I Bought A Country House With My Husband’s Inheritance To Get Away. Then My Son Called:

Kiara wants you to prepare dinner for eight people.” His tone was a mix of command and disdain. “And put on something decent. You look like a vagrant.”

I was wearing the same blue blouse Marcus had given me for our last anniversary.

It was one of my favorites, but under Andre’s critical gaze, I suddenly felt small and disheveled. I entered the house I had bought with my own money and headed to the kitchen. The guests were in the living room drinking wine and laughing.

I could hear fragments of their conversation. “Andre was just telling us about this brilliant investment.” Kiara’s father, Mr. Clayton, a portly man with a gray mustache, was saying, “ $500,000 for a property that’s already worth $700,000?

He has a good eye for business.”

Kiara laughed, a musical sound she had perfected for these occasions. “My husband is very shrewd. He always finds the best opportunities.”

They were brazenly lying about the farm’s price, inflating it by over $300,000, but I kept quiet, preparing roasted chicken with sides while listening to every word.

“And his mother?” asked one of Kiara’s friends. “Does she live here with you?”

There was an awkward pause before Andre responded. “My mother is complicated.

She hasn’t been mentally well since my father died. We’re taking care of her, but it’s difficult.”

“Oh, the poor thing.” Another voice murmured. “That must be so hard on you.”

“It is,” Kiara sighed with false sadness.

“But Andre is so patient with her. I don’t know if I would have his strength.”

I stood motionless by the oven, feeling the kitchen’s heat was nothing compared to the fury rising in my chest. They were painting me as a scenile old woman dependent on their kindness, as if they were the martyrs and I was the burden.

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