”
“I have the right to know about my own mother!” I cried. “I have the right to know why my father hates me!”
Then a quiet angry voice behind me said, “I don’t hate you, Karen, but your mother’s death is none of your business:”
I turned to face my father. “My mother’s death is none of my business? You’re wrong! I killed her, didn’t I? That’s what you think each time you look at me!”
My father blamed me for her death | Source: Unsplash
The expression in his eyes sent me running out of the door. I got into my car and drove aimlessly, tears running down my face. In my distress, I didn’t see the oncoming car changing lanes until it was too late.
I woke up in the hospital linked to a beeping machine, with a dull promise of pain twinging through my whole body. Sitting by my side and holding my hand was my father.
“Karen,” he said softly, “Thank God you’re alright!”
“Daddy…” I whispered, “you’re here!”
Tears came into his eyes. “Of course I’m here. I don’t hate you, Karen. I love you. And I don’t blame you for your mother’s death, I blame myself. When your mom and I married we were very poor.
“All we had were dreams and our love for each other. Then she fell pregnant and I took on a second job. I knew we’d need the money when you came along. I was working 16-hour days and she spent a lot of time alone.
“So one day when I came home she wasn’t there. A neighbor had taken her to the hospital. When I got there it was all over. Your mother had died, and I hadn’t been there for her.
The accident nearly cost me my life | Source: Pexels
“I didn’t blame you, Karen, I blamed myself. I was determined I wasn’t going to fail you the way I’d failed her, so I threw myself into my work, and I became a rich man.
“Daddy, how could you blame yourself?” I asked. “There was nothing you could have done!”
“I could have been there, holding her hand the way I’m holding yours now,” he said.
“But daddy…” I hesitated, “you were always so angry with me, so cold. You ran away from me.”
My father and I were reconciled | Source: Unsplash
“Karen, you look just like your mother, and each time I looked at you, my heart was torn apart by grief and guilt. It took nearly losing you to make me realize what I’d done. I love you.”
For the first time in my life, my father put his arms around me and showed me that he loved me. It was a new beginning for both of us, and I like to believe my mother was smiling down from heaven.
What can we learn from this story?
- If you don’t leave the past behind you, you deny yourself a future. Karen’s father was so lost in his pain that he nearly lost the opportunity to have a wonderful relationship with his daughter.
- The truth can heal old wounds and open the way to a new beginning. It was only after Karen and her father spoke about their estrangement that they could move past their misunderstandings.
Share this story with your friends. It might brighten their day and inspire them.
If you enjoyed this story, you might like this one about a man who left his widowed mother homeless.
This account is inspired by our reader’s story but written by a professional writer. All names have been changed to protect identities and ensure privacy. Share your story with us, maybe it will change someone’s life.
My MIL Gave Me Shoes for My Birthday – I Was Shocked When I Lifted the Insole
Jess is suspicious when her icy MIL gifts her expensive shoes for her birthday. Her worst fears come true when she wears them on a business trip, and the TSA discovers something suspicious hidden inside. Now, she must unravel if this gift was an attempt at sabotage or something even darker.
I should have known better than to trust a gift from Debbie. On looking back now, the warning signs were all there — the too-sweet smile when she handed me the box, the way her eyes glinted with something that wasn’t quite kindness.
A woman with a surprised look on her face | Source: Midjourney
But what was I supposed to do? They were just shoes, right? Beautiful patent leather yellow shoes with a wide heel, exactly my style. And for once, my mother-in-law seemed to be making an effort.
“Oh, they’re lovely,” I’d said, forcing enthusiasm into my voice while Arthur beamed beside me. “Thank you, Debbie.”
She’d waved her hand dismissively. “Well, I noticed you always wear such… practical shoes. I thought you might want something nice for once.”
A woman speaking | Source: Midjourney
The barb was there, wrapped in silk, just like always. But I’d smiled and nodded, just like always. That’s what you do when you’re trying to keep the peace, right? When your husband loves his mother, and you’re trying to be the bigger person?
Besides, it wasn’t the first time she’d taken little jabs at me.
There was the Christmas dinner where she’d pointedly asked Arthur if he remembered how his ex-girlfriend Sarah made “the most divine turkey.”
A roast turkey | Source: Midjourney
Or when she’d shown up unannounced on our anniversary with old photo albums full of Arthur’s childhood pictures and stayed for three hours.
Every visit was an exercise in diplomatic relations, with me playing the role of ambassador to a hostile nation.
“She’s just set in her ways,” Arthur would say after particularly tense encounters. “Give her time.” But we’d been married for over a year now, and if anything, her behavior had gotten worse, not better.
A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t wear the shoes for a week. They sat in their box, pristine and accusing, until my business trip to Chicago came up. Arthur lounged on our bed, scrolling through his phone as I packed my suitcase.
“You should wear Mom’s shoes,” he suggested. “Show her you appreciate them.”
I ran my finger along the smooth leather. “Yeah, maybe I will.”
“I think she’s trying, you know,” he added, looking up from his screen. “That this is her way of extending an olive branch.”
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
If only I’d listened to my gut instead of his optimism.
The first hint of trouble came at the airport. Something felt off. Like there was something in my left shoe, but when I took it off to check, there was nothing there. Just pristine leather and that new-shoe smell.
“Everything okay?” The businessman behind me in the security line looked impatient, checking his watch for the third time in a minute.
A business man in an airport | Source: Midjourney
“Fine,” I muttered, slipping the shoe back on. “Just breaking in new shoes.”
But it wasn’t fine. With each step toward security, the sensation grew worse — a persistent pressure against the ball of my foot, as if something was trying to push its way out.
By the time I reached the conveyor belt, I was practically limping. It was a relief when the TSA officer asked me to remove my shoes and put them on the belt.
An airport security officer | Source: Midjourney
The TSA officer’s face told me everything before he even opened his mouth.
He’d been scanning items with the practiced boredom of someone who’d seen it all, but something made him sit up straight, eyes narrowing at his screen.
“Ma’am, step aside, please.”
My stomach dropped. “Is there a problem?”
A worried woman in an airport | Source: Midjourney
He pointed to the X-ray screen, where something dark and dense lurked in the outline of my left shoe. “We need to examine this more closely. Please remove the insole.”
The businessman who’d been behind me in line shot me a suspicious look as he retrieved his laptop. A mother pulled her young daughter closer as they passed.
My cheeks burned as I sat down and worked at the insole with trembling fingers.
“Need some help?” A female officer had appeared, snapping on blue latex gloves.
A woman putting on blue latex gloves | Source: Pexels
“I… I don’t understand,” I stammered. “These were a gift from my mother-in-law. I just wore them for the first time today.”
The insole finally peeled back with a soft ripping sound. There, nestled in a cavity that had been carefully carved into the sole, was a small package wrapped in plastic. Green-brown contents showed through the clear wrapping.
The original officer’s expression hardened. “Can you explain this?”
A stern airport security officer | Source: Midjourney
“Those aren’t my shoes. I mean, they are, but they were a gift. I didn’t know—” My voice cracked. “Please, I have no idea what that is. I’m supposed to be giving a presentation in Chicago tomorrow morning.”
“We’ll need to test the contents,” he cut me off. “Please wait here.”
Twenty minutes felt like 20 years. I sat on a hard plastic chair, watching other travelers stream past, imagining headlines: “Marketing Executive Caught Smuggling Drugs.”
AN anxious woman | Source: Midjourney
I thought about calling Arthur but couldn’t bear explaining this over the phone. What would he think? What would he say to Debbie?
The senior officer who finally arrived to speak to me had kind eyes above his stern mouth. “The preliminary tests show no controlled substances in this package,” he said. “But we can’t allow you to take it on your flight, just in case. You understand this could have been a serious situation?”
“Yes, sir.” I fought back tears of relief. “I’m so sorry for the trouble.”
A relieved woman speaking to an airport security officer | Source: Midjourney
“Be more careful about what you carry through security,” he warned as he released me.
I stared at the package the TSA officer placed into my palm. Part of me wanted to throw it away, but I hurriedly tossed it into one of the airport lockers before jogging to catch my flight.
I barely made it and spent the entire trip to Chicago with my mind racing. Why would Debbie do this? What was she trying to accomplish?
Each possibility I considered seemed more outlandish than the last, but they all pointed to one unavoidable conclusion: my mother-in-law had deliberately set me up.
A woman staring thoughtfully out a plane window | Source: Midjourney
I took the bag to a lab for testing immediately after I returned home. When the results came back, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
I stared at the report, my coffee growing cold beside me. Mugwort. Yarrow. St. John’s Wort. According to my frantic Google searches, these herbs were used in folk magic. They were used for spells meant to drive people away, sever connections, or “protect” someone from unwanted influences.
Debbie had tried to use magic to get rid of me.
A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney
That evening, I waited until Arthur and I had finished dinner. He was loading the dishwasher, humming under his breath, when I finally worked up the courage.
“We need to talk about your mother,” I said.
He turned, dish soap bubbles clinging to his hands. “What’s wrong?”
I told him everything about the airport, the herbs, and what I’d discovered about their supposed magical properties.
A woman talking to her husband | Source: Midjourney
His face grew darker with each word, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched it.
“She’s never wanted me in your life. This proves it. I was almost arrested because of this stunt, Arthur. All because she can’t accept that you chose me.”
Arthur dried his hands slowly, methodically, like he needed the simple task to ground himself.
“I knew she was having trouble accepting you, but this…” He shook his head. “This is something else entirely. It’s on a whole other level, and it’s unforgivable.”
A man staring at his wife | Source: Midjourney
“What are we going to do?”
He looked at me, and I saw the pain in his eyes. But there was also determination. “I’m going to call her right now. And then I’m going to tell her that until she can admit what she did and genuinely apologize to you, she’s not welcome in our home.”
“Arthur, you don’t have to—”
“Yes, I do.” He took my hand, his grip firm and sure.
A man reassuring his wife | Source: Midjourney
“She crossed a line, Jess. She tried to hurt you and made you look like a criminal. I love my mother, but I won’t let her destroy my marriage. You’re my family too, and it’s time she understood that.”
I leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. The shoes sat in our closet, a reminder that sometimes the most dangerous gifts come wrapped in the prettiest packages.
As Arthur reached for his phone, I knew we’d weather this storm together and be stronger for facing it head-on.
A resolute woman | Source: Midjourney
Maybe that’s what really drives Debbie crazy: knowing that every attempt to separate us only brings us closer together.
Maybe someday she’ll realize there’s enough room in Arthur’s heart for both of us. Until then, we’ll keep our distance, and I’ll be more careful about accepting gifts.
Here’s another story: At Amanda’s wedding, simmering tensions with her disapproving mother reach a breaking point when a cruel “gift” pushes Amanda to her limit. Faced with an unforgivable moment of betrayal, she must decide whether to stand up for her fiancé or risk losing everything.
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.
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