When my husband’s parents lost their jobs and had to give up their home, they were left with nowhere to go. Seeing my husband’s worry over not being able to help, I let my mom take them in. At first, things seemed fine, but soon their ingratitude turned everything upside down, leading to a dramatic call to social services.
Right after Ryan and I got married, his parents hit hard times. His mom, Diane, and dad, Paul, had to give up their house because Paul lost his job.
We didn’t have room in our small place to take them in, but we couldn’t just leave them to figure it out alone. They were desperate, and so were we.
When they learned my mom lived by herself, they asked if they could stay with her. My mom’s two-story house was big, but since a car accident left her in a wheelchair a few years ago, she had a live-in nurse to help her.
“Please, Ellen,” Diane begged at my mom’s house over dinner. “We’ve got nowhere else to go, and we’re out of money.”
I knew how much this hurt Ryan—he felt helpless. When my mom agreed, Ryan squeezed my hand under the table, letting out a relieved sigh.
“Of course, you can stay,” Mom said warmly. “As long as you need.”
At first, everything went smoothly. Diane cooked dinners, and Paul mowed the lawn and kept the house tidy.
But then things took a turn, and social services got involved. It was a total mess.
Here’s what happened.
My in-laws started complaining that Mom was taking up the entire first floor—which made sense, since my sister and I had turned it into her own space after her accident. She needed it to get around comfortably, and the second floor was for us when we visited.
Instead of being thankful, they grumbled about not having room for their things. They even complained about Mom’s fridge. “It’s all basic food,” Paul would mutter. “Nothing exciting or new.”
But they never bought their own groceries or anything they wanted to eat.
Even after Diane got a job as a librarian and Paul started working as a proofreader at the local paper, their whining didn’t stop.
“Don’t you think they should start looking for their own place?” Ryan asked me one evening as we walked.
“I bet your mom wants her house back,” he added.
“Honestly,” I said, “I think she likes the company. She always says it’s too quiet with just her and her nurse, Karen.”
“I get that,” Ryan said. “But my parents can be a lot.”
It was like he’d jinxed it.
One day, I brought pastries to Mom’s house and found her looking upset.
“What’s wrong?” I asked right away.
“Ryan’s parents,” she said quietly. “They’ve been hinting I should go to a nursing home. I overheard them talking about it last night.”
“Mom, that’s too far,” I said, fuming. “Do you want me to tell them to leave?”
She gave me a sly smile. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll handle it.”
A few days later, Diane called us, sobbing. “How could Ellen do this to us?”
Apparently, Mom had told them to move their stuff to the first floor because she was “ready” for a nursing home, saying she needed an easier life. Ryan’s parents thought they’d gotten their way.
But Mom had other plans. She’d called social services, reporting two people living with her temporarily who needed help.
The next day, social services showed up at Mom’s doorstep, ready to move Diane and Paul to a social housing unit.
They were furious.
Ryan and I rushed to Mom’s house because they demanded to see us.
“This is ridiculous!” Diane shrieked, her face red, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “We thought we were moving downstairs, not out of the house!”
“How dare she trick us!” Paul bellowed, slamming his fist on the table, his voice shaking with rage. “We’ve done everything for her these past months!”
Ryan flinched beside me, torn between his parents and the truth. I could see the hurt in his eyes, caught in the middle.
“You took advantage of her kindness and tried to push her into a nursing home!” I snapped, my anger boiling over. “You got exactly what you deserved!”
“You can’t just kick us out!” Diane yelled, her voice cracking, tears streaming down her face as the social workers stood by, unfazed.
Mom sat calmly in her wheelchair, a small smile on her face. “You’ve got a new place to live now,” she said. “And honestly, that’s not my problem. I helped you, and all you did was complain. You didn’t want to be here—you were just stuck. Now you can take care of yourselves.”
Diane’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with shock, as if she’d been slapped. Paul stood frozen, his face a mix of fury and humiliation, knowing the whole neighborhood would hear about this.
The social workers stepped in, calmly explaining the housing arrangement—a small apartment near their jobs. They’d be fine, but they were too busy cursing to see it.
As they stormed out, still ranting, it was clear they’d lost this round.
“I’m sorry,” Ryan told Mom later, as we settled her back in. “This is my fault.”
Mom took his hand, shaking her head. “It’s not your fault, Ryan. They needed a place, and I welcomed them. But they made life hard here. Everything was a problem.”
While they talked, I busied myself in the kitchen, making Ryan’s favorite curry to lift his spirits. Deep down, I felt guilty too. I should’ve stopped them from moving in, but we were desperate to help when they lost their home. Maybe it was guilt from not being able to take them in ourselves.
That night, as we got into bed, I told Ryan we should check on his parents. “Even after all this, we need to make sure they’re okay,” I said.
The next day, we visited their new apartment. It was small but cozy, with boxes scattered everywhere and the faint smell of burnt toast.
“Didn’t check the toaster,” Paul mumbled, embarrassed.
We took them to a café for lunch, where they finally owned up to their mistakes. “We were wrong,” Diane admitted, poking at her salad. “We saw an easy life at Ellen’s and got greedy. Now we have to make this work.”
Ryan didn’t hold back. “You embarrassed me,” he said, his voice steady but sharp. “You used my wife’s mom. Do you know how that feels?”
I let him speak, watching his parents eat their omelets in silence, their heads bowed.
On the drive home, Ryan stopped to buy Mom a bouquet of flowers. “She deserves it,” he said.
What would you have done?
