Our reader came up with a smart way to keep their neighbor’s child from acting up. After this, he had to cope with a mad parent and a wailing youngster. Was it wrong for him to do what he did, or did he go too far?
Brad’s story goes like this:
For weeks, my neighbor’s son kept ringing my doorbell and running away. I told his mom about it, and she said, “He’s just a boy.” You’re gone too far.
The next morning, he went home upset because I had put a big “Beware of Dog” sign on my front door. After that, I recorded some barking sounds on my phone and played them when the doorbell rang.
When I turned on the light, I noticed the kid standing still with his eyes wide open.
His mom texted me in a panic later that night and asked, “Was that really necessary?” He wept all day!
I just wanted it to be over without having to play games. Did I go too far?
Brad
My house isn’t a free hotel, so I kicked my daughter-in-law and grandkids out after my son died.
We recently got a message from a woman named Sheryl who is sad because her child died. Our editorial team is already split over her choice.
Sheryl’s son died in a horrible accident, leaving behind a wife and two young kids. What she did next will make you reconsider everything you thought you understood about love, family, and loss.
“I know people will hate me for this,” Sheryl said, “but I have to say it.” Someone could understand it.
My son Daniel, who was 34 years old, died in a car accident three months ago.
His wife Amanda, who is 29, and his two sons, Ethan, who is 6, and Caleb, who is 2, are still alive. They had been living in my house for seven years.
They never paid their rent. Never helped with the bills. They had no plans to depart, like if my house was a motel.
Please let me go back a bit.
When Amanda got pregnant with Ethan, she and Daniel lived in a small one-bedroom apartment.
Daniel was pursuing his master’s degree in engineering while working part-time. Amanda was pregnant, exhausted, and having trouble working at the diner.
As a kind mother, I let them stay with me because they couldn’t pay the rent.
This is my residence. My rules.
I told them, “This is just for now, until you get back on your feet.”
It was seven years ago.
Amanda never worked again after that. Daniel finally started making decent money, but they didn’t move away. Instead, they became acclimated to it.
They never gave me a cent or even a card to say thank you.
I taught Daniel to be courteous and motivated, but he grew up to be a weak, submissive man who followed Amanda around like a lovesick puppy.
To be honest, I never trusted her. Not since the first day.
Things were considerably different for her in the past. No, Dad.
As a child, I lived in a trailer. No college degree. They probably never even read a real book.
Daniel acted like she needed help, and I smiled and went along with it, as mothers do. But deep down, I knew that she wasn’t like him in the same way. Also, I’ve always thought that those kids might not be his. But I knew in my heart that she wasn’t as good as him.
And deep inside, I’ve always suspected that those kids might not be his.
Maybe Ethan. Daniel’s chin looks like his.
What about Caleb, though? That kid doesn’t look anything like my son. Their dark hair and olive skin make them look different.
I know how genetics operate, but a mother knows her child well.
I would find Amanda texting late at night, leaving the house to “walk,” or going out without telling anyone. And Daniel, the pretty young man, never asked why.
After the funeral, I waited a few weeks.
I saw Amanda, in her bathrobe, walking around the house and crying like a widow in a soap opera.
I cooked dinner, cleaned the home, and took Ethan to school. Amanda only sobbed and slept.
One morning I saw Caleb sitting there with that weird dimple that wasn’t from our family, and I just lost it.
I told Amanda to go. People could no longer stay at my residence for free.
She seemed astonished but didn’t say anything.
I understood that she didn’t have any other choices. Her mom wouldn’t let her go.
I later found a message she had left for me that said, “You’re all I have left,” which made me feel bad. She didn’t fully understand why I did what I did.
I had done what I was told to do. I had cleaned up my house. When she wasn’t there, I watched her kids. Put my son to sleep. I was done.
She yelled, begged me, and asked, “What about the boys?”
I told her directly that I didn’t owe her anything. I put up with you for Daniel’s sake. He isn’t here anymore.
So go ahead. She could have left a long time ago if she had any respect for herself. But she stayed, and she wasn’t ashamed.
I know this is the part that would make a lot of people mad: I wanted to keep Caleb. I couldn’t adopt him, but I asked Amanda if I could take care of him myself.
I fed him from a bottle while she was gone for hours to “buy groceries.”
He kept holding on to me. He called me “Nana.” It didn’t matter to me that he wasn’t Daniel’s; he felt like mine.
Amanda yelled at me, called me a monster, snatched both kids, and ran away. I don’t know where they are at the moment.
They could be going from one couch to another or living in a shelter. I don’t really know.
My house is peaceful now. Calm. I lit a light next to Daniel’s picture, and now I feel like I’m honoring him by cleaning up the mess that made him feel bad.
People say, “But they’re your grandkids!” Are they really? If one of them isn’t even Daniel’s, I believe what my heart tells me.
What other feelings should I think about? I did what I needed to do. Am I wrong?
