The sight that greeted me as I walked into my mother-in-law’s living room nearly made me choke on my own breath. Towering over the pristine white carpet stood a magnificent Christmas tree, its branches laden with twinkling lights and a dazzling array of ornaments.
“Merry Christmas!” my mother-in-law chirped, her face beaming with an almost childlike glee.
I managed a weak smile, my inner monologue a raging torrent of disbelief. “Oh, it’s… it’s lovely,” I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Very festive.”
She beamed. “I spent all afternoon decorating it. It reminds me of my childhood, decorating the tree with my mother before she passed away.”
“Oh,” I said, my voice flat. “Sentimental, I suppose.”
“It brings me joy,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “It’s a beautiful tradition.”
Joy? At her age? At 70 years old, shouldn’t she be focusing on more important things? Like, I don’t know, spending time with her grandkids? Enjoying her golden years? Instead, she was wasting her time and money on a childish frivolity.
“It must have cost a fortune,” I remarked, my voice laced with disdain. “All those ornaments, the lights… You could have bought something useful for the kids with that money.”
Her smile faltered. “They have everything they need.”
“They could always use more,” I countered, my voice hardening. “College funds, maybe? Or maybe you could help us with the mortgage.”
My mother-in-law’s face, once radiant with joy, now wore a look of hurt. “I… I thought you’d be happy for me,” she stammered.
“Happy?” I scoffed. “Why would I be happy? You’re wasting your time and money on something that’s completely frivolous at your age.”
The rest of the visit was awkward. My mother-in-law, her eyes filled with disappointment, retreated to the corner of the room, her joy extinguished by my callous words. My husband, sensing the tension, tried to mediate, but I was too caught up in my own indignation to listen.
As we drove away, I felt a strange sense of unease creeping over me. My words, sharp and cruel, echoed in my ears. I had hurt her, deeply. And for what? For a Christmas tree?
That night, I couldn’t sleep. The image of my mother-in-law, sitting alone in the living room, her eyes filled with sadness, haunted me. I realized that my own materialistic values had blinded me to the true meaning of joy, the importance of cherished memories, and the simple pleasures of life.
The next day, I returned to my mother-in-law’s house, a bouquet of flowers in hand. I apologized for my insensitive remarks. I explained that I was wrong, that her happiness was more important than any material possession.
To my surprise, she accepted my apology with grace. “It’s alright, dear,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I understand. But you know, decorating this tree brought me more joy than anything else could have.”
As I watched her gaze lovingly at the sparkling tree, I finally understood. True happiness wasn’t about accumulating wealth or striving for material possessions. It was about finding joy in the simple things, about cherishing memories, and about embracing the magic of the holiday season.
That Christmas, I helped my mother-in-law decorate the tree. And as I watched her face light up with joy, I realized that I had learned a valuable lesson. Sometimes, the most precious gifts are the ones that can’t be bought, the ones that come from the heart. The sight that greeted me upon entering my mother-in-law’s living room nearly made me choke on my own breath. Standing tall in the corner, a veritable beacon of misplaced enthusiasm, was a towering Christmas tree, dripping with ornaments and twinkling lights.
“Merry Christmas!” she chirped, her voice a little too high-pitched, a little too…childlike.
I managed a weak smile. “Merry Christmas, Mom,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm I couldn’t quite control. “That’s… quite the tree.”
She beamed, “Isn’t it lovely? Took me all morning. I even found some of my old ornaments from when I was a child.”
“Oh, that’s… nice,” I mumbled, my eyes rolling involuntarily.
“It reminds me of my mother,” she continued, her voice softening. “We used to decorate the tree together every year. She would tell me stories about Christmases past, about her childhood.”
My jaw tightened. “Well, that’s… sweet,” I said through gritted teeth. “But don’t you think you’re a bit old for this? You should be focusing on spending time with your grandchildren, enjoying your retirement.”
My mother-in-law’s smile faltered. “I enjoy this,” she said quietly. “It brings me joy.”
“Joy?” I scoffed. “At your age? You should be focusing on more important things, like, I don’t know, your health, your finances.”
Her eyes, once sparkling with delight, now held a hint of hurt. “I’m perfectly healthy,” she retorted, her voice rising. “And I don’t need your lectures on how to spend my money. I worked hard for it, and I’ll spend it however I choose.”
The argument escalated from there. I accused her of being childish, of wasting her time and money on frivolous pursuits. She countered with accusations of being selfish and materialistic, of not understanding the importance of family traditions.
As I stormed out, the image of the glittering Christmas tree, a symbol of her joy and her past, haunted me. I had been so focused on my own needs, on my own desires, that I had failed to see the simple joy that this seemingly insignificant act brought to my mother-in-law.
That night, as I lay awake, I couldn’t shake off the feeling of guilt. Had I been too harsh? Was it really so wrong for her to cling to a cherished childhood memory?
The next morning, I returned to my mother-in-law’s house, a bouquet of flowers in hand. “I apologize for my behavior yesterday,” I said sincerely. “I was wrong. The tree is beautiful, and I can see how much it means to you.”
A surprised smile spread across her face. “Thank you, dear,” she said, her voice filled with warmth. “It means a lot to me that you understand.”
As I helped her decorate cookies with my children, I realized that true happiness wasn’t about accumulating wealth or striving for material possessions. It was about finding joy in the simple things, about cherishing memories, and about appreciating the beauty of the present moment.
And as I watched my children’s eyes light up at the sight of the glittering Christmas tree, I knew that my mother-in-law, in her own way, had given them a gift far more precious than any material possession: the gift of a cherished memory, a reminder of the magic of the holiday season, and the enduring power of family traditions.
From that day on, I looked at the Christmas tree with a newfound appreciation. It was no longer a symbol of childishness or a waste of money; it was a testament to the enduring power of joy, a reminder to cherish the simple pleasures, and a beautiful reflection of the woman who had given me the greatest gift of all – the love of my children.
My Stepmom Gifted Me a Funerary Urn for My 17th Birthday
As Lila was ready to celebrate her 17th birthday, she received an unexpected and creepy gift from her stepmother: a pink funerary urn. Like the type you keep ashes in? Yes, that’s the one. But that’s not all! Lila learns that her college fund was given to Monica to open her salon. What will Lila do?
Let me tell you, I’ve been sitting on this one for a few days, just trying to make sense of what went down.
I always thought my stepmom, Monica, was the worst, though not Disney villain evil. She was the kind of person who talks over you, forgets your birthday, and calls you “kiddo” when you’re practically an adult.
A smiling teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
But, what she pulled on my 17th birthday? It shattered whatever shaky truce we had.
At least, that’s what I thought. Turns out, things weren’t exactly what they seemed.
Here’s how it all went down.
My mom, Sarah, died when I was ten, and after that, it was just Dad and me. We were a solid team. The type of team that has pizza for dinner half the week, late-night movies, and this unspoken agreement that we’d always have each other’s backs.
Two boxes of pizza on a coffee table | Source: Midjourney
Then came Monica, about three years ago.
At first, she wasn’t horrible; she was just… there. Like a stray cat that never leaves, so you have no choice but to adopt it. Monica moved into our house, took over the bathroom with her fifty bottles of face serums and creams, and slowly pushed her way into my dad’s world.
Monica had big dreams of opening a hair salon, which was fine. I wasn’t against people having dreams. I had my own dreams waiting for me, but she treated me like I was just this annoying piece of furniture that came with the house.
A woman’s vanity | Source: Midjourney
Honestly, I was counting down the days until I could escape to college.
Dad had promised me since middle school that there was a college fund waiting for me.
“Don’t worry, sweet girl,” he told me. “Your mom and I put together the fund when you were five. There’s more than enough, and every year on your birthday and Christmas, I add more.”
A smiling little girl | Source: Midjourney
“Thank you, Dad,” I said. “I just want to study and make something of myself, like Mom said.”
“You only have to worry about your grades, Lila,” he said. “I’ll handle the rest.”
Naturally, I worked my butt off in school, knowing that in a few years, I’d be out of here.
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
College was my golden ticket, and no one — not even Monica — would stand in my way.
At least, that’s what I thought.
On the morning of my 17th birthday, I came downstairs expecting the usual lukewarm effort. By lukewarm, I mean a sad card, some pancakes, and Monica forgetting my favorite syrup. Dad was at work, so it was just Mon and I.
A plate of pancakes and a card on a table | Source: Midjourney
She handed me a gift bag, which was already weird because Monica wasn’t exactly the thoughtful or sentimental type.
“Happy Birthday, kiddo,” she said, flashing one of her tight-lipped smiles.
I wasn’t expecting much, but I sure as hell wasn’t expecting this.
I reached inside the bag and pulled out… an urn.
A shocked teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
A funerary urn.
You know, the kind that people store ashes in. Cold, heavy, and, well, pink. It was pink.
I just stared at it, my brain short-circuiting.
“What the hell is this?” I asked, holding the urn like it was cursed.
A pink funerary urn | Source: Midjourney
Monica leaned against the kitchen counter, smug as ever.
“It’s symbolic,” she said as if that explained anything.
“Symbolic of what?”
Monica’s grin widened.
A smiling woman in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“It’s time to bury your dreams of college, kiddo. Your dad and I talked about this, and we decided to put the college fund to better use.”
“Better use?” I asked, a cold shiver running through me.
“Yep. We’re investing it in my hair salon. College is a gamble, Lila. A business? That’s something real, sweetie.”
A hair salon being renovated | Source: Midjourney
She sipped her coffee like she’d just said the most reasonable thing in the world.
I was frozen in place, trying to make sense of what I’d just heard. Had they really taken my future, everything I’d worked for, and sunk it into Monica’s salon dream?
“How could you do this?” I whispered.
Monica just smiled, a little too pleased with herself.
A shocked teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
“Life’s full of disappointments, kiddo. Better get used to it now,” she said.
Wow.
That was it. I was done. I ran upstairs, slamming the door behind me so hard that the walls shook.
I cried so hard it hurt. What else could I do? Everything I had been holding onto was gone, and the only person I thought I could count on, Dad, had let this happen.
An upset teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
My mom wanted me to get out and make something of myself. And now? It was all over.
The next few days were a blur. I didn’t speak to Monica or my dad unless I absolutely had to. Every time I looked at that stupid urn sitting on my desk, my stomach twisted.
I couldn’t even bring myself to throw it out. It felt like some kind of morbid evidence. Like proof of the betrayal I didn’t see coming.
A pink funerary urn on a desk | Source: Midjourney
At school, my friends tried to cheer me up.
“Maybe she thought it was funny, Lila,” my friend Kira said. “Like, who really knows what Monica is thinking?”
“And anyway, there’s nothing stopping you from throwing it out! Just do it! Don’t overthink it,” Mel said.
Three teenage girls | Source: Midjourney
But still, I couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that Monica was prancing around, acting like she was the queen of the house, while I sat there with no future.
Then, a few days later, something strange happened.
When I got home from school, there was a note on my desk. Not in an envelope, just folded, with my name written in Monica’s messy handwriting.
A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
Meet me at the salon at 6 P.M. tonight. No questions. Just trust me. -M.
I almost laughed out loud. Trust her? Yeah, right.
But something about the note gnawed at me. Maybe it was the fact that I wanted to confront her one last time, tell her exactly what I thought of her.
Against my better judgment, I decided to go.
A note on a table | Source: Midjourney
When I got to the salon, the lights were off, and the front door was unlocked.
I hesitated for a second, wondering if this was some elaborate prank. But curiosity got the best of me.
I stepped inside, and there they were. Monica and my dad, standing side by side, both grinning widely.
“Surprise!” Monica shouted, throwing her arms up like this was the happiest moment of her life.
The entrance to a salon | Source: Midjourney
I just stared at them, completely lost.
“What is this?”
Monica stepped aside, and that’s when I saw it — a shiny, brand-new sign mounted on the wall.
Dream Cuts: A Scholarship Fund in Honor of Sarah
I blinked, feeling like the room was tilting on its axis.
A hair salon | Source: Midjourney
“What… what is this?”
Monica smiled, but it wasn’t her usual smug grin. This one was softer, almost real.
“We didn’t use your college fund, kiddo. It’s all still there. The salon? It’s not just for me. It’s for you, too. For other kids like you, too.”
I couldn’t breathe.
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
“But then, why would you make me think otherwise?” I asked.
Monica winced, putting her hand on her head.
“Yeah, so, the urn thing… That was not my best idea. I thought it’d be motivational, like, bury the past and embrace the future. You know? But it turns out that it was just creepy.”
A woman with her hand on her head | Source: Midjourney
I stared at her, speechless.
My dad stepped forward, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
“We’ve been planning this for months, Lila,” he said. “Your mom always wanted to help kids get to college. This salon is going to fund scholarships. For you and for others in her name.”
“The salon has been my dream, Lila,” Monica said. “But it was never going to come at your expense. This way, a great portion of all our profits in the future will go to the fund.”
A smiling man | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t know what to say.
Or what to think.
Just that I felt a warm haze take over me.
Monica laughed softly.
“I’m not a monster, darling,” she said. “I just didn’t want you to think that I was trying to take over your mom’s role.”
A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney
For the first time in a long time, I smiled.
It wasn’t perfect, but things with Monica probably never would be. But, at that moment, standing in the middle of a salon named for my mom’s dream, I realized that she wasn’t trying to ruin my life.
She was trying to build something bigger than any of us.
A smiling teenage girl | Source: Midjourney
And somehow, against all odds, it felt like a new beginning.
And yeah, I kept the urn. But I planted white peace lilies in it, thinking it would be symbolic after all. And who knows, maybe I’ll take the urn to college.
What would you have done?
Peace lilies planted into a pink funerary urn | Source: Midjourney
If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |
I Transferred $24K to My Daughter for Her College Tuition, Only to Discover She Never Enrolled — What She Spent It On Made Me Pale
Caroline had been saving for her daughter’s college fund since Angela was born. But after a classmate of Angela’s reveals that Angela is not actually enrolled in college, Caroline must uncover what her daughter is doing and what she used the money for.
Children are always going to break your heart. This was something that I learned the hard way after trusting my daughter, Angela, completely.
A close-up of a smiling girl | Source: Midjourney
Since Angela was born, I have been saving for college. I needed to know that irrespective of what life threw my way, I would be able to educate my child.
“I think you can wait until she’s a little older,” my husband, Holden, said. “We can do it together.”
“You can add to her college fund later,” I said, looking at my baby girl. “But I’m going to start from next month. I wasn’t able to study, Holden. And it was because we didn’t have the opportunity to do so. Angela is going to get that opportunity.”
A smiling baby girl | Source: Midjourney
“Okay, Caroline,” my husband said. “You start it now, and I’ll add to it in a year. The house will be paid off, and I’ll be able to put that money into the fund.”
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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