When her daughter-in-law crashed her car in the dead of night, Sandra thought the worst was over. Then a shocking phone call revealed an even deeper betrayal. What began as a morning of frustration quickly unraveled into a discovery that would change her family’s future forever.
I never imagined my day would start like this. I’m 57, a widow, living in a quiet neighborhood. My son, Derek, 28, and his wife, Lindsay, moved in with me last year. It was supposed to be temporary, just until they found a place of their own.
A happy couple on a hike | Source: Pexels
But here we are, still sharing the same roof. Derek’s a good boy, always has been. He works hard, takes care of his family, and tries to keep the peace. Lindsay, on the other hand, well, she’s a different story. We’ve never quite seen eye to eye.
Derek left for a business trip two days ago, leaving me alone with Lindsay. I could tell she wasn’t thrilled about it either. There’s always tension between us, like walking on eggshells. I tried to avoid her as much as possible, sticking to my routine and letting her do her own thing.
A stern woman | Source: Midjourney
This morning, I woke up to the sound of a loud thud outside. My heart skipped a beat. I threw on my robe and rushed out the front door. There, in the driveway, was my car, my poor old car, sitting with a dented bumper and shattered headlights. The source of the thud was right by its side: one of the wing mirrors was lying shattered on the driveway.
“What in the world?” I gasped, rushing over to it. My hands trembled as I touched the crumpled metal. How did this happen? It was fine last night when I checked on it. Who could’ve done this?
A dented car | Source: Pexels
Just then, I heard the front door creak open behind me. I turned to see Lindsay casually sipping her coffee as if nothing was wrong.
“Oh, good morning,” she said, her tone as indifferent as ever.
“Morning? Look at my car, Lindsay! It’s wrecked!” I couldn’t believe how calm she was.
She glanced at the car, then back at me. “Yeah, I noticed that.”
An angry middle-aged woman | Source: Pexels
“You noticed? What do you mean you noticed? Do you know what happened?”
Lindsay shrugged, taking another sip of her coffee. “I took it out last night. The brakes were acting up. Probably why it got banged up.”
“You took my car?” I could feel my blood pressure rising. “Without asking me?”
“Well, you weren’t using it. And I had somewhere to be,” she replied, completely unfazed.
“Somewhere to be? At that hour? Where could you possibly need to go in the middle of the night?”
Unconcerned woman sipping her coffee | Source: Pexels
“That’s none of your business,” she shot back, her eyes narrowing. “And don’t get started on me about money. I’m not paying for anything just because your old car’s falling apart.”
I stared at her, trying to keep my composure, but I could feel the anger boiling inside me. “Lindsay, you can’t just take someone’s car without permission. That’s not how it works!”
She rolled her eyes, clearly not interested in hearing me out. “Oh, please. Stop acting like it’s a big deal. It’s just a car. And like I said, I’m not paying for it. It’s your car, your problem.”
“My problem?” I repeated, my voice trembling. “You damaged it! You should be responsible for fixing it.”
An angry elderly woman in her living room | Source: Midjourney
Lindsay crossed her arms, her expression growing more defiant. “Not happening. I’m not spending my money on that piece of junk.”
At that moment, I wanted to scream, to yell at her for being so disrespectful. But I remembered what Derek had said before he left — “Don’t argue with her, Mom. It’s not worth it. I’ll handle things when I get back.”
I took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “Lindsay, you need to understand that what you did was wrong. You can’t just —”
Middle-aged woman confronting young woman | Source: Midjourney
Before I could finish, my phone rang. I reached into my pocket and saw Derek’s name on the screen. Relief washed over me. Maybe he could talk some sense into her.
“Hello, Derek?” I answered, trying to keep my voice steady.
“Mom, what’s going on? Lindsay just texted me, saying you’re giving her a hard time.”
“Derek, she took my car without asking and crashed it. And now she’s refusing to pay for the repairs!” I blurted out, my frustration spilling over.
“Mom, calm down,” Derek said, his voice tired. “Look, I’ll take care of it when I get back, okay? Just… don’t fight with her. Please.”
A man talking on his phone | Source: Pexels
“But Derek, she —”
“I know, Mom. I know. But just let it go for now. I’ll deal with it.”
I sighed, feeling defeated. “Alright, Derek. But something needs to be done.”
“I promise, Mom. Just hang in there.”
The call ended, and my heart raced. What was she hiding? My mind raced with possibilities, none of them good. Whatever it was, it was clear she was up to something behind Derek’s back. And she wasn’t being honest with me, either.
A middle-aged woman on her phone | Source: Pexels
I had to do something but didn’t want to jump to conclusions. I needed proof. As much as it pained me, I decided to wait and see if she would slip up again. I couldn’t accuse her without knowing the full story.
My patience was rewarded sooner than I expected. That evening, Lindsay left the house, saying she was going to “meet a friend.” I didn’t believe her for a second. As soon as she was gone, I grabbed my phone and called Derek again.
A middle-aged woman talking on her phone | Source: Pexels
“Derek, something’s wrong,” I said as soon as he picked up. “Lindsay’s been acting suspicious. I overheard her on the phone earlier, and it didn’t sound good.”
“What do you mean, suspicious?” Derek asked, sounding concerned.
“I’m not sure, but it was like she was hiding something from us. And now she’s gone out, saying she’s meeting a friend. Derek, I don’t trust her.”
Derek sighed heavily on the other end. “Mom, I don’t know what to say. I’ve been getting weird vibes from her too, but I didn’t want to think the worst. Do you think she’s…?”
A man talking on his phone | Source: Pexels
I didn’t want to finish the thought, but I knew what he was implying. “I don’t know, Derek. But something’s off, and I think we need to find out what.”
“Okay, let’s not jump to conclusions just yet,” Derek said, trying to sound rational. “But keep an eye on things. I’ll be back tomorrow night. We’ll talk more then.”
“Alright, Derek. I’ll be careful.”
We hung up, and I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling settling in my chest. I spent the rest of the evening pacing the house, waiting for Lindsay to return. When she finally did, it was late, and she looked startled to see me waiting in the living room.
A frustrated elderly woman | Source: Pexels
“You’re still up?” she asked, trying to sound casual.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I replied, watching her carefully. “How was your evening?”
“It was fine,” she said quickly, avoiding my gaze. “Just caught up with a friend.”
“Which friend?” I asked, not letting up.
Lindsay hesitated, and I knew she was lying. “Just… a friend from work.”
An awkward woman | Source: Pexels
I didn’t press her further, but I knew I was onto something. She hurried off to her room, clearly uncomfortable under my scrutiny. I could feel the tension in the air as thick as ever.
The next day, Derek called me again, this time with urgency in his voice. “Mom, I need you to do something for me. I just got a call from a buddy of mine at work. He told me something strange happened last night. A girl from a dating site was supposed to meet him, but she canceled last minute, saying she got into an accident.”
A man looking at his phone | Source: Pexels
My heart skipped a beat. “Derek, what are you saying?”
“Mom, the girl he described sounded like Lindsay. He didn’t know it was her, but from what he said, I’m almost sure of it. She’s been sneaking around behind my back.”
My blood ran cold. Everything clicked into place — the late-night outings, the secretive phone calls, the car accident. It wasn’t just an accident; it was part of something much bigger.
“Derek, what do we do?” I asked, my voice trembling.
A frustrated angry woman on her phone | Source: Midjourney
“Mom, I need you to pack her things and bring them outside. When I get back tonight, she has to be out of the house. I’m done with her lies.”
I knew it was the right thing to do, but my heart ached for Derek. He didn’t deserve this betrayal. As I started packing Lindsay’s belongings, I couldn’t help but think about how quickly things had spiraled out of control. It was time to end this nightmare and protect my son from any more heartache.
Packed stuff in a box | Source: Pexels
The door creaked as Lindsay stepped into the room, her eyes wide with shock as she saw what I was doing. I stood firm, ready for whatever came next.
“What are you doing?” she exclaimed.
“Kicking you out. Your lies are over,” I folded my arms on my chest.
“You’ll pay for this,” Lindsay growled. “I’ll call Derek right now!”
I don’t know what Derek said in the call, but when it ended, Lindsay left. I felt a mix of relief and sadness. Derek came home, and after a brief, painful conversation, he decided to file for divorce. It wasn’t easy, but he knew it was the right choice. The betrayal was too deep, and there was no turning back.
Serving divorce papers | Source: Pexels
If you liked this story, consider checking out this one: My husband, Derek, and I have shared our lives for what feels like forever. We’ve built a home and raised two kids. Though we were madly in love, we got a prenup to avoid any messy disputes should we ever decide to part ways. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
