I gave my daughter a house and car for her new life, but I never anticipated her in-laws taking it all and making her their unpaid maid. They crossed a line, and I knew they’d never forget who had the keys.
I missed my only daughter’s wedding.
I was recovering from surgery abroad. I begged my doctor to let me fly, but he answered, “You’re lucky to be standing. Do not push.”
I cried when I saw wedding photos of Ava in white with a huge smile.
I couldn’t attend. I wanted to show her I was with her even from afar.
I bought a house for her and Jacob. Not just assisted, bought it.
Similar to the automobile. A small gray SUV. Ideal for work, grocery, and weekends.
Everything was lawful. I owned the house. As was the automobile. Life might be odd, but I trusted them. Gifting something later is easier than retrieving it.
I booked a flight and packed my stuff after becoming better. Looking forward to seeing her. See her married life. Hug her. I didn’t tell her I was coming. I desired surprise.
But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
With the key Ava sent me months before, I entered. The home was peaceful. A quiet scrubbing sound came from the kitchen.
There she was. My Ava. She kneels. Scrubbing the floor with bucket and sponge. She looked pallid. Her hair was knotted.
Charles and Linda, her in-laws, sat on the living room couch. They watched TV during lunch.
Linda didn’t look up. She remarked, “Don’t forget the hallway this time,” chewing loudly.
“Yeah,” Charles said. “This plate is dirty. Wash again.”
I stood frozen.
Ava gasped at me. “Mom? Why are you here?
“I wanted to surprise you,” I whispered.
Waking up quickly, she wiped her hands on her jeans. “Can we talk later? Just not now.”
Charles regarded me. “Oh. The mother must be you.”
Tight-lipped Linda smiled. “Thank you for visiting.”
I remained silent. Just watched.
Dinner that night hurt my chest quietly.
An exhausted Ava stirred the pot, flipped the meat, and set the table. She accomplished it alone, without others’ words. Linda sat near the window, scrolling through her phone and humming, while Charles watched the TV on the couch.
“It smells a little burnt,” Linda murmured without looking up.
Ava carried the plates and whispered, “Dinner’s ready.”
Charles stayed put. “Bring it here,” he said. “In the middle of something.”
She went between the kitchen and the couch without complaint. Nobody thanked you.
Linda shook her head after one bite. Too dry. Was this overcooked?
Grunted Charles. Needs salt.”
Ava nodded and smiled weakly. “I’ll improve next time.”
I observed her intently. After the meal, she discreetly cleaned the plates and began washing dishes. Her eyes were tired and her hands worked out of habit. No one offered aid.
“Why are you doing everything?” Softly, I asked.
She kept scrubbing. Their stay is temporary. This is temporary.”
Has it been long?
She paused. Since the wedding.”
They assume Jacob bought the house?
Ava looked at me, then down. “Yes. I didn’t correct. It was simpler that way.”
Inhaled deeply. It’s easier for who, sweetheart?
She remained silent.
I lay awake listening to the house’s silence that night. My thoughts replayed Ava working herself to death while Charles and Linda lived like royalty in their mansion.
She skirted them like guests in her own life.
The next morning, I watched the driveway automobile from the front window. It was clean. No paint blemish. It seemingly never missed a trip.
With a washing basket, Ava passed. “Do you drive it?” I requested.
Shaking her head. “No. They use. I hardly go out anymore. Not enough time.”
That simple statement slammed me.
They stole more than her space. Her freedom was seized. Her voice. Her joy. Now I saw how little she had become at home, trying not to offend and keeping the peace.
And Jacob? He was on another work trip, uninformed or unwilling to witness what was happening at home. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe Ava didn’t tell him. Maybe she believed it wasn’t worth it.
I saw my daughter—pale, quiet, and too polite to beg for more—and knew I couldn’t leave things.
Change was needed.
I invited everyone into the kitchen that afternoon. Linda followed, groaning and sitting cross-legged. Charles shuffled in, remote in hand.
“Is this a meeting?” smirking, she said.
I inhaled and started.
“I’ve been here for two days,” I responded gently. I’ve seen my daughter cook, clean, wash, and drive. You two rest like vacationers.”
Linda laughed dryly. We’re visitors. We ignore housemaid schedules.”
No blinking. You’re not visitors. You’ve lived here months. Eat, wash, do laundry, drive—without lifting a finger.”
Charles asked, “What’s your point?”
“My point is simple,” I said. This house’s residents contribute. “Ava is not your maid.”
Rolling her eyes, Linda. “You can’t change the rules here. Jacob’s home. Not yours.”
“No. It’s not Jacob’s house, I said. It’s mine.”
They both froze.
“What are you discussing?” Charles asked, louder.
“I bought this house. The deed is mine. I bought the automobile too. It’s registered.”
I’d never seen Linda’s face this crimson. Her mouth opened and closed.
Finally, “You’re joking,” she said.
“I’m not,” I said. “I gave Ava this house to enjoy when the time was right. However, I own it legally.”
Linda moved forward. Nowhere else to go! You can’t expel us!”
As usual, I stared at her calmly. That’s not Ava’s job. Or mine.”
But we’re family—
“No,” I said. “You’re relatives, not royalty. Pull your weight to stay. If not, pack and leave.”
Ava stood transfixed, lips parted.
My tone softened as I turned to her. Sweetheart, you deserve better. You live here. You should live it realistically.”
Swallowed hard, Ava. Tears filled her eyes. She whispered, “Thank you.”
It was enough.
Charles and Linda moved within a week.
Shaking, Ava fell into my arms that night. “I didn’t know how to say no,” she sobbed.
“You don’t have to explain,” I hugged her. “You wanted peace. But peace isn’t peace if it costs everything.”
The following days were devoted regaining her space. We organized closets, changed furniture, and opened all windows. Sunlight entered. Ava laughed more. She moved easier. She hummed while making coffee.
I threw her keys Saturday. Take that automobile for a spin.”
We drove with windows down, hair in the wind, and loud music. First time in months, she smiled easily.
In the quiet living room that night, she put her head on my shoulder.
“I forgot what it felt like to be me,” she muttered.
I kissed her crown.
Her role isn’t servant. She’s no maid. My daughter. Nobody forgets that.
