My DIL Threw My Belongings Out of the House After Learning She Inherited It, but Karma Got Her That Same Day
“Get your stuff off MY lawn, or I’m calling the cops!” My daughter-in-law’s voice echoed in my ears, sending a shiver down my spine as I pulled up to find my family’s belongings tossed across the yard. She was claiming she’d inherited the house after my father’s passing. But karma had other plans.
When the lawyer called about my father’s will, I couldn’t face the office alone and asked my son, Matt, to go in my place. “You sure, Mom?” he asked, offering to help me sort through Dad’s things. “I’m fine, honey,” I said, certain it would be a simple affair. Little did I know.
Later that day, I picked up Dad’s things from the nursing home, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne from his old sweater. My heart ached, feeling the finality of his absence. But when I pulled into my driveway, grief turned to disbelief: memories from my family’s life—Mom’s old china, Dad’s favorite plaid quilt—were scattered across the yard as if they were trash. And there was Jessica, my daughter-in-law, lounging on my patio furniture with her phone and a smug grin.
“Jessica…what are you doing?” I choked out, glancing over the mess.
She smirked, lowering her sunglasses. “Getting my house ready, Hattie. I’m clearing out your junk.”
“My house?” I stammered, feeling sick.
She held up a paper, showing Dad’s signature. “He left the house to me,” she sneered. I gripped the car door, heart sinking. Dad would never do that—would he?
Just then, Matt arrived, stepping out of his truck with a look of shock as he took in the scene. “Jessica, what’s going on? And what’s with this text saying you’re done with me?”
Jessica flipped her hair and rolled her eyes. “Exactly what it sounds like. I’m getting a divorce. I deserve a fresh start in my house,” she spat, gesturing at the house, her eyes glinting with satisfaction.
Matt’s expression hardened. “And you’re doing it by throwing my mom’s life onto the front lawn? I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.” His voice was laced with anger and disappointment. Jessica’s smug smile faltered.
I turned away, dialing the lawyer. “Please tell me my dad didn’t give her the house,” I whispered, desperate.
The lawyer chuckled gently. “Actually, it was a test—your father suspected Jessica’s motives and wanted to see if she’d reveal her true colors. The house is yours, Hattie. She never had a claim to it.”
Relief surged through me, and I started laughing, catching Jessica off-guard. “Oh, Jessica,” I said, tears of laughter and gratitude in my eyes. “You should’ve waited for the real will reading.”
Her face dropped, realizing her outburst had been a monumental mistake. “Matt—baby, please,” she stammered, reaching for him. But he took a step back. “You wanted a divorce? You’ve got one,” he said coldly.
As Jessica stormed off, sinking with each step in her towering heels, I felt a wave of peace wash over me. Dad’s wisdom had spared us all, teaching me that inheritance isn’t in a house but in knowing who truly deserves a place in your life. Matt and I picked up the pieces of our family from the grass, grateful for the strength and clarity Dad had left behind.