My in-laws ignored me for years until I inherited a fortune. Suddenly, I was part of the family. They wanted my money, but I gave them something else.
I’m Freya, 31, and I’ve always been the type who tries to see the good in people, maybe to a fault.
I teach art at a local middle school, bake when I’m stressed, and I’ve got a rescue cat named Ink who judges me more than my students do. Three years ago, I married Jason: my best friend, my safe place, and my everything.
We met at a charity run, bonded over our mutual hatred for kale smoothies, and became inseparable, or so I thought. He was kind, grounded, and a bit too non-confrontational, but I never minded that.
At least, not in the beginning.
His family? Let’s just say they were… “tight-knit.” That was the word Jason used, with a proud little smile, the first time he brought me to Sunday dinner at his parents’ place. That night, I made lasagna from scratch, memorized everyone’s names, and laughed at jokes I didn’t fully understand.
Jason’s mom, Claudette, gave me an air kiss and immediately launched into organizing place settings.
His dad, Grant, didn’t say much but eyed me like I was something he hadn’t ordered off the menu. As for his sister Ivy, she smiled and complimented my shoes while staring at my chipped nail polish.
I thought I was just nervous and that once we got married, I’d be one of them. Spoiler: I never was.
It started at our wedding.
The photographer was clicking away, directing people left and right. I was standing next to Jason, clutching my bouquet, when Claudette came up and gently tugged at my elbow. “Oh, sweetheart, would you mind stepping aside for just a moment?” she cooed.
“We need one with just the immediate family.”
I blinked.
“But… I’m the bride.”
“Yes, of course, and you’ll have your bridal shots later. This one’s just a little tradition of ours.
You understand.”
Jason gave me a small shrug. I hesitated, then stepped back, heels sinking slightly into the grass.
Later, I found a printed copy of that picture framed in their living room.
I wasn’t in it. That was just the beginning. After the wedding, things didn’t change; if anything, they got worse.
Barbecues, game nights, birthdays — I was always conveniently left out.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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