Real-life. “My Son Kicked Me Out of the House I Once Signed Over to Him”: Now I Have Nowhere to Go

It wasn't always like this.

All my life I thought I was doing the right thing. I was a mother who sacrificed herself for her child. I gave everything I had to my son, Adam. And now he's thrown me out on the street.

It wasn't always like this. When he was a child, he loved me unconditionally. “Mom, I will never leave you,” he said, squeezing my hand. I believed him. I raised him alone after my husband died. We didn't have an easy life, but we always supported each other. He was my only child, my greatest love and pride.

He grew up, got married, started a family. I was proud of him. When his wife got pregnant, he started to worry about the future. “Mom, I have to think about the family,” he said.

Then came this question:

„Maybe you'll sign over the house to me?”

I was sure it was just a formality. After all, it was my son speaking. He wouldn't cheat on me, he wouldn't leave me. After all, he always said that this place would be our home together. That I would never be alone.

I had no doubts.

I signed the papers. I gave him everything.

At first, nothing changed. I still felt at home. I helped around the house, looked after my grandson, cooked dinner, did the shopping. I was a part of their daily lives.

But over time I started to notice small changes.

First I stopped being invited to family dinners.

Then his wife started to turn up her nose when I stayed in the living room longer.

“Mom, maybe it's better if you spend more time in your room?” – she told me one day quietly, seemingly politely, but I could see in her eyes that she didn't want me here.

A room of my own? I, who created this home, who for years took care of every corner of it? I began to feel like an intruder.

But the worst came later.

One evening, Adam sat down in front of me and lowered his gaze. I knew then that something was wrong.

“Mom, we need to talk.”

My heart started beating faster.

“You know how it is…” – he began, avoiding my gaze. “We're expanding our family, the kids are growing, we need more space. Maybe you should think about something else? Maybe a smaller apartment? Or… a senior home?”

I froze.

„This is my home…– I whispered, feeling tears welling up in my eyes.

He sighed. He wasn't even upset. He was just telling me to leave, like it was a normal decision.

„Mom, you don't understand. This is OUR home now. You gave him back to me.”

I gave him back.

But I didn't think I gave myself back as well.

Back then I tried to talk to him, explain. I had nowhere else to go. My pension was low, I had no savings, because everything I had always went to the family. I was sure I'd stay here for the rest of my life.

But his decision was irrevocable.

The next day he brought me an offer to rent a studio apartment in a distant district.

„This is the best solution for you,– he said dryly. „You'll have peace there.”

Peace&j?

But I didn't want peace. I wanted a family, I wanted a son who would respect me.

That evening I packed my suitcase. I had no choice.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the house I had spent my entire life in. In which I had raised a son who now treated me like a problem.

And he? He didn't even look back.

Today I sit in a small, rented room, staring at the wall. I have nothing. No money, no home, no family.

And I ask myself: Where did I go wrong?

Was I too good of a mother? Did I give him too much?

Or maybe I just didn't deserve such a fate?