I Was 73 When I Moved Into My Son’s House — Every Time He Was Taking a Bath at Three in the Morning, When I Peeked Through the Door, I Almost Fell Over the Truth

I’m Margaret, 73 years old – a mother who has weathered every storm life could bring.

I once believed that after losing my husband, peace would finally find me. I left our old countryside home made of mud and brick and moved to the city to live with my only son, Daniel, and his wife, Olivia.

At first, I thought I was stepping into comfort. Daniel was a successful company director, and their condo gleamed with city luxury. But beneath the polished floors and glittering skyline, I soon felt a chill – a coldness that crept into my heart.

1. The Silence in the Grand House

We rarely shared dinner together.

“Daniel, aren’t you eating with us?” I asked, serving the rice.

He checked his watch. “I still have work, Mom. Eat without me.”

Olivia quietly whispered, “Just a little, honey… the soup’s still hot.”

“I said I’m not hungry!” he snapped.