My son and his wife shamed me for wearing red lipstick. I decided to teach them a lesson

The Spark: An Erroneous Family Dinner

Even at seventy-five, Edith remained a vivacious woman, a shining example of self-assurance and style. Her distinctive red lip color was a symbol of her vibrant nature. But she had no idea that her makeup choice would start a tempest that evening as she got ready for a family meal.

She felt pride and nostalgia as she gently painted her favorite hue of red. She had worn this lipstick on numerous important occasions, such as romantic dates with her late spouse and job interviews. It was a representation of her unwavering spirit rather than merely makeup.

Steph, her son, showed up early and caught Edith in the act. “Mum, you look like a desperate old clown trying to cling to your youth,” he said with a sneer. It is awkward.

The words felt like a slap to her. Her hand trembled with the lipstick as she hesitated. Before she could reply, Steph’s wife said, “Oh, I agree with Steph,” with a smug smirk. Older individuals shouldn’t use red lipstick. You ought to follow in other people’s footsteps, in my opinion.

Edith felt her heart race in her chest. She was dumbfounded for a time by their blatant words. But then she felt a wave of defiance wash over her. “Honey, please mind your own business,” she sternly said in a calm manner.

Steph’s wife appeared surprised, her self-assurance briefly shaken. Evidently caught off it by Edith’s counterattack, she said, “Sorry, Edith, we just don’t want you to look like a clown.”

Steph grinned and said, “Okay, mom, enjoy the circus,” trying to take back control of the situation. His spouse laughed once more before turning to leave Edith reeling from the emotional upheaval.

From Pain to Fury: The Tipping Moment

Edith stood for a short while with her reflection in the mirror serving as a painful reminder of their hurtful remarks. Deep sadness, the type that results from being betrayed by the people you love the most, filled her. However, as she sat in the corner, her melancholy started to change into fury.

They are really cruel to her. How can they want to take away her uniqueness and dignity? Her own family was attempting to undermine her after she had dedicated her entire life to fostering her confidence and defying social norms.

Edith realized she had to do something. It was about respect and standing up for herself, not simply about red lipstick. She made the decision to teach them an invaluable lesson.

The Schedule: One Week of Get-Ready

Edith spent the next week carefully plotting her retaliation. She contacted a few reliable acquaintances and even enlisted the help of Mrs. Jenkins, her neighbor, who was an identical age and kind of woman. They came up with a plan that was impactful and subtle together.

Initially, Edith made the decision to have a lavish dinner party at her home, inviting not only her son and his spouse, but also other relatives and friends. The guests were carefully chosen to include both those who could influence Steph and his wife and others who respected her.

She made sure everything was flawless by spending days in preparation. She prepared her finest china, cooked her son’s favorite meals, and adorned the home with lovely flowers. But her beauty was the main component of her plan. Edith looked ravishing in a red dress and, of course, had on her trademark red lipstick on the night of the dinner.

The Battle: A Respectful Lesson

Edith welcomed the visitors with warmth and grace, her scarlet lips a striking declaration of her defiance. Among the last to arrive were Steph and his wife, whose first impressions of her were swiftly soured.

The evening went well at first, with lots of laughs and animated discussions. But Edith was about to give us a surprise. When the dessert was brought out, she got up to toast.

With a clear and firm voice, she said, “Thank you all for coming.” “I’ve always thought that you should embrace who you are and live life to the fullest, regardless of what other people may think.”

She looked at Steph and his spouse, who were adjusting their chairs uneasily. I was told last week that it’s inappropriate for me to wear my favorite red lipstick at my age. However, I think style and confidence are ageless.

With every eye on Edith, the room went silent. Therefore, I want to applaud everyone here today who defies social norms regarding appearance and behavior. To those who live boldly and gracefully, accepting who they really are.

Many of her friends and relatives raised their glasses in accord as they erupted in applause. Steph and his spouse appeared embarrassed, having gone from their former arrogance.

Edith grinned, her ruby red lipstick catching the light from the chandelier. She’d made her argument rather evident. She was an adult; nobody could tell her how to spend her life; age was just a number.

Repercussions: A Modified Dynamic

The relationship between Edith, her son, and his wife evolved in the weeks that followed. No more mocking laughter or rude remarks. Steph even acknowledged that he had been inappropriate and apologized. It appeared that his spouse had also taken a lesson from Edith, as she now treated her with dignity.

Knowing that she had defended herself and set a good example for others, Edith happily wore her red lipstick for the rest of the day. She had restored her dignity and respect by demonstrating that age was not a hindrance to confidence and self-expression.

Her courageous stance not only silenced her detractors but also encouraged others to accept who they really are, demonstrating that sometimes the most important lessons can be learned from the most unexpected sources.

I Met a Fortuneteller After My Wifes Funeral, The Next Day, Her Prediction Came True

The funeral was unbearable. Our daughters, Sophie and Emma, only four and five years old, kept asking, “Where’s Mommy?” I had no idea how to answer. How could I explain something I didn’t understand myself? Thankfully, Elizabeth’s parents and sister were there to help handle the arrangements.

After the service, as I walked to my car in a daze, I felt someone watching me. At first, I thought it was just my grief playing tricks on me, but then I saw her—an old woman standing near the cemetery gates.

She looked ancient, her face etched with deep lines, her sharp eyes piercing through me as if she could see straight into my soul.

“Excuse me,” she called softly.

I hesitated but didn’t respond. I was too drained for conversation, especially with a stranger.

“I know your fate,” she said, her voice serious.

I frowned. “What?”

“Cross my palm with silver, and I’ll reveal the joy and sorrow that lie ahead,” she continued, holding out her hand.

I stared at her, bewildered. A fortune-teller? At a funeral? I shook my head, muttering, “I’m not interested,” and started to walk away.

But her next words stopped me cold. “Elizabeth won’t rest until justice is served.”

I turned back sharply. “What did you say?”

“Twenty dollars,” she said, beckoning with her bony fingers. “That’s all.”

Under normal circumstances, I would’ve dismissed her. But in my grief-stricken state, I was numb to everything. Twenty dollars seemed insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I handed her the crumpled bill.

Her hand felt icy as she grabbed mine, her grip surprisingly firm. She didn’t take her eyes off me, and for a moment, I felt exposed, as though she could see all the pain I was carrying.

“Today, you’ve lost someone dear,” she whispered.

“Yeah, no kidding,” I said bitterly. “We’re at a cemetery.”

She didn’t flinch. “Your wife’s death was no accident.”

A chill ran down my spine. “What are you talking about?”

“There’s more to her death than you know. Tomorrow, the truth will begin to reveal itself.”

I felt my mouth go dry. “What truth?”

She smiled slowly, an unsettling grin. “By this time tomorrow, you’ll see.”

Before I could ask anything else, she turned and disappeared into the mist, vanishing as if she had never been there. I stood frozen, torn between disbelief and a strange sense of foreboding.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Elizabeth—her smile, her laugh, the way she kissed our daughters goodnight. But the fortuneteller’s cryptic words haunted me: “Your wife’s death was no accident.” Was there any truth to it? Could the crash have been something more sinister?

Unable to rest, I got up and sifted through Elizabeth’s things, desperate to feel close to her. Among her belongings, I found something odd—receipts from a car rental service. We had two cars. Why would she need a rental?

I stared at the receipts, my heart racing. The fortuneteller’s words echoed in my mind. “There’s more to her death than you know.”

The next morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. I called Elizabeth’s best friend, Sarah, who worked at the garage where our cars were serviced. Maybe she could help me make sense of it all.

“Hey, Sarah,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Did Elizabeth mention anything to you about renting a car?”

There was a brief pause before she answered. “Actually, yes. She rented a car when both of your cars were in the shop. It was for a surprise trip to the beach, but she returned it the day before… well, you know.”

“But why didn’t she tell me?” I muttered to myself.

“She wanted it to be a surprise,” Sarah replied. “She even asked her sister Karen to return the car for her after the trip.”

A wave of unease washed over me. Karen? Why would she return the car, and why hadn’t I known about it?

Determined to get answers, I drove to the rental company. When I explained the situation, the manager pulled up the records. “The car was returned without visible damage. We accepted it as normal, but… something seems off. Only a few miles were added to the odometer.”

I left the office with more questions than answers. Why had Karen returned the car? What was she hiding? I decided to contact the police, as the suspicion that Elizabeth’s death wasn’t an accident gnawed at me.

I explained everything to the detective—the car rental, the fortuneteller, my growing doubts. He listened carefully and assured me they’d investigate. “Initially, we ruled it a tragic accident caused by brake failure,” he said. “But now, with what you’ve shared, we’ll take a closer look.”

The days that followed were a blur. Then, the police found something shocking—evidence that someone had tampered with the brakes. My stomach churned as the horrifying truth began to surface.

It wasn’t long before the investigation revealed even more. Karen had taken out a life insurance policy on Elizabeth just months before the accident. She had forged Elizabeth’s signature and made herself the sole beneficiary.

I was sickened. Elizabeth’s death hadn’t been an accident—it was murder. And the person behind it was her own sister.

When Karen was arrested, I couldn’t even look at her. The woman who had comforted me in my grief had been the one to cause it all, driven by greed.

During interrogation, she confessed to tampering with the car’s brakes, hoping to collect the insurance money. The betrayal was devastating.

Karen was sentenced to life in prison. It didn’t bring Elizabeth back, but at least I knew she would never harm anyone again. The fortuneteller had been right—Elizabeth couldn’t rest until justice was served.

A few weeks later, I returned to the cemetery. As I stood by Elizabeth’s grave, I whispered, “You can rest now.”

Just as I was about to leave, a butterfly landed on her headstone. I knew it was Elizabeth, finally at peace.

Though I never saw the fortuneteller again, her words had led me to the truth. As painful as it was, that truth was worth every penny of the twenty dollars I had given her.

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