I never expected my son, Stuart, to treat me like a stranger. Over the years, he’d grown distant, and I missed the boy who used to be so kind. One day, he called asking to use my house for a small birthday party since his place was too cramped. I agreed, happy to hear from him.
That night, I spent time at my friend Martha’s house, hoping things between Stuart and me would improve. But when I returned home, I found my house trashed—doors kicked in, furniture ruined, and beer cans everywhere. A note from Stuart said, “We had a wild party to say goodbye to our youth. You might need to tidy up a little.”
I called him repeatedly, leaving angry messages, but he ignored them. Later, Martha invited Stuart over, and I learned she was planning to give him her house. However, after seeing what he’d done to mine, she changed her mind and decided to leave everything to me instead. Stuart, furious, stormed out, cursing both of us.
Martha reassured me that I deserved it, and though I was grateful for her gift, the way my son had treated me made the moment bittersweet. I realized I could never fully be happy while knowing what Stuart had become.
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