My mother-in-law, Eliza, made my life miserable. I tried to get along, but she constantly criticized me, comparing me to my husband’s ex. Eventually, I gave up.

When I became pregnant, we decided to tell her. To my shock, she was thrilled. That night, she insisted I go on a retreat with her. I protested, but she had already booked it. Reluctantly, I agreed.

The motel was run-down—Eliza had booked the wrong place. That night, I saw someone at her door. It was Catherine—Mark’s ex. I overheard Eliza telling her to talk to Mark. Furious, I confronted her.

“You wanted to send Mark his ex?!” I yelled.

“No, Leah, it’s not like that,” she pleaded, but I stormed out. My car wouldn’t start, and Eliza knocked on my window. “Please, let’s talk.”

Back in the room, she finally confessed. “I’m dying, Leah.”

I froze. She explained that Catherine was her doctor, helping her through her final months. She had planned to ask if she could live with us but changed her mind after learning I was pregnant.

“You could’ve told me,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry,” she said, tears falling. For the first time, I hugged her.

Four months later, Eliza held her granddaughter, little Eliza, in her arms. She spoiled her, sang to her, and smiled like never before. Our daughter looked just like her grandmother.

Eliza had little time left, but she got to be a grandmother, and for that, I was grateful.