My In-Laws Told My Kids to Sleep in a Shed – Their Reason Shocked Me, but Karma Soon Intervened

It all started innocently enough. My husband, Seth, and I decided to take our twin girls, Ava and Blair, to visit his parents for the weekend.

Seth’s parents, Paul and Linda, lived not too far away from us, but they were surrounded by rolling hills and endless fields.

“The girls should love it,” Seth said. “They’ll love the flower bushes and everything. And also, they haven’t really spent a lot of time with my parents, so this is going to be good.”

“Yeah,” I replied. “I guess so. And it will be good for us to get outside for a while.”

“Actually,” Seth said, “it is the summer holidays. Why don’t we pack a bag for the twins and let them stay for a few days? My mom did mention it a few weeks ago.”

That made me uneasy. The twins hadn’t really been exposed to Seth’s parents, and I was always worried about them telling the twins the truth.

Seth and I adopted Ava and Blair as infants, and we’ve always treated them like they were our own. That’s because they were just that. However, we just hadn’t told them about their adoption yet.

“We’ll wait until they’re older,” I told Seth. “Like, let’s wait until they’re 16 at least.”

“I agree, love,” he said. “We can’t disturb everything they know right now. And anyway, seven is too young to understand everything.”

But Paul and Linda had always been a bit strange about the whole thing. They always said they loved my children like any of the other grandchildren, but I knew they treated them differently.

They also had a tradition of inviting their grandchildren over for summer visits, and if the twins stayed, this would be their first time.

“Okay,” I said eventually. “We can pack their things, and if they want to stay, then by all means.”

Although I said that to my husband, the truth was that I was still hesitant about leaving my children with Linda. Over the years, she would buy the twins cheap, thoughtless gifts while splurging on the other grandchildren.

And even when they were babies, she had avoided holding them and often seemed to forget they existed unless prompted.

“Oh, sorry, Penelope,” Linda said. “I’m just about to go into the kitchen and sort out some food; I’ll hold the kids later.”

But still, Seth was excited about the visit, insisting it was an important family tradition and that once the kids were there, we could have some alone time.

“It’s too late to book a place for us, Pen,” he said, “but we could have a staycation. It will be great for us. We barely get a chance to be alone and intimate.”

So, with a mix of apprehension and hope, I agreed.

When we got there, Linda greeted us with her usual warm smile.

“It’s so good to see you all!” she exclaimed, but I noticed she didn’t make much eye contact with the girls.

“Oh boy,” I muttered under my breath.

This was just the beginning.

“So!” Linda said, “You girls are going to sleep in the shed out back. It’s going to be a little adventure! And don’t worry, we’ve set it up nicely with beds and everything.”

Immediately, I hesitated again. A shed? A shed seemed old and unfit for children.

“I’m sure it’s fine, Pen,” Seth said. “My mother won’t put our kids into a place that they shouldn’t be in. They probably did it up nicely for the grandkids.”

But why didn’t we check it out before leaving? That’s something I’ll always ask myself.

“Come on, love,” Seth said when the girls were running around with Lila, the dog. “They’re settled in, and they’re fine. And Mom is making a chicken pot pie for dinner. They’re going to be fine. And Dad said that Jesse is on the way with the other kids.”

So, we left and went out for dinner together.

“Date nights are important, Pen,” Seth said when we sat down at the table.

We only had a few hours to ourselves, and then Seth had to get back to work. His hours were ridiculous because he worked for an overseas company.

Later that evening, I called the girls to check in and make sure they were okay. Their voices, usually full of energy, sounded subdued.

“Mom, we’re scared,” Ava whispered. “There are weird noises here, and we think we saw some rats.”

“And the hay is very sharp, and it’s been poking our skin when we try to sleep,” Blair chimed in.

Hay?

“What hay? Where are the other kids?” I asked.

“They’re inside,” Blair said. “Gran said that they can sleep upstairs in the beds. Why can’t we? It’s cold out here.”

I was furious. How could they treat my girls like this while the other kids stayed comfortably inside?

With Seth at work, I had no choice but to get to the girls myself.

I grabbed my keys and drove to my in-laws’ house, my hands shaking with anger.

When Linda opened the door, she had a smug look on her face as if she had been expecting me.

“Why are my children sleeping in a shed with hay? I thought you did it up so that it was suitable for children?” I shouted. “And why are the other kids inside the house?”

Linda didn’t even flinch.

“It’s just part of our tradition,” she said nonchalantly. “We teach the kids the value of hard work and humility. The shed is just the first step in the process.”

“Hard work and humility?” I echoed. “They’re seven years old, not farmhands. And why only my kids? Why aren’t the other kids out there too?”

Linda’s gaze turned cold.

“Penelope, these children need to learn their place. After all, they aren’t as important as the others. They’re adopted. They’re not real family.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

“This is unacceptable,” I said, my entire body shaking with emotion. “They are children, and they deserve the same treatment as any of the other grandkids.”

Linda just shrugged.

“If you don’t like it, you can take them back home. But then don’t expect them to be a part of any family traditions in the future.”

“That’s the last thing I want,” I said. “I don’t want my kids to have anything to do with you, Linda.”

Fuming, I stormed past her and went straight to the shed. My heart broke at the sight of Ava and Blair huddled together on the makeshift beds, their eyes wide with fear.

I scooped them up and marched back to the house.

“We’re leaving,” I declared, glaring at Linda. “And don’t expect to see any of us again unless you can treat all your grandchildren with equal love and respect.”

As I drove away, my girls safely tucked into the backseat, a mix of anger and relief washed over me.

At home, I set the girls up in bed and kissed them before letting them get to sleep. I knew we had a bigger conversation in the morning.

When Seth got home, I told him what happened.

“You’re joking,” he said, livid. “You’re telling me that my mother did this?!”

I nodded.

“This is not how our daughters will be treated,” he said firmly. “We’ll handle this together. Let the girls sleep.”

The next morning, my mother came over to babysit the girls.

“We’ll just play with the dollhouse until you come back,” she said.

Then, we returned to confront his parents. And, my goodness, my husband didn’t mince his words.

“Mom, what you did is unforgivable. You treated my daughters like they were less than human because they’re adopted. Until you can show that you love and respect all your grandchildren equally, you won’t be seeing any of us.”

The confrontation was intense. Linda tried to defend her actions, but Seth stood his ground. Eventually, she broke down.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, tears running down her face.

But I couldn’t care less.

Our decision rippled through the family. Jesse, Seth’s brother, refused to take his kids over to their parents, too.

And do you know how karma stepped in? A month later, it was Linda’s 70th birthday, and it was supposed to be a big deal. We were all supposed to be there, ready to celebrate the matriarch.

But nobody showed up. Paul phoned Seth and told him that Linda had spent the day crying, regretting everything.

“Too bad, Dad,” Seth said. “I’m focusing on my children. My family is more important.”

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you |

I Dropped My Naughty Kids at My Parents’ Home – I Was Shocked When They Were Good as Gold When I Picked Them Up

When Cara and her husband get an invitation to an adult-only party, they welcome the break from being parents of three for a few hours. Thankfully, her parents are ready to save the day and babysit the kids. But when Cara and Jason go back to fetch the kids, they’re shocked by the change in their behavior.

“Are you sure that the kids will be okay?” my husband, Jason, asked me as I went through my closet trying to find something to wear.

“Yes!” I exclaimed. “They will be absolutely fine with my parents.”

“It’s just that you know how they can be,” Jason said. “The kids, not your parents. They’re a handful.”

“They’ll be fine,” I repeated.

But my husband wasn’t wrong. Our kids were a lot to deal with. They were as hyper as anything and often stood on each other’s feet, trying to outdo each other as they tried to claim our attention.

Jason and I were getting ready for our friend’s birthday party, and thankfully, it was an adult-only party.

“I’m so glad that it’s an adult party, Cara,” Jason said, ironing his shirt. “We need an evening away from the little monsters.”

I couldn’t have agreed more. I just wanted to stuff my face with good food that wasn’t leftovers from my children’s plates. And drink champagne. Or wine. Or beer. All three seemed good enough for me.

“Oh, honey,” I said, putting on my earrings. “I’m just as glad.”

Look, Jason and I love our children to the ends of the planet and back, but after five years with zero help, we needed a break.

Read the full story here.

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.