The day my son, Ryan, brought home Lydia, a woman 20 years older than him, my world shifted. Ryan announced she was moving in, and while I stayed quiet at first, I knew I had to act. I always dreamed Ryan would find love, especially after losing my husband, Daniel, three years ago. But Lydia wasn’t what I expected.
When I met Lydia, she wasn’t the young, vibrant woman I’d imagined. She was only a few years younger than me. Despite my shock, I stayed polite as Ryan shared their plans for her to move in. My house, once filled with Daniel’s warmth, now felt like unfamiliar territory.
At first, I tried to adjust. But Lydia quickly disrupted our routine—monopolizing the bathroom, cooking only for herself and Ryan, and redecorating without asking. When she suggested I move to the basement or live with my daughter Bella so she and Ryan could take the master bedroom, I’d had enough.
Instead of arguing, I did something unexpected: I signed the house over to Ryan. A month later, Lydia called, furious. She hadn’t realized the house wasn’t fully paid off, and bills were piling up. Ryan, clueless as always, was overwhelmed.
“You wanted to be the lady of the house,” I told her. “Now act like one.”
They begged me to take back the house, which I did. But the experience taught me a hard truth about Ryan’s priorities. While I still love him, I’ve decided it’s time to focus on myself and reclaim my life.
