My daughter-in-law Melissa rarely let me see my grandkids. Birthdays? Missed. Holidays? Ignored. Even when I offered to babysit, she had some excuse: “Oh, they’ve got soccer,” or, “We’re just so busy.” Never a phone call, never a visit. It broke my heart.
I tried to stay out of the way. I didn’t want to cause trouble between her and my son, Jake. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t sting—being kept at arm’s length from my only grandchildren.
Then, five months ago, everything changed.
I remember the exact day. My phone buzzed with a text:
“Hi Mom! How’s your back feeling? ❤️”
I blinked at it for a solid minute. Mom? She’d never called me that—not even once. And now a heart emoji?
That was just the beginning. The next week, she dropped off banana bread with a sweet note. Then came regular calls, asking if I needed help with groceries. She even brought the kids over for lunch one Sunday and let them stay for hours.
For the first time in years, I felt like we were finally bonding. I let myself believe it was real. Maybe she’d had a change of heart. Maybe she finally saw me as part of the family.
She gave me a Mother’s Day gift—an engraved locket with photos of the grandkids inside. I actually cried.
Then came Jake’s birthday last weekend. I offered to arrive early to help set up, but Melissa told me, “Don’t worry! Come right at noon, everything will be ready.”
But I made his favorite pie and wanted it to be fresh, so I arrived twenty minutes early anyway.
The front door was open, which wasn’t unusual on a sunny day. I knocked lightly and stepped inside.
That’s when I heard her voice from the kitchen, low and sharp.
“No, I feel sick calling her MOM. She’s such a witch.”
My heart froze.
“I know it’s fake, okay? But I just need ONE thing from her. Once I get that, I’m done playing nice.”
I stood there in the hallway, pie in hand, mouth dry.
She was silent for a beat, then added, “God, even her banana bread face makes me want to scream.”
I turned around and walked out before I said something I’d regret.
Back in my car, I sat in the driveway staring at the pie. The one I’d made with her in mind too, because she said she loved peaches. It hit me like a brick: all those kind gestures—the hugs, the calls, the gifts—they weren’t real. They were part of some scheme.
She wasn’t trying to build a relationship. She was trying to get something.
I didn’t go back inside. I drove home and waited until Jake called that night asking if I was okay.
I told him the truth.
To his credit, he didn’t try to defend her. He was quiet, then said, “I’ll talk to her. I’m so sorry, Mom.”
Since then, things have been… tense. I haven’t heard from Melissa. No more banana bread, no more “Mom” texts. But yesterday, Jake came by with the kids. Just him.
We played board games and made sundaes in the kitchen. No drama. No lies.
Maybe that’s enough for now.
But one thing’s for sure—if Melissa thinks she can sweet-talk her way into something again, she’s got another thing coming.
I may be a grandma, but I’m not a fool.