3 Stories about Children Who Neglect Their Old Parents and Got What They Deserved
Discover compelling tales of children who disregarded their aging parents and eventually faced retribution
ranging from unexpected inheritances to startling turns of events.
- After leaving our elderly mother alone, my brother and I discovered that she had left everything to her tenants.
I noticed two strange looks as soon as I entered the attorney’s office. “Who are you?” I gazed at the mother and her daughter as I inquired. My brother Walter and I attended the reading of our late mother’s will.
As a result of our dad’s considerable money, we had privilege growing up. At 18, Walter and I moved out of our house and never returned. We didn’t get close to mom even after our dad died. Though she yearned for our visits, she was sad.
We quickly discovered that Grace, the mother, and Katherine, her daughter, had been renting a portion of Grace’s home.
“Mother never said anything,” irritated Walter.
I yelled out, impatient, “Whatever. Let’s finish this up. We are intending to sell that house, therefore you two need to move out soon.”
I gave Walter a grin as I looked at him. The house had significant value.
Then came Mr. Goldberg, “Thomas, please calm down.” You must show Grace and Katherine respect as they are also a part of the will.
When the attorney had completed reading the will, there was a start. Walter and I had received a dollar each from our mother; Grace and Katherine received the remainder.
There was more to it than just a slap in the face. Teresa intended for Katherine to utilize the money she saved from Grace’s rent payments to fund her college education.
I was angry, and so was Walter. We jumped out of our seats and let out furious screams. Unbelievable that our mother would treat us in this way! Mr. Goldberg chastised us, telling us that Grace and Katherine had attended our mother’s burial but we had not.
“We’re getting our money!” We hurried out while Walter roared.
When Grace and Katherine discovered us on their doorway the following day, I made an effort to be polite. We’re not here to fight, listen. I tried to defuse the situation by saying, “We want to get a few of our things.” Grace opened the door for us.
I went upstairs to my old room and leaned in to whisper with Walter.
“We have to find evidences that that woman convinced mother to change her will,” I said.
But later, we discovered an envelope our mother had written to us.
“Hello Sons,
“You have no right to try stealing anything from Katherine and Grace! You are too good to spend time with me over the past few decades, thus you don’t deserve a single cent of my money. Your father’s inheritance is already with you. That is more than sufficient.
“The only family I had was that woman and her daughter. When I was sick, they took care of me. They joined me in celebrating Christmas. Every night they joined me for dinner.
You two are my sons now. I have loved and will continue to love you. However, I hope you never have to endure the suffering I suffered. I pray my grandchildren never treat you the way you did me. I hope this helps you learn.
utter love,
Mom.”
Walter and I exchanged a sigh-filled look. She was accurate. And with that, we silently departed the house. I was unable to get rid of my guilt.
As a silent vow to ourselves to improve and take note of the hard lesson our mother instilled in us, Walter and I visited our mother’s cemetery on the anniversary of her death every year.
That’s the one we require.
- After caring for her ailing grandmother, my daughter inherited her old couch.
I couldn’t help but feel impatient as I entered the attorney’s office. Deborah, my daughter, had been taking care of Tessa, her grandmother, while she was near death. I found the entire affair to be unduly dramatic.
I’ve always thought it’s best to be pragmatic rather than too emotional. Unlike me, Tessa had been Deborah’s rock during her early years. I like to think of myself as realistic.
Deborah moved into Tessa’s home without hesitation after my mother stated her desire to pass away at home and took an unpaid leave of absence from her job. To be honest, I didn’t see the purpose. My mother and I didn’t always have the strongest relationship. To be honest, my daughter and I didn’t always agree on everything. particularly with regards to Tessa. Deborah looked extravagant in her sacrifice, and her days were limited.
I had my own life to enjoy, for my part. I had committed to a three-month global cruise and had no plans to back out. Why ought I to? Deborah was in control of everything.
Deborah devoted the next four months to her grandmother. Taking care of her grandmother appeared to bring her happiness.
Then one evening, my daughter was by Tessa’s side as she died quietly. I remained pragmatist when Deborah called to tell me the news. “I’ll see her at the service, won’t I?” I answered.
My attention was mostly on the practical aspects – the property and the bequest. Deborah seemed displeased with me at the time and said, “How can you think of that at a time like this?”
I called the lawyer to discuss the will and promptly set up the funeral. I couldn’t wait to learn more about the estate, the diamonds, the money, and the house. That was important to me.
However, I was caught off guard by the will reading at the attorney’s office. Everything was bequeathed to me by my mother, with the exception of a peach brocade couch designated for Deborah. It was impossible not to feel a little triumphant.
As we were leaving, I joked to Deborah, “Oh, you’d better get that mangy couch by the end of the week if you want it.” The house is going up for sale.”
I made an effort to look past her crimson gaze. Deborah made truck arrangements and removed the couch. I still recall thinking it was absurd that she would treasure such a ratty old piece of furniture.
I occupied myself with looking through my mother’s belongings for the gems in the interim. I was certain they had to be somewhere there. However, my quest was fruitless. I searched every inch of the house, but nothing was there.
I had no idea that Deborah had found a velvet bag full of jewelry boxes and an envelope addressed to her buried away in that dumb couch. She had received an emotional message from my mother:
“My Debbie, you have no idea how much you have meant to me or how much of a godsend you have been in my life. I know my daughter too well, yet I wanted to give you the gems my grandma gave me.
“I’m providing them to you this way so you can appreciate them because I know Martha will find a way to cheat you. Remind yourself that I adore you.”
Worst of all, neither my daughter nor I cared to brag. I came to see that I had lost more than I could have ever anticipated because of my apathy.
I had undervalued the importance of being present for your loved ones when they need you most in my quest of practicality.
In the end, I had the money and the property, but not the affection my daughter had shown my mother.
It was a tough pill to swallow, this revelation.
- My mother left everything to a stranger, and I sold her house.
“So what’s the deal, Mr. Thompson?” I questioned the attorney. “I’m hoping the will is going to be pretty straightforward as I expect Mom’s assets to be mine.”
Mr. Thompson groaned and gave me a stern look. “I’m afraid that’s not the case here, Jake,” he responded. “Your mother’s will is quite… unusual.”
“What? How do you mean? I questioned, tensing up all over.
Mr. Thompson showed me the will and said, “She left everything to a foundation dedicated to psychiatry, making Mrs. McKinsey the trustee.”
I had eyes I couldn’t believe. Is that a joke? This Mrs. McKinsey, who is she? Mom has never even mentioned her to me.”
He answered, “She is a doctor at a psychiatric hospital,” but it didn’t help.
My phone began to ring, but I was too startled to answer. “If you don’t pay the money back in 72 hours, you are dead!” was the statement that flashed across the screen as the calls continued.
I stormed out of the lawyer’s office, furious. I did a fast Google search in my car and discovered that Mrs. McKinsey was the head neurologist at the Denver Psychiatric Hospital. I quickly drove there.
“Hello, Mrs. McKinsey, this is Jake, Rose’s son,” I introduced myself. I may have shaken her hand too firmly.
“Ah, I see. Jake, I understand why you’re here,” she nodded. “You can call me Sarah.”
With a caustic comment, “Well, Sarah, glad you know,”
“Jake, you should be aware that you have an elder brother. He is autistic. Your mother merely wanted to make sure he was safe and secure.”
“What topic are you discussing? I am the lone child in my family.” I let forth an incredulous cry.
Sarah went on, “We’ve been treating him here for 25 years.” “Ever since he accidentally poured scalding water on you when you were just a year old.”
My mouth fell open, but I came up with a quick fix. “I want half the money, I don’t care.” My part,” I insisted.
“I apologize, Jake, but that isn’t feasible,” she answered. “The funds were assigned for your brother’s treatment.”
I became furious and pitched a fit before making my way to the parking lot.
I was consumed by thoughts of my mother’s betrayal of me. What could I have done? I had sold her house, placed her in a care facility, and never looked back. I looked over and saw a man looking at my convertible.
The man turned to face me and stated, “Arnie drove this car.” “Every Saturday, when Arnie’s Mom visited him, she’d let Arnie see this car.”
I inquired, “What was Arnie’s mother’s name?” realizing he was talking about his mother.
Rose is Arnie’s mother. Rose. We also engaged in card games.”
It was my sibling. I recalled that some autistic persons had exceptionally sharp minds. I took the chance and asked Arnie to dinner.
“How about we take a drive? It will be enjoyable.” I forced a smile and said.
After we drove away, Sarah called, enraged that I had taken Arnie. I offered her everything: I would take care of Arnie and give me the entire sum of money. I brought Arnie to a casino after she declined.
“Arnie, do you recall our conversation from the car?” I said to him as we were playing blackjack. “You make your calculations, and then you quietly tell me what move I must make.”
We won large, but we had to leave because of people’s suspicious looks. We celebrated at a local bar, where Samantha, a stunning woman, joined us from the next table.
I fell asleep later in the hotel corridor, only to hear screaming coming from their room. I saw a man pointing a shotgun at Arnie and Samantha as I rushed in. Arnie was having a panic attack, but I was able to save him.
After calming him down for a few minutes, I turned to see that Samantha and the man had taken our winnings and run off. “Arnie, they took it all—every last penny,” I said.
Having lost, I took Arnie back to the hospital with deep regret. Sarah came up to me and, in spite of everything I had done, offered assistance. I was saved from certain death when she gave me a check.
“Can I visit Arnie?” I realized how much I’d desired a sibling as I asked.
“Anytime,” was her response. Since then, Arnie has been the most significant person in my life.
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