I Bought a Country House So My Daughter Could Finally Have Peace — Then I Showed Up Unannounced and Found Her Scrubbing Floors While Her In-Laws Treated Her Like a Servant.

Clotheslines sagging with laundry.
Children’s toys scattered across the yard like the property no longer belonged to one household but many.

The front door was unlocked.

Inside, the smell of bleach stung my eyes before I heard the scrubbing, and when I turned the corner into the living room, I saw my daughter on her knees, sleeves rolled up, hands red and shaking as she worked a stiff brush against the wooden floor, her shoulders trembling with each silent tear that fell into the soapy water.

“Rachel,” I said.

She flinched so hard the brush slipped from her hand.

Before she could answer, a sharp voice cut in from the kitchen, crisp and dismissive, as if I were an inconvenience rather than a guest.

“She can talk later. Floors don’t clean themselves.”

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