Our reader Nadine sent us an emotional letter. The fact is that her in-laws invited the whole family over for dinner, leaving her children out. To make matters worse, her husband knew this and approved of this behavior.
This is Nadine’s letter.
We decided to find out what readers think about this situation. All of them found the behavior of the husband and in-laws offensive.
- I have a very short answer that I use on occasion, and that is. When people show you who they are, believe them. Whatever is said now and whatever apologies made, you know who they all are. © Linda Fawcett / Facebook
- If my kids weren’t welcome at whatever function, I wouldn’t go either. © Sandy Freed / Facebook
- I would have left straight away and if my husband didn’t follow, I would have finished my marriage, when it comes to my kids no one wins over them. © Liz Russell Flaherty / Facebook
- I’d ask my hit if he cared about me and the kids. And then I’d leave the restaurant with or without him. © Faye Birkbeck / Facebook
- This happened to us for a wedding. Other kids were there. We drove 3 hours to get there, so we were stuck. That was 40 years ago. I never forgot. © Regina Mason / Facebook
- My children come first, they are not baggage’s … it does not matter if you’re blood or not, kindness should be organic. © M Otto Rittah Rxs / Facebook
- I would seriously consider whether you stay with your husband, as he clearly hasn’t accepted your children. To say that they shouldn’t be at a family gathering because they’re not blood relatives, means he agrees with your in-laws. I can only imagine how your kids feel with their ‘so called’ dad, disowning them in this manner. © James Wood / Facebook
Conflict with in-laws is not uncommon. Here is the story of a young woman who decided to teach her insolent mother-in-law a lesson.
I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom
When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.
Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.
“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.
At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.
Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.
As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.
Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.
“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”
Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.
“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.
“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”
Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.
As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.
“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.
Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.
“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.
Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.
“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.
Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.
Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.
As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.
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