A woman named Kate posted a story of how her son chose silence instead of defending her when his wife insulted her.
Namely, Kate loved to cook, but since her husband’s passing things changed and she somehow lost hold of that part of her. However, whenever a holiday was around the corner she would prepare the most delicious dishes to her son John, especially for Christmas when he would always come for his annual roast dinner.
This year, however, was a bit different since John’s wife, Liz, attended the family dinner for the first time. The two dated for quite some time, but over the course of a couple of years, she would always spend Christmas at her parents’ house.
Kate woke up early because she knew she needed time to prepare the main course, which was a chicken with gravy on the side, all the side dishes and desserts that her son loved.
As she was preparing the food, Liz entered the kitchen with her phone in her hand and started looking around. At that moment, she made a face as though she smelled something terrible, but Kate, already sweating away, decided to ignore her and didn’t say a word.
Sadly, things turned for the worse when Liz suddenly exclaimed, “Hey, Kate, maybe we should order food. Not everyone wants what you’ve cooked. I don’t know if everyone enjoys your cooking, either. Every aspect of Christmas is supposed to be enjoyed by everyone. They should enjoy the food, too!”
As expected, Kate was shocked by her daughter-in-law’s harsh words.
“I saw John leaning against the archway, nibbling on a carrot. He altogether avoided my gaze, looking over me and out the window across the room. I held back my tears and bit my lip,” she wrote in her post.
As most of the guests arrived and sat on the table, it seemed like they all enjoyed the food Kate prepared for the night.
At one moment, John asked, “The food’s great, right? Everyone’s enjoying it?”
John’s uncle helped himself to another serving of roasted potatoes and asked, “Why wouldn’t we enjoy my sister’s food?”
“Because Liz said that the dinner might be ruined by Mom’s dishes. She wanted us to order in,” John explained.
“Nonsense!” Kate’s brother said as he dipped his potatoes into the gravy.
Hearing this, John looked at his mom and smiled. Kate then realized that her son didn’t react before because he was waiting for the right moment to teach his wife a lesson.
Liz turned red as everyone starred at her and Kate admitted that she even felt bad for her because it was her first Christmas with the family.
Later on, while packing the dishwasher and emptying dishes of food, Liz approached Kate.
“Kate, I’m sorry,” she said. “I was so wrong to do what I did. I am sorry, please understand.”
“Understand what?” Kate asked her.
“I only said that because John loves your food. He always talks about how you make all these special things for him. I can’t make a basic mac and cheese without him saying yours is better. I looked at the food, smelt all the delicious smells from this kitchen, and panicked.”
“Liz, you should know that a boy and his mother’s food is a relationship in and of itself,” Kate said with a laughter as she tried to diffuse the tension. “I can teach you how to cook just like me. My mother taught me everything I know.”
“Really?” Liz asked. “Even after I’ve been so horrible?”
“Yes,” Kate replied.
Thankfully, Kate understood that Liz’s intention wasn’t a nasty one, she simply felt threatened by her mother-in-law, but she soon learned it was for no reason.
Kate then took Liz to the Christmas tree and handed her the present she bough for her.
I Felt Disappointed That My Grandfather Left Me Just an Old Apiary, but My Perspective Changed When I Inspected the Beehives
My late grandfather, a master storyteller who spun tales of buried treasure, left me a rather unexpected inheritance: a dusty old apiary. It felt like a cruel joke at first. Who would leave their grandchild a shack swarming with bees? My resentment lingered until the day I finally ventured into the beehives.
One typical morning, Aunt Daphne urged me to pack my bag for school, but I was too busy texting a friend about the upcoming dance and my crush, Scott. When she mentioned my grandfather’s dreams for me, my frustration grew. I had no interest in tending to his bees; I just wanted to enjoy my teenage life.
The next day, Aunt Daphne chastised me for my neglect, threatening to ground me. She insisted that caring for the apiary was part of my responsibility. Despite my protests, I reluctantly agreed to check on the hives. Donning protective gear, I opened the first hive, my heart racing. A bee stung my glove, and for a moment, I considered quitting. But a rush of determination took over, and I pressed on, hoping to show Aunt Daphne I could handle this.
While harvesting honey, I discovered a weathered plastic bag containing a faded map. Excited, I tucked it into my pocket and raced home to grab my bike. Following the map, I pedaled into the woods, recalling my grandfather’s stories that had once enchanted me.
I found myself in a clearing resembling a scene from one of his tales—the old gamekeeper’s house stood before me, decaying but still captivating. Memories flooded back of lazy afternoons spent there, listening to his stories. Touching the gnarled tree nearby, I recalled his playful warnings about the gnomes that supposedly lurked in the woods.
Inside the forgotten cabin, I uncovered a beautifully carved metal box. Inside was a note from Grandpa: “To my dear Robyn, this box contains a treasure for you, but do not open it until your journey’s true end” Though tempted, I knew I had to honor his wishes.
After exploring further, I realized I was lost and panic set in. Remembering Grandpa’s advice to stay calm, I pressed on, searching for a familiar path. Eventually, I stumbled upon the bridge he often spoke of, but it felt further away than I had hoped. Exhausted and disoriented, I collapsed beneath a tree, longing for home.
The next morning, determined to find my way, I recalled Grandpa’s lessons as I navigated through the wilderness. I found a river but was startled when I slipped into the icy water. Fighting against the current, I finally managed to cling to a log, eventually dragging myself to shore.
Soaked and trembling, I rummaged through my backpack, only to find stale crumbs. When I remembered Grandpa’s wisdom, I used healing leaves for my cuts and continued onward, drawn by the sound of rushing water. I finally reached the river again, but the water was treacherous. Desperate, I knelt to drink, but the current swept me away, and I found myself struggling against the powerful flow.
Determined not to give up, I let go of my backpack but clung to the metal box. With sheer will, I fought my way to the bank, finally escaping the icy grasp of the river. I needed shelter, so I built a makeshift one from branches under a sturdy oak tree.
The next morning, I set out once more, the metal box feeling like my only lifeline. Memories of fishing trips with Grandpa warmed me, urging me forward. When I finally spotted the bridge, hope surged within me. But the forest began to close in around me, confusion and despair threatening to overwhelm me. Just when I thought I couldn’t go on, I found a clearing and collapsed, utterly spent.
Then, I heard voices calling my name. I awoke in a hospital bed with Aunt Daphne by my side. Overcome with regret, I apologized for everything. She comforted me, reminding me of Grandpa’s unconditional love and how he always believed in me.
As she reached into her bag, my heart raced when I recognized the familiar blue wrapping paper. It was an Xbox, a gift from Grandpa, meant to be given only when I understood the value of hard work. I realized then that I had learned that lesson, and the desire for the gift faded.
In the following years, I grew into my responsibilities, embracing the lessons my grandfather imparted. Now, as a mother myself, I reflect on those moments with gratitude. The sweet honey from my bees serves as a cherished reminder of the bond I shared with Grandpa, a bond that continues to guide me.
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