A woman who was kicked out of her wealthy father’s house at sixteen for marrying a poor man ended up living on the streets with her four children after her husband passed away.
Steve Walton was not happy when his butler informed him that Pastor Morris was waiting to see him. After a long flight from Singapore, he was tired and not interested in hearing the pastor’s lectures or requests for community support.
He had the pastor brought in and, showing his impatience, said, “Get on with it, man! What do you want this time?”
“Mr. Walton, I saw Susan,” the pastor said quietly. Steve’s heart nearly stopped. His only daughter had left his house nearly fifteen years ago, and he hadn’t seen her since.
“Susan?” Steve asked anxiously. “Where? When? How is she?”
“I was in Los Angeles, helping out a friend with a mission for the homeless, and that’s where I saw her,” the pastor explained.
“Was she volunteering? Did you tell her I’ve been looking for her?” Steve asked.
“No,” Pastor Morris replied gently. “She wasn’t a volunteer, Mr. Walton. She’s homeless. She and her children are living in a car.”
Steve felt so dizzy he had to sit down. “Homeless? My Susan? With children?” he gasped.
“I’m afraid so,” the pastor said. “And she wouldn’t even listen to me when I told her to come home.”
“But why?” Steve asked angrily. “She’s not still with that loser, is she?”
“Her husband passed away three years ago, Mr. Walton,” the pastor explained. “She told me she wouldn’t bring her children into a house where their father was hated.”
Steve Walton felt a wave of old rage sweep over him. Even fifteen years later, Susan was still defying him! He remembered the scene in his study, and how Susan had looked him in the eyes as he ranted.
“Pregnant at sixteen, and by the GARDENER!” he had screamed. “We are going to have THAT taken care of, and HE’S fired! You will never see that man again!”
“THAT is my baby, daddy,” Susan had said with a trembling voice. “And HE is the man I love. I’m going to marry him.”
“You marry that man and you’re on your own, Susan, do you hear?” Steve shouted furiously. “No more money, nothing! You marry him and you get out of my house!”
Susan had looked at him with tears in her eyes. “I love you, daddy,” she said. Then she turned and walked away. Despite hiring detectives to find her, no one had been able to trace her.
“How many children?” Steve asked Pastor Morris.
“Four,” the pastor replied. “Three girls and a boy. Beautiful children.”
Steve picked up his phone and demanded that his plane be prepared. “Pastor, would you come with me to Los Angeles and take me to my little girl?” he asked quietly.
The pastor nodded, and within two hours, he and Steve were on Steve’s private jet heading south. When they landed, a limo was waiting to take them to a parking lot outside a large mall.
At the far end of the lot, they found a pickup truck with a tent set up in the back. Pastor Morris had told Steve that after Susan’s husband died in a work accident, the insurance company refused to pay out, and the bank foreclosed on their home.
Susan had packed her children and their few belongings into the old pickup. She worked as a cleaner at the mall and used the mall’s facilities. She also bought leftover food from the restaurants at the end of the day.
Despite everything, Susan managed to keep her four children fed, clean, and in school. As Steve and the pastor approached the truck, they heard cheerful voices and laughter. Two children tumbled out of the back, excited to see them.
The oldest girl, around fourteen, was laughing as she tickled a boy of about seven. When Steve and Pastor Morris approached, the children stopped and stared.
“Mom!” the girl shouted. “That old preacher friend of yours is here!”
From inside the tent, a familiar voice asked, “Preacher Morris?” Susan then emerged, and Steve saw the shock on her face when she saw him standing next to the pastor.
“Daddy?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.
Steve was taken aback. His daughter was only thirty-one, but she looked much older. Her face was lined with worry and hardship, and her hands were rough from hard work.
“Susan,” Steve cried. “Look at you! Look at what HE did to my princess! I wanted so much more for you! And you married that loser! What could he have given you? Poverty?”
Susan shook her head and said, “He loved me, Daddy, and he gave me four beautiful children. He passed away, and I had nowhere to go, but I’ve done my best for my kids. I will always love their father, just like I’ve always loved you.”
Steve found tears streaming down his face. “Forgive me, Susan,” he sobbed. “Please forgive me. Come home, I want you all to come home with me. Let me help you take care of the children!”
As Steve held his weeping daughter, he knew that everything would be alright. Susan introduced him to his three granddaughters and then placed her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “And this,” she smiled, “is little Stevie!”
“You named him after me?” Steve asked, amazed. “After what I did?”
Susan looked at her father and said softly, “I love you, Daddy. Don’t you know that?”
That afternoon, they all flew back to Texas together. It marked the start of a new, better life for the whole family.
What can we learn from this story?
– **Love Your Children Unconditionally:** Steve’s anger at Susan for loving someone poor led him to lose his daughter. Accept your children no matter who they love.
– **Don’t Judge People by Wealth:** Steve didn’t like Susan’s husband because he was poor, but he was a loving and dedicated father. Don’t judge people by their money or status.
Share this story with your friends. It might bring them hope and inspiration.
Am I Wrong for Refusing to Keep Providing Free Childcare for My Stepdaughter?
All I ask is a few minutes of your time to hear my ordeal. Months after providing free childcare for my stepdaughter, I made a choice to refuse when things went too far. Now I need you to tell me — was I really wrong for not giving in to her bizarre demands and refusing to babysit her child?
Retirement was supposed to be my time to relax, travel, and maybe take up gardening. Instead, I became “Grandma Daycare,” a title I wore proudly. I’d retired when my first grandchild was born, and over the years, I’d babysat all five of my grandchildren, both from my kids and stepkids.
An older woman with her grandchild | Source: Pexels
“Grandma, tell us the story about the dancing bear again!” little Tommy would beg, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“No, the princess one!” Lily would counter, climbing onto my lap.
Those moments made my heart swell. Their laughter was worth every second of exhaustion, even on the hardest days. It wasn’t always easy, but I loved it.
Whether it was finger painting, bedtime stories, or comforting a feverish toddler, I poured my heart and soul into caring for them. My days were busy but fulfilling.
A cheerful grandmother babysitting a toddler | Source: Midjourney
“You’re a miracle worker,” my son James once said, watching me juggle three kids while baking cookies. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“Love,” I replied simply. “Love makes everything possible, dear.”
Alice, my stepdaughter, was the last one to have a baby. Her daughter, Ellie, was born when my schedule was already full. I watched my 18-month-old grandson Monday through Friday and handled the older kids during summer breaks.
I wasn’t sure I could take on another child, but I was open to helping where I could.
Unfortunately, Alice and her boyfriend, Sam, made that almost impossible.
A young couple | Source: Unsplash
Alice and Sam had always been a bit high-maintenance, but I wasn’t prepared for the three-page list they handed me when Alice was just ten weeks pregnant.
“We’ve put together some rules,” Alice said, her voice overly casual. “If you’re going to babysit my baby, you’ll need to agree to these.”
I skimmed the list, and my jaw nearly hit the floor.
“I can’t cook? I can’t have more than one other grandchild over? And what’s this about my cat? Muffin has to stay out of the baby’s rooms, even when your baby’s not here?” I looked at them incredulously. “This is… a lot.”
A shocked senior woman holding a piece of paper | Source: Midjourney
Sam folded his arms. “It’s for our baby’s safety.”
“Safety?” My voice rose. “I raised three children, helped raise two stepchildren, and have been caring for four grandchildren without a single incident. What exactly are you implying about my capabilities?”
“Times have changed, Ruby,” Sam said dismissively. “There are new studies, new recommendations —”
“New recommendations about cooking?” I interrupted, my hands trembling with anger. “About having siblings and cousins around? About cats that have been part of the family longer than you have?”
“Mom,” Alice pleaded, “we just want what’s best for our baby.”
A young woman looking frustrated | Source: Midjourney
“I’m sure you mean well,” I said, handing the list back, fighting to keep my voice steady, “but this won’t work for me. You’ll need to find other childcare.”
Their faces fell, but I stood my ground.
Months later, Alice called me in a panic. Her voice cracked with desperation. “Mom, our sitter canceled last minute. Can you watch Ellie tomorrow? Just for the day?”
I hesitated. “You know I won’t be following those rules, right? I’ll provide safe and appropriate care, but I won’t be micromanaged.”
Alice sighed. “That’s fine. We just really need help.”
That “one day” turned into four months. While Alice was somewhat tolerable, Sam was a nightmare. Every time he picked Ellie up, he’d make snide comments about Muffin, the number of kids I had over, or whether I’d cooked that day.
A senior woman holding a baby | Source: Midjourney
One afternoon, as I read to Ellie and her cousin, Sam arrived early.
“Well, well,” he sneered, “I see we’re breaking rules again. Two kids at once? How dangerous.”
I held Ellie closer, feeling her tiny fingers grip my shirt. “Sam, if you have concerns, we can discuss them like adults. But not in front of the children.”
He scoffed. “I guess we don’t have a choice but to put up with this for now.”
And the other day, he said, “I guess you’re happy you won, Ruby.”
An annoyed young man | Source: Midjourney
By Sunday nights, I’d started dreading the week ahead. The joy I once felt watching my grandkids was overshadowed by Sam’s constant negativity and Alice’s relentless questioning:
“Did the baby cry? Did you change her diaper twice? Did you feed her?”
I had raised kids on my own — did they really think I was new to this whole motherhood thing? Some days were worse than others, but I let it slide, chalking it up to them being “new parents” trying too hard to get everything right.
A heartbroken senior woman sitting on the couch | Source: Midjourney
Thanksgiving was the breaking point. I’d told Alice and Sam well in advance that I’d have all my grandkids over during the holiday break. But Sam wasn’t happy.
“This isn’t safe,” he said during one particularly tense pickup. “You can’t watch all those kids and take care of Ellie properly.”
“I’ve been doing this for years, Sam,” I said, trying to keep my voice level. “All these children are family. They love each other, they look out for each other, and there’s nothing to worry about here.”
“That’s not good enough,” he interrupted. “Ellie needs individual attention. She needs —”
“Then make other arrangements,” I said calmly.
Of course, they didn’t.
An annoyed man holding a baby | Source: Midjourney
On the first day of Thanksgiving break, Sam picked Ellie up and made another snide comment, this time directly to her. “I’m sorry, my baby. I guess we have no choice but to leave you in an unsafe situation to be neglected.”
My heart shattered. Seven-month-old Ellie might not have understood the words, but I felt humiliated. Her lower lip trembled, and she began to cry.
“How dare you,” I whispered, my voice shaking with rage. “How dare you poison her against me? Against her family?”
I scooped Ellie up, soothing her tears while glaring at Sam. “You can criticize me all you want, but don’t you dare use this precious child as a weapon in your petty war.”
A senior woman having an emotional breakdown | Source: Midjourney
Sam opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “You may think you’re the expert at everything, but let me remind you — respect is earned, not demanded. And right now? You’re running on empty.”
Sam scoffed, crossing his arms. “Respect? You mean like the respect you show by ignoring our rules? Funny, because from where I’m standing, you’re the one who’s out of line.”
That was it.
I called Alice that night, my voice hoarse from holding back tears. “You have two weeks to find other childcare. And from now on, Sam is not welcome here. If he comes to pick Ellie up, I won’t watch her again.”
An angry woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
“Mom, please,” Alice begged. “He didn’t mean —”
“He meant every word,” I cut her off. “And your silence makes you complicit. Two weeks, Alice. That’s final.”
Alice reluctantly agreed, and for a while, things improved. However, on New Year’s Day, I received several texts from friends with screenshots of a post that Sam had made on his social media page.
“Thankful we finally found someone safe to watch Ellie after dealing with a HORRIBLE babysitter,” the post read. He tagged me and added, “Some people just aren’t cut out for childcare.”
What hurt the most? Alice had liked the post.
A shocked senior woman staring at her phone | Source: Midjourney
I was LIVID. After months of free childcare, enduring Sam’s endless criticism and Alice’s never-ending demands, this was how they repaid me? I collapsed into my husband’s arms, sobbing.
“Thirty years,” I choked out. “I’ve been caring for children for 30 years. How can they say I’m not cut out for it?”
“They’re wrong,” he whispered, stroking my hair. “Everyone knows they’re wrong.”
I decided right then and there: I was done.
A few days later, Alice called again. “Mom, the daycare dropped Ellie. Can you start watching her again?”
An anxious young woman talking on the phone | Source: Midjourney
I took a deep breath, steadying myself against the kitchen counter. “I’m sorry for your situation, Alice, but I can’t do it. I don’t feel comfortable watching Ellie anymore.”
“Please, Mom,” she sobbed. “We don’t have anyone else. I might have to quit my job!”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before letting Sam publicly humiliate me. Before liking his cruel post.”
“That was stupid, I know,” she admitted. “I just… I felt trapped between you and him. Please, Mom. We’ll do anything.”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I whispered, tears rolling down my cheeks. “But sometimes ‘anything’ comes too late.”
A sad woman engaged on a phonecall | Source: Midjourney
Later, I found out the truth. The daycare hadn’t dropped Ellie — her parents had left because they couldn’t afford it. Alice and Sam hadn’t realized daycare didn’t provide essentials like diapers, wipes, and formula. They’d assumed $350 a week covered everything. Sam had also been shocked to learn that one worker cared for five infants at a time.
Now, they were scrambling. Sam had to sell his dirt bike, and Alice sold all her designer handbags to afford their child’s daycare.
My husband and stepson think I should reconsider for Ellie’s sake. “Sam’s the problem,” they argue. “Why punish Alice and Ellie for his behavior?”
A distressed woman lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney
One night, during a heated family dinner, my stepson took a jab at me. “If this were your own daughter’s child, you’d forgive and move on.”
The room fell silent. I set down my fork, hands trembling.
“How dare you,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes. “How dare you suggest I love any of my grandchildren less than others. I’ve poured my heart and soul into this family for decades. I’ve loved your children as my own. But love doesn’t mean accepting abuse.”
“Mom’s right,” my daughter Sarah spoke up, her voice fierce. “You all saw how Sam treated her. How Alice enabled it. Would you let someone treat your mother that way?”
A furious woman crossing her arms | Source: Midjourney
My stepson’s words stung, but they weren’t true. I’d always treated my stepkids and biological kids equally. The difference was respect. My own kids and their spouses respected me. But Alice and Sam didn’t.
Ellie eventually returned to daycare, and I felt a weight lift off my shoulders. I could finally enjoy my time with my other grandkids without Sam’s negativity hanging over me.
One morning, while watching my grandson paint, he looked up at me with serious eyes.
“Grandma,” he said, “why doesn’t cousin Ellie come anymore?”
My heart clenched. “Sometimes, sweetheart, grown-ups have disagreements that make it hard to be together. But that doesn’t mean we love Ellie any less.”
A little boy with curious eyes | Source: Midjourney
“I miss her,” he said.
“Me too, baby,” I whispered. “Me too.”
Alice and Sam are learning the hard way that free childcare isn’t a right — it’s a privilege.
So, am I wrong for refusing to keep watching Ellie? Maybe. But respect is a two-way street. If they can’t appreciate the help they’ve been given, they’ll have to figure it out themselves.
Last week, I saw Alice at the grocery store. She looked tired and stressed. Our eyes met across the produce section, and for a moment, I saw my little girl again — the one who used to run to me with skinned knees and broken hearts, trusting me to make everything better.
But I’m not that kind of bandage anymore. To all the Sams and Alices of the world: grandma isn’t a free nanny.
A determined senior woman | 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.
Leave a Reply