I missed my only daughter’s wedding because I was recovering from surgery overseas. I begged my doctor to let me fly, but he insisted I stay put, saying, “You’re lucky to be standing.” My heart broke when I saw the photos — Ava, radiant in white, her smile so wide it made me cry.
To show her I was with her in spirit, I bought her and her husband a house. I didn’t just help; I bought it outright, along with a car — a small gray SUV perfect for everyday use.
Once I was well enough, I flew out, excited to surprise Ava. But nothing prepared me for what I found. Ava was scrubbing the floor while her in-laws lounged on the couch, barely acknowledging her. They seemed to treat the house as their own, acting like they were on vacation while Ava did everything — cooking, cleaning, laundry — without a word of thanks.
When I asked Ava why she was doing it all, she quietly explained it was easier to let them think Jacob bought the house. But I couldn’t let it go on.
I confronted Charles and Linda, telling them that if they lived there, they needed to contribute. I reminded them that the house was mine, bought for Ava, and that they needed to pull their weight or leave.
Ava was overwhelmed, but after Charles and Linda packed up and left, she collapsed into my arms, thanking me. We spent the next days reclaiming her space, laughing, and enjoying the freedom she had lost.
On Saturday, I tossed her the car keys. We drove with the windows down, the music blasting, and for the first time in months, I saw her smile effortlessly. She’s not a maid; she’s my daughter, and no one gets to forget that.
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