I Let My Adult Son Use the House for His Birthday — Big Mistake

I immediately agreed to host my son’s birthday party at my house when he asked. However, my 80-year-old neighbor knew exactly what to do the following day, when my house was in ruins and my heart was in pieces.

You never anticipate being treated like a stranger by your own child. But that’s precisely what happened to Stuart at some point. Perhaps it was simply the years of maturing, moving out, and being busy, I used to think.

I made an effort to ignore it. In my heart, though, I missed the youngster who would unasked for help carrying groceries and bring me daisies from the garden.

I didn’t anticipate anything more than the customary brief check-in when he called, as infrequent as it was. However, his tone was almost… kind that day.

“Hey, Mom,” he interrupted. “I wanted to know. I wanted to hold a party for my birthday, but my apartment is a little small. Nothing extraordinary. Only a handful of buddies. Is it okay if I use your house?

For the first time in years, my heart made a small leap. I should have just said no or asked more questions. However, I only heard my son’s voice. Yes, I replied.

I said, “Of course,” to him. “I’ll be at Martha’s anyway, so you’ll have the place to yourselves.”

That night, I didn’t hear any loud music. I could walk to Martha’s house, and most sounds were muffled by her trees and garden.

I watched some old cooking show reruns and assisted her with her crossword puzzle during the evening.

I wrapped up with a blanket in the guest room, thinking that perhaps things would improve and that my kid was enjoying himself with his pals, while she dozed off in her rocker.

Perhaps things would return to how Stuart and I used to be.

I was mistaken.

When I left Martha’s back door, the morning air was crisp. I waved good-bye, promising to bring back her glass casserole dish later, while Janine, her attendant, was making coffee.

As I made my way home, my boots crunched quietly on the gravel path. I spotted the front of my house a minute later.

I halted in the middle of my step.

My front door was twisted as if someone had kicked it in, barely clinging on its hinges. One of the front windows was completely smashed.

My chest constricted, and I couldn’t identify the fire damage on the side.

I increased my speed and started running.

It was worse inside.

My husband had constructed a cabinet before he died, but it was burned and had a piece missing from one side. The kitchen floor was littered with crushed dishes.

Everything was covered in ash, shattered glass, and beer cans, and my hand-embroidered couch cushions were ripped.

I wondered how a group of people in their 30s could have ruined the building in this way as I stood motionless with my keys still in my hand.

Then I noticed the message.

It had a note scrawled in Stuart’s handwriting and was folded in half, resting idly on the counter.

“To bid our youth farewell, we threw a somewhat crazy party. You may need to do some cleaning.

I refrained from screaming. I refrained from crying at that time. I simply put my keys on the ground, took out my phone, and began calling him. It immediately went to voicemail.

Knowing that he would not listen to any messages, I attempted to call again. I had to leave him a message at last.

“Stuart,” I said into the phone, attempting but failing to maintain a steady tone. “You must give me a call. Now. What took place here?

I gave another call.

I started crying after the tenth time.

“Stuart! After what you’ve done, you can’t ignore me! How could you? After your father passed away, I raised you in this house, which I worked so hard to pay off! I promise to sue you for every penny if you don’t correct this! Can you hear me? I’ll file a lawsuit.

I left that note and then collapsed to the ground, gasping for air.

My hands were shaking and my knees felt wobbly.

The apartment I’d been living in for twenty years now looked like one of those apocalypse movies Stuart used to watch, so I closed my eyes to avoid looking at it.

I’m not sure how long I sat there with all of the mess around me. However, as my breathing returned to normal, I got up and started sweeping broken glass, one sharp fragment at a time, using a dustpan I had taken from beneath the sink.

An hour or so later, I saw Martha and her attendant strolling up the drive through the broken window. Every morning, she had always walked slowly but steadily, arm in arm with Janine.

She froze today.

She regarded my house as though it were a corpse.

“Martha?” I said as I brushed the glass off my sweatshirt and went outdoors. My voice broke. “It’s… It’s not good. Stuart ruined the party I let him organize. It’s a complete disaster. For afternoon tea, I might not be able to make it.

It was a long minute before her eyes blinked. After that, she touched my shoulder.

She murmured, “Oh, my dear Nadine,” in a low voice that carried a sort of mounting, silent rage. “You must definitely visit later. We must speak.

Even though I had no idea what to discuss, I nodded.

She gave one more nod, then turned and headed back the way she and Janine had come.

A few hours later, I wiped dust from my pants and tried to look like I hadn’t cried all morning as I made my way back along the same route, the long way to Martha’s estate.

With a slight smile, Janine opened her large front door and invited me in.

Martha had a cup of tea on her saucer while she sat in her favorite wingback chair. She gave me a kind nod. “Sit down, Nadine. Stuart has also been invited. He will arrive at any time.

A minute later, I heard the low rumble of a car engine outside, confirming her promise that my kid would arrive.

I ought to have known. Martha’s money and home had long been envied by Stuart. Naturally, he swooped for her, ignoring my calls and voicemails.

With a confident smile and sunglasses on, my son walked in with a strut. “Hey, Martha,” he exclaimed. “You wanted to see me?”

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the vacant couch.

I glared daggers into his face as he bounced down onto it, staring just at Martha.

My beloved neighbor said before I could respond. She began by folding her hands in her lap and saying, “I’ve made a decision,” “I should move into a retirement community now. Janine has been assisting me in finding a suitable one, and I’ve resisted for long enough.”

Oh, no. I was going to really miss her.

Stuart straightened his posture. “Whoa, that’s right? That’s a significant step.

She gave a nod. “It is. The house was about to be sold. But then, no, I thought. I would prefer to offer it to a reliable person.

My son raised his eyebrows. He was aware that Martha had no relatives remaining, just as I was.

“I wanted to give my house to you, Stuart.”

Then he leaped up. “Are you serious? That’s… that’s amazing, Martha! I’m grateful. Wow, this site is very incredible.

Martha held up a hand.

“But,” she went on, and the room fell silent, “I’ve changed my mind after seeing firsthand what you did to your mother’s house and the condition she was in this morning.”

My son went cold.

Martha looked across at me. She extended her hand and gently placed it over mine, but she kept talking to Stuart.

“I am presenting it to her. and most of my property once I die, so she won’t have to worry about money ever again.”

Stuart’s jaw dropped. “Wait—what? No! His voice rose as he stammered, “Last night, we just had a little fun.” “There was nothing we did that was difficult to fix or clean up! You know me, Martha, don’t you? This is merely a misunderstanding, I promise.

With firmness, Martha said, “You’d better lower your voice in my house, young man,”

Before attempting to speak again, he stood back and took a long breath. He began, “Please… I can explain,” but Martha’s hand raised once again.

She stated, “No, I’ve made my decision,” with even more solemnity. “And honestly, after what you pulled, I’m glad I never had kids of my own.”

To be honest, I was blown away by the statement, and the room became silent.

Martha and I have discussed her life on multiple occasions. I had inquired as to whether she regretted not starting a family in order to concentrate on earning money. Her tone was occasionally mournful, but she never explicitly stated that she would change anything.

She always seemed to have some doubts, but now I knew otherwise. Her tone was decisive.

There was awkward stillness for a minute, and then my son changed.

“All right! “Keep your stupid money!” he yelled, his bitter, irate gaze sweeping between us. “I don’t require it! Neither of you is necessary for me.”

Then he slammed the hefty front door behind him and rushed out.

Silence fell again. But it was different. There was no longer any stress.

However, I continued to look at my hands while rubbing them to contain my tears, and after a moment, I looked directly into Martha’s eyes.

The words “I don’t know what to say,” I muttered.

She gave a soft smile. “Nadine, you don’t need to speak. You deserved it. Over the years, you have been the most wonderful friend I could have ever had. You are the only one who truly deserves it.

I nodded, unable to contain my tears this time. However, I was uncertain whether or not those were tears of joy.

Even though I was really grateful for the greatest gift of my life, my son had just mistreated me.

With such knowledge, I couldn’t be completely content. That was not how I had bro

ught him up. But at that moment, there was nothing I could do.

I would therefore have to be content to savor this moment, bittersweet as it was.