The loss of my husband devastated me. But two days after his funeral, my mother-in-law made things even worse. She kicked me and my children out of the house, changed the locks and left us homeless. She thought she had won, but she had no idea that she was making the biggest mistake of her life.
When I married Ryan two years ago, I wasn’t naive about his mother. Margaret never hid her contempt for me, her eyes always narrowing slightly when I entered the room, as if I brought a bad smell with me.
‘She’ll come around, Kat,’ Ryan would say, squeezing my hand under the dinner table when his mother persistently asked him, and only him, about his day.
But she never came around. Not to me, and certainly not to Emma (5) and Liam (7), my children from my previous marriage.
One Sunday evening at dinner at her house, I overheard her talking to a friend in the kitchen.
‘The children aren’t even his,’ she whispered, unaware that I was approaching with empty plates. ‘She lured him into a trap with her ready-made family. A classic gold digger’s move.’
I froze in the hallway, the plates trembling in my hands.
That evening, I met with Ryan, tears streaming down my face. ‘Your mother thinks I married you for money. She doesn’t even accept Emma and Liam as your family.’
Ryan clenched his jaw, a muscle twitching on his cheek. ‘I’ll talk to her. I promise this will stop now.’
He pulled me close to him, his heart beating steadily against my ear. ‘You and these children are my world, Kat. No one and nothing will come between us. Not even my mother.’
Ryan kept his word. He bought us a beautiful house in a neighbourhood with good schools and tree-lined streets, far enough away from Margaret that we didn’t have to see her if we didn’t want to.
Emma and Liam blossomed under Ryan’s care. He didn’t try to replace their biological father, who had left when Liam was still in nappies. Instead, he created his own relationship with them, built on pillow forts, Saturday morning pancakes and bedtime stories.
‘You’re putting the kids to bed tonight,’ I said, leaning against the doorframe in Emma’s room and watching Ryan carefully arrange stuffed animals around her.
‘Mr. Whiskers always goes on the left,’ Emma instructed seriously.
‘Of course,’ Ryan nodded with equal seriousness. ‘He’s the guardian of the left side of the bed. A very important position.’
Later, when both children were asleep, Ryan joined me on the sofa, wrapping his arms around my shoulders.
‘I talked to Mum today,’ he said quietly.
I tensed. ‘And?’
‘I told her that either she respects my family — my whole family — or she doesn’t see me at all.’ His voice was firm but sad. ‘I think she understood what I meant.’
I rested my head on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry you had to do that.’
‘I didn’t have to,’ he corrected me. ‘I chose to. There’s a difference.’
For a while, Margaret kept her distance. She sent the children greeting cards, showed up at Christmas with awkwardly chosen gifts, and managed to be polite to me. It wasn’t warm, but it was tolerable.
Then a phone call came that ruined EVERYTHING.
I was chopping vegetables for dinner when the phone rang. The children were doing their homework at the kitchen table, arguing good-naturedly about who had more maths problems.
‘Is this Miss Catherine?’ asked an unfamiliar voice.
‘Yes.’
‘I’m calling from the hospital in the city centre. Your husband has been in an accident.’
The knife fell onto the counter. ‘What kind of accident?’
The pause lasted an eternity. ‘A car accident. It’s serious, ma’am. You need to come right away.’
I don’t remember driving to the hospital. I don’t remember calling my neighbour to ask her to look after the children. I only remember the doctor’s face when he approached me in the waiting room, and what I understood even before he opened his mouth.
‘I’m very sorry. We did everything we could,’ he said.
My heart seemed to stop beating. Ryan was gone. The only man who truly loved me and loved my children as his own… he was gone.
‘Can I see him?’ My voice sounded distant, as if it belonged to someone else.
The doctor nodded, leading me down a corridor that seemed to go on forever.
Ryan looked peaceful, almost as if he were sleeping, except for his immobility. No rising and falling of his chest. No fluttering of his eyelids. Only stillness.
I touched his hand. It was cold.
‘You promised,’ I whispered, and tears fell onto our joined hands. ‘You promised you wouldn’t leave us.’
The funeral was held in black clothes and with murmurs of condolences. Margaret sat in the front row, opposite me and the children. She didn’t cry. When people approached her, she accepted their hugs with stiff dignity.
Emma clung to my hand, her little fingers squeezing mine every time a new person approached us. Liam stood next to me with his back straight, trying his best to be the man of the house.
After the service, Margaret approached us. Her eyes were red but dry, and her posture was stiff.
‘This is your fault,’ she said without preamble, her voice low but sharp enough to cut.
I stared at her, not understanding. ‘Excuse me?’
‘My son died because of you. If he hadn’t been rushing home to you and those children, he would still be alive.’
I froze. The police said Ryan’s accident happened on a stretch of highway not far from our house.
‘We are his family,’ I snapped, my voice shaking as I gestured towards the children. ‘And he loved us.’
Margaret’s lips tightened. ‘You lured him into a trap. You know it, and I know it.’
Before I could respond, she walked away, leaving me standing there with my mouth open, her accusations hanging in the air between us like poison.
‘Mum?’ Liam tugged at my sleeve. ‘What did Grandma Margaret mean? Are we to blame for Dad’s death?’
I quickly knelt down and took his little face in my hands. ‘No, sweetheart. Not at all. What happened to Daddy was a terrible accident, and no one is to blame. Grandma Margaret is just very upset and saying things she doesn’t mean.’
I forced myself to smile, even though my heart was breaking again. ‘Let’s go home.’
Two days after the funeral, I took the children out for ice cream, hoping that this little treat would bring a little normality back into our grief-stricken routine. When we returned, I almost crashed the car in shock.
Our belongings were piled on the side of the road in black garbage bags, like discarded rubbish waiting to be collected. Emma’s favourite blanket fell out of one of the bags, its pink edge fluttering in the wind.
‘Mum?’ her voice trembled. ‘Why is my blanket outside?’
I parked haphazardly and rushed to the front door. My key didn’t work. The lock had been replaced.
I knocked, then banged my fist on the wood. ‘Hello? Hello!’
The door swung open, and Margaret stood before me in a crisp linen trouser suit, looking as if she belonged there.
‘Oh, you’re back,’ she said, leaning against the doorframe. “I thought you’d take the hint. This house is mine now. You and your little brats need to find another place.”
I felt my body grow cold, then burn with rage. ‘Margaret, this is my home.’
She sneered. ‘It was my son’s home. And now that he’s gone, you have no right to it.’
Emma started crying behind me. Liam moved closer, his small body protecting his sister.
‘You can’t do this,’ I said, my voice shaking. ‘It’s illegal. This is our house.’
‘Sue me,’ Margaret replied with a cold smile. ‘Oh, wait, you can’t afford to, can you? Not without my son’s money.’
She stepped back and began to close the door. ‘I changed the locks, as you noticed. Don’t come back.’
The door closed in front of my nose. Behind me, Emma’s cries grew louder.
‘Where are we going to sleep?’ Liam asked, his voice quiet but trying hard to be brave.
I turned to my children, their faces pale with confusion and fear. ‘We’ll figure something out,’ I promised, though I had no idea how.
That night we slept in my car, parked in the car park. I reclined the front seat as far back as it would go. The children curled up in the back seat, covered with a few blankets I had taken from the bags on the side of the road.
‘It’ll be like camping,’ I told them with forced cheerfulness.
Emma fell asleep quickly, exhausted from crying. But Liam was awake, the lights of the car park reflected in his eyes.
‘Dad wouldn’t have let this happen,’ he whispered.
I reached back to squeeze his hand. ‘You’re right. Neither would I.’
The next morning, I took the children to school, assuring them that I would have everything sorted out by the time they were picked up. Then I got in the car and finally broke down.
When I could breathe again, I called Ryan’s solicitor, Robert. My hands were shaking so much that I could barely hold the phone.
‘Catherine,’ he replied warmly. ‘I was going to call you next week. How are you holding up?’
‘Not great. Margaret changed the locks on our house. She threw out our things. Last night we slept in my car.’
There was a pause, then, ‘What did she do?’
I repeated to myself, tears threatening again.
‘That’s illegal,’ Robert said, his voice firming. ‘Completely illegal. Does she really think…’ He stopped. ‘Did Ryan leave a will? Is that what you’re calling about?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘Please tell me he left one.’
‘He did. In fact, I was supposed to bring it to you next week.’ He paused. ‘Why don’t you come to my office right now?’
An hour later, I sat across from Robert as he picked up the document from his desk.
‘Ryan came to see me about six months ago,’ he explained. ‘He was worried about exactly this scenario.’
I looked down at the will, and Ryan’s familiar signature at the bottom brought a new wave of grief.
‘He left everything to you, Catherine,’ Robert said softly. ‘The house, his savings, his investments. Everything.’
I looked up, not daring to hope. ‘Everything?’
Robert nodded. ‘Well, almost. He left his mother two hundred thousand dollars… but with a condition.’ He tapped his finger on a paragraph on the second page. ‘If she tries to evict you, take the house, or violate your rights to his inheritance, she will lose that money.’
‘And where will it go?’ I asked.
Robert smiled grimly. ‘To you and the children.’
For the first time in several days, I felt something other than grief. It was small, but it was… a glimmer of justice and hope.
‘What do we do now?’ I asked.
‘Now,’ said Robert, taking out his phone, ‘we’re taking your house back.’
An emergency court hearing was scheduled for the next day. I spent another night in the car with the children, but this time I slept better.
‘I have something important to tell you,’ I said to Emma and Liam over breakfast at a fast food restaurant the next morning. ‘Today we’re getting our house back.’
‘Really?’ Emma’s eyes lit up. ‘With my room and everything?’
‘Everything,’ I promised.
‘Will Grandma Margaret be in trouble?’ Liam asked.
I hesitated, but then decided to be honest. ‘Yes, she will. What she did was wrong, and there will be consequences.’
Liam nodded seriously. ‘Dad always said we have to take responsibility for our actions.’
My heart sank. ‘He did say that, didn’t he?’
The judge was a stern woman with reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She listened to both sides — Margaret, indignantly babbling about family rights, and me, calmly explaining how we had been left homeless.
‘Miss Margaret,’ the judge finally said, ‘you had no legal right to change the locks or evict the legal owners from their property. I order you to vacate the premises immediately and return all keys to Miss Catherine by the end of the day.’
Margaret’s face contorted. ‘But this is my son’s house!’
‘Which he legally left to his wife,’ the judge clarified. ‘This court does not recognise “but I am his mother” as a valid legal argument, Miss Margaret.’
As we left the courtroom, Margaret hurried past me, not wanting to meet my gaze.
‘This isn’t over,’ she hissed.
Robert put his hand on my shoulder. ‘Actually, yes. And there’s something else she doesn’t know yet.’
By sunset, I had new keys to the house. Robert had sent a locksmith to make sure Margaret couldn’t pull another stunt.
When we pulled into the driveway, the children jumped out of the car in excitement and froze at the sight before them. Margaret’s belongings were piled on the side of the road in the same black bin bags she had used for our things.
‘Mum,’ Liam whispered, ‘did you do this?’
I smiled and didn’t have time to answer before another car screeched to a halt behind us. Margaret jumped out, her face red with rage.
‘What is this?’ she demanded, gesturing at her belongings.
I stood between her and the children. ‘You broke into my house and illegally evicted me and my children. Now it’s your turn to leave.’
‘You can’t do that!’ she screamed.
I handed her my new keys. ‘Oh, but I can. This house belongs to me and my children now. Ryan took care of that.’
She took out her phone. ‘I’m calling the police.’
I smiled. ‘Go ahead.’
When the police arrived, they listened to both sides. Then, to Margaret’s obvious shock, they addressed her.
‘Ma’am, changing the locks without notice of eviction is illegal,’ one of the officers explained. ‘So is breaking and entering. And illegal eviction.’
‘But it’s my son’s house!’ Margaret insisted.
‘Not according to the will,’ the officer replied. ‘We’re going to have to ask you to come with us.’
As Margaret was led to the police car, she turned and looked at me. ‘You turned my son against me. You and those children who aren’t even his!’
Advertisement
I moved closer, lowering my voice so that only she could hear. ‘No, Margaret. You did this to yourself. And now you’ve lost everything… including the £200,000 Ryan left you.’
Her face fell. ‘What?’
‘It’s in the will,’ I explained. ‘The money was yours, as long as you didn’t try to take our house. Guess where it’s going now?’
The realisation dawned on her just as the officer closed the car door.
That night, for the first time since the funeral, we slept in our own beds. I tucked Emma in, making sure Mr. Whiskers was in his place on the left side of the bed.
‘Mummy?’ she asked sleepily. ‘Will Grandma Margaret go to prison?’
I stroked her hair. ‘I don’t know, sweetheart. But she won’t be able to hurt us anymore.’
Liam was already lying under the covers, but his eyes were wide open.
‘You were very brave today, Mum,’ he said as I sat down on the edge of his bed.
I smiled. ‘I learned that from you guys.’
After the children fell asleep, I looked into Ryan’s study. His presence was everywhere: in the leather chair moulded to his body, in the coffee mug still sitting on the desk, and in the family photo placed so he could see it while he worked.
I picked up the photo and traced his face with my finger.
‘You knew,’ I whispered. ‘You knew she might try something like this.’
In the silence that followed, I could almost hear his answer: ‘Of course I knew. That’s why I made sure you and the children would be taken care of.’
Later, Robert told me that Margaret had lost everything fighting the charges. The $200,000 that now belonged to me and my children was only the beginning. Legal fees, a brief stint in jail for breaking and entering, and social disgrace in her country club circles completed her downfall.
I did not rejoice in her demise. But I took comfort in the fact that Ryan’s last act was to protect us… from her, from uncertainty, and from the cruelty of fate.
The universe has a way of balancing things out. Ryan knew that. In the end, so did Margaret.
