I didn’t anticipate a full-fledged turf war when my son got engaged; I just anticipated a few hiccups in the road. I never anticipated the power battle that developed from what began as a kind gift.
My spouse, Marcus, and I reside in Houston, Texas. We purchased a second home in the region a few years ago when our son, Kyle, graduated from college in Austin and made the decision to remain there for work. We had no idea that the property would become a point of contention between Kyle’s future in-laws and us.
Therefore, the house we purchased was a sturdy three-bedroom home with a large backyard, a sunny kitchen, and a small office area for him to grow into—not a mansion. We reasoned that it would be a decent family vacation destination, a safe haven for him, and a wise investment for us.
Marcus and I covered all of the costs, including the mortgage, property taxes, and insurance. It worked as long as Kyle only had to pay for groceries and utilities.
He was ecstatic at first. He tried his hand at grilling, organized game evenings, and even planted a little herb garden. We had the impression that we had done things correctly.
Then he got to know her.
Layla was her name. At first glance, she struck me as sweet, but there was something ostentatious about her that didn’t quite fit the relaxed Austin atmosphere. Layla constantly wore full makeup, curled her hair, wore fancy clothes, and ordered $8 lattes like they were tap water, even for fast coffee runs.
Despite my repeated eyebrow raises, Kyle was enamored.
He used to say to me, “She’s just classy, Mom,” “She has good taste.”
I don’t mean to offend, but after a few weeks, I realized she also had a taste for Kyle’s pocketbook!
She wasn’t particularly visible to the untrained eye, after all. She would subtly hint to purses that she liked to my kid. In fact, the woman mentioned that his residence need “aesthetic upgrades.”
And when we brought them out, she never once offered to split the bill.
I bit my tongue, though. This was his relationship to manage as an adult.
The engagement, however, followed.
I sincerely tried to be happy for him. Something about the way Layla flashed that ring around made my stomach turn, even though I know some of you have already predicted that I will be the critical future mother-in-law (MIL).
It was made worse by the way she talked about the wedding, treating it more like a celebrity event than a celebration of love.
During one visit, she assured me, “Don’t worry, my mom’s handling most of the planning,” “She has such an eye for elegance.”
She had a mother, “Brenda,” whom I had heard about a few times but had never met. At the engagement cookout we threw in Austin, which also gave the families a chance to meet, that changed.
I spent the whole weekend getting the house ready with Marcus. I even put fresh flowers in the front. Our daughter Megan assisted me in setting up tables and hanging lights in the backyard. We had enough sides to fill a football team, Marcus prepared his renowned baked beans, and I grilled chicken.
I’ll admit that I was anxious. However, what entered the gate that afternoon caught me off guard.
I had a nasty feeling as soon as her parents got out of the car.
The first person I saw was Brenda. Wearing a white pantsuit and so much perfume that it almost followed her, she exited a sleek black Cadillac SUV. Her mother took the cup, but I felt Layla was too much!
She arrived with enough bling to set off an airport scanner and big sunglasses that obscured half of her face! She had a… clinical expression.
She looked at the home and sniffed, “Oh,” she muttered. “Well, this is the location. It’s smaller than I anticipated, hmm.
Don stepped out behind her, waddling. He appeared to have stepped out of a retirement brochure in Florida. Don had aviators, a white linen shirt that was unbuttoned to show off a gold chain, and he was completely without a smile.
Marcus’s hand was shook before he could, with a limp hold, by his belly, which dangled over his belt.
“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, avoiding eye contact with my husband, “this place will do.” Until they relocate to a better location.
I blinked. Better?
We lived here.
Two clones of their mother, Layla’s sisters Brittany and Summer, trailed after. Wearing identical crop tops, they were chewing gum, hunched over their phones, and not even bothering to say “Hello.”
My daughter made an attempt to welcome them.
“Hey! My name is Megan. Greetings—”
Brittany muttered, “Ugh,” with a bored expression on her face. “This is, like, so country.”
I forced a grin, pressing my lips together.
First, second, and third strikes.
It was an afternoon, and I had to remind myself of that. All I had to do was get through one afternoon.
However, the ensuing hours put me to the test in ways I never could have predicted.
Brenda strolled around the home as if evaluating it. She became so at ease that I once caught her moving the patio chairs without my asking! Because it was “for family!” the woman even had the audacity to tell Megan not to sit on a particular chair.
I’m sorry. We are related.
She searched my kitchen like it was a showroom, opened doors, and peered through the refrigerator.
I overheard mom murmuring to her daughters, “Not much in here,” while gazing into the refrigerator. “I hope he knows my daughter expects a certain lifestyle.”
Brenda’s husband, however, wasn’t any better.
Don was the kind of person who wore sunglasses indoors and shouted orders from the patio like a restaurant king.
“Do good on mine! Not to mention, no fat! Trash cuts don’t appeal to me.
He wasn’t kidding, either!
I wanted to yell! However, I simply nodded and flipped his steak.
I felt as though I had hosted royalty in exile by the time the sun set. Not a single word of gratitude for the drinks and meal. No thanks at all.
Then, with extra leftovers, of course, after everybody had left, Megan drew me away, her face white with anger.
“Mom,” she added softly to avoid being heard by her father and brother, “Brenda advised Kyle that we should not attend the wedding. We’re not their type, she continued, and we’d make them seem foolish! ‘Yeah, like, no offense, but they don’t exactly fit in!’ commented one of Layla’s sisters, who burst out laughing.
Something in my chest twisted.
Without assisting Kyle and Layla with cleanup, Marcus, Megan, and I departed early.
Upon returning to Houston, I sobbed in the bathroom as my spouse slept. Although I was unable to comprehend the nature of the individuals we were interacting with, I was certain that they were terrible. The question now was, however, what should I do?
I went back to Austin a week later. A few photo albums, old books, and sentimental artifacts were among the things I had left behind. I decided to stealthily take them and go home. However, I saw something odd as soon as I came into the driveway.
I didn’t recognize the cars that were parked there. There was a grocery bag by the door, and the porch light was on.
I entered.
I could smell Brenda’s perfume right away.
She had on her sunglasses and was seated on my couch. She was drinking sweet tea, reading a fashion magazine, and her shoes were on my coffee table as if she lived there!
I said, “What is going on here?”
“We decided to stay,” she murmured without raising her gaze. Our son-in-law lives here, so it’s also our home. You shouldn’t enter like this out of the blue.”
Don came waddling in with a beer from the kitchen.
His response was, “Yeah, lady,” “You must have some self-control. It’s not your home.
“Oh my god,” exclaimed Summer from the doorway, “why is she here at all? She has not even received an invitation to the wedding.
I blinked. Then I burst out laughing, totally losing what little dignity I still had.
I said, “Listen carefully,” as I moved deeper into the space. “I own this house. I am the owner of the deed. I’ll have a lawyer evict you and then sell it if you don’t leave within 30 days, everyone.
Sliding her sunglasses off her nose, Brenda sat up and giggled. In fact, the woman made fun of me!
“You can’t evict us from our own house!” she responded.
“Watch me,” I said.
As it happens, they had thought Kyle was the owner. Kyle was from an affluent family, Layla had informed her family. She had even hinted that he used his “trust fund” to purchase the house. Don and Brenda were obviously not quite as wealthy as they claimed to be.
They were living on borrowed time and borrowed credit because their house had gone into foreclosure.
They screamed and called my son at work in a panic after I threatened to evict them.
He gave me a call right away.
Before he could say anything, I addressed the youngster about how Layla’s whole family had taken over my house. I’m not sure what had gotten into him. He sounded like a kid who had been caught in the act.
“I just thought it would be temporary,” he replied. Layla stated that her parents required time to relocate. It didn’t seem like a huge deal to me.
“Not a big deal?” “I said.” “They’re squatting and refusing to leave.”
In an attempt to shift the emphasis and assign blame, he fell silent and then changed the subject!
“But what precisely did you do, Mom? You’re threatening to sell MY house, they say.
“Your residence? Kyle David, they must have entered your mind! I don’t recall you making the mortgage payment. You may have paid taxes. Or was it the insurance? Frustrated, I asked him.
We both knew the answer, so I didn’t bother to give him a chance to answer.
“You have been residing there without paying rent. I always owned that house. I’m not ‘good enough’ for your new family, so you may all leave now!”
He fell silent once more.
I said, “I love you, Kyle,” becoming a little softer. However, you must comprehend something. This mansion wasn’t a blank check for other people’s foolishness; it was a gift. While we’re at it, could you perhaps explain the persistent rumors that we weren’t invited to your wedding?
“I… Layla said that would be the best course of action. He said, “She mentioned that it would be a small event with her family, and perhaps we’d have a second wedding overseas, which you guys could attend.”
Shocked by my son’s naivete, I shook my head. “You have 30 days, and then I am getting a lawyer.”
That week, I listed the property with an Austin realtor and contacted a lawyer. Brenda attempted to stall using social media fake sob tales, tears, and threats, but none of it worked.
Despite my son’s rage, I remained firm.
The family of my son’s fiancée is screaming that I “RUINED THEIR FUTURE.” But what do you know? They won’t live in my type of home if I’m “not their kind of people,” for sure.
We went to San Diego for a quick getaway after Marcus determined we needed some time apart. Hand in hand, we strolled down the harbor. One evening, Megan smiled at me proudly as she joined us for dinner.
“You did the right thing, Mom,” she assured her. “You showed them, and Kyle, who they were dealing with.”
I grinned.
In retrospect, it was evident that this had been their strategy from the beginning. Kyle had been portrayed by Layla and Brenda as a golden kid who had risen beyond his humble beginnings and was a member of high society. We refused to go to the wedding because they wanted it to represent their imagination rather than reality.
And Kyle had accepted their interpretation of reality because he was too enamored and blinded by love to see through it. I believe he was apprehensive that defending us might make him unpopular with Layla. He chose to remain mute rather than defend his family, which allowed them to attempt to eradicate us.
