I Chose Not to Include My Daughter-in-Law on a Family Vacation, and I Believe My Decision Was Justified

But every trip was a reminder of how connected we were and how much we valued this time together. It was a break from our everyday lives, a chance to let loose and just be, at least for some time.

“Mom, do you remember that time at the beach house when Kayla fell off the dock?” Evelyn would laugh, nudging her sister.

“Don’t remind me!” Kayla groaned, but she couldn’t help smiling. “I still can’t believe you all left me in the water like that.”

“We didn’t leave you, sweetheart. We were laughing too hard to pull you out,” I would tease, shaking my head.

These moments were precious, and I held onto them fiercely. But things started to change when Liam, my only son, got married to Beth.

Beth was sweet when they first met. Quiet, reserved, but kind-hearted. I was genuinely happy for them, and when they got married, I welcomed her into our family with open arms. Naturally, I invited her to join us on our girls’ trips. I wanted her to feel included, to be a part of our little tradition. It felt right at the time.

At first, Beth fit in well enough. She was always polite, maybe a little shy, but I thought she’d warm up eventually. She wasn’t as chatty as my girls, but she seemed to enjoy the trips. We all tried to make her feel comfortable.

“So, Beth,” Kayla asked one afternoon as we sat in a café on one of our trips. “What was it like growing up in Maine? I’ve always wanted to visit.”

Beth smiled softly, twirling the straw in her iced coffee. “It was nice. Quiet. Not much to do in my town, but the summers were beautiful.”

The conversation felt a bit forced, but we all chalked it up to Beth needing time to adjust. She’d become part of our family, and I wanted her to feel like she belonged.

But after Beth gave birth to her son, Lucas, things changed. She gained a lot of weight during pregnancy, which isn’t unusual. However, eight years later, she still hadn’t lost the baby weight.

I noticed how much it was affecting her, not just physically but in the way she moved and interacted with us. It was becoming harder to include her in our trips.

One day, we were out shopping. It was supposed to be a fun, lighthearted afternoon, just like old times. We’d hit the mall, grabbed lunch, and made our way through the stores, chatting and laughing. But Beth kept falling behind.

I glanced back and saw her sitting on a bench near the entrance of a department store. She looked exhausted, wiping the sweat from her brow. “You guys go ahead,” she said, breathing heavily. “I’ll catch up.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow at me, trying to hide her frustration. “Mom, do we need to wait again?”

I sighed. “Let’s just give her a few minutes.”

But those few minutes turned into long stretches of waiting. We’d walk ahead, browse through the racks, and eventually circle back to find Beth still sitting there. It was becoming a pattern — and not just on that day. Every trip we went on, we had to slow down, stop more often, and accommodate her.

By the time we left the mall that day, the mood had shifted. What was supposed to be a carefree afternoon felt strained, and my girls were clearly frustrated.

“Mom, I hate to say it, but these trips aren’t the same anymore,” Kayla said as we loaded the shopping bags into the car.

“I know,” I replied, running a hand through my hair. “I just… I don’t want to leave her out.”

Evelyn nodded, her face softening. “We get it. But we can’t keep doing this. It’s not fair to us either.”

I couldn’t argue with that. I knew they were right. The truth was, Beth’s presence had begun to change the dynamic of our trips, and not for the better.

We were holding back, compromising our enjoyment to accommodate her. And it wasn’t just about walking slower or sitting more. It felt like the whole energy of our outings was different.

The tipping point came when we started planning our annual trip to the pumpkin patch and apple orchard. It’s a tradition we’ve had for years — my favorite time of the year.

The fall colors, the smell of apples in the air, the laughter as we wandered through the orchard picking fruit. It was something we all looked forward to.

As we sat around the kitchen table, Evelyn looked up from her phone. “So, are we inviting Beth this year?”

I hesitated. We all knew what that would mean. Long breaks, slow walks, and probably missing out on some of the things we enjoyed most about the trip.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” I finally said, my voice low. “It’s a lot of walking, and… well, you know.”

Kayla sighed with relief. “I’m glad you said it, Mom. It’s been hard with her.”

“We haven’t had a proper girls’ day in so long,” Lauren added, looking at her sisters. “I miss the way things used to be.”

The truth was staring me in the face, and there was no avoiding it.
That’s when I made the decision not to invite Beth. It wasn’t easy, but I told myself it was for the best. My daughters deserved a day to relax and enjoy themselves without constantly having to adjust to Beth’s limitations.

The day of the trip came, and it was perfect. The weather was crisp, the leaves were golden and red, and we spent the entire day walking through the orchard, picking apples, and laughing.

We didn’t have to stop or slow down. It was like the old days, just me and my girls. I even posted a few pictures on Facebook, not thinking much of it.

But later that night, my phone rang. It was Beth.

I took a deep breath before answering. “Hi, Beth.”

“Lilian, I saw the pictures on Facebook,” she said, her voice tense. “Why wasn’t I invited?”

I felt my stomach drop. I knew this conversation was coming, but I wasn’t prepared. “Oh, it was just a small trip,” I stammered. “Nothing big.”

“But I’m family,” Beth said, her voice rising. “Why didn’t you invite me?”

There it was. The question I had been dreading. I could’ve lied, made up some excuse, but what would be the point? The truth was staring me in the face, and there was no avoiding it.

“Beth,” I said softly, trying to choose my words carefully. “It’s not that we don’t want you there. It’s just… well, the walking. You’ve needed a lot of breaks, and it’s made it hard for us to enjoy the trips the way we used to.”

Silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity.

“So, you didn’t invite me because of my weight?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

I swallowed hard. “Yes,” I admitted, guilt washing over me. “It’s been difficult. We’ve had to change the way we do things, and… I didn’t want to say anything, but it’s affected our trips.”

Beth was quiet for a moment, and I could feel the hurt radiating through the phone. “I thought I was part of this family,” she finally said, her voice trembling. “I thought you cared about me.”

“I do care about you, Beth—”

“No, you don’t,” she interrupted. “If you did, you wouldn’t have excluded me like this. You wouldn’t make me feel like an outsider.”

And with that, she hung up. I sat there, staring at the phone, my heart heavy with regret.

Later that night, Liam texted me. “Mom, Beth’s really hurt. You need to apologize.”

I read the text over and over, feeling torn. Should I apologize? Was I wrong to protect this time with my daughters? I wasn’t sure anymore.

The next morning, I talked to the girls. “Do you think I was too harsh?” I asked as we sat around the kitchen table.

“No, Mom,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “We love Beth, but it’s not fair to us either. Our trips haven’t been the same.”

Kayla nodded. “We just want to enjoy ourselves like we used to. You did the right thing.”

Their reassurance helped, but I couldn’t shake the guilt. I didn’t want to hurt Beth, but I couldn’t ignore the strain her presence had put on our trips.

I’d reached my limit. Maybe I could’ve handled it better, maybe I should’ve been kinder, but the truth was out now.

I still don’t know if I made the right decision. All I wanted was to protect the bond I had with my daughters. But now I wonder if that decision has cost me something far greater.

Do you think I handled it correctly? What would you have done in my place?

I Spent Every Thanksgiving with My Husband’s Family, but the One Time We Went to Mine Turned into a Nightmare — Story of the Day

Every year, Sarah had to devise a new excuse to explain to her family why they wouldn’t be visiting. “I won’t miss a single-family holiday because of your parents!” her husband Peter always insisted. But this time, Sarah stood her ground and defended her family values.

The end of autumn and the beginning of winter had always been my favorite time of year.

Сrisp air carried the smell of woodsmoke, and the golden leaves gave way to the first frost.

It was the season when my family would gather, no matter what, to share holiday dinners and exchange thoughtful gifts.

Those gatherings were the heart of my childhood, moments of warmth and laughter that felt like nothing else in the world.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

But since marrying Peter, those moments had become memories. Each year, I found myself on the phone, explaining to my parents why I couldn’t make it.

Why, once again, I’d be spending the holidays with Peter’s family instead of my own.

My mom would try to sound understanding, but I knew it hurt her. It hurt me too.

This year, though, things were going to be different. For the first time, Peter had agreed to spend Thanksgiving with my parents.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

It had taken weeks of discussion—if you could call the arguments discussions—but he finally relented.

And now, here we were, strolling through the grocery store, picking out a bottle of wine for my mom, a new roasting pan for my dad, and the ingredients for the pumpkin pie I wanted to bake.

I clutched a small bundle of festive napkins with turkeys printed on them and held them up for Peter’s opinion.

He shrugged. His lack of enthusiasm was obvious, and it had been simmering all day.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Are you okay, love?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

“Yeah. Couldn’t be better,” he said, his words dripping with sarcasm.

I sighed.

“Are you still upset about going to my parents’ house?”

He stopped walking and turned to me, his face tight with frustration. “Of course, I’m upset! Why should I skip my family’s holiday for your whims?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“My whims?” I said, my voice rising despite myself. “I’ve done this for you every single year since we started dating, Peter. Every. Year.”

“Oh, here we go,” he said with a bitter laugh. “It’s always about you, isn’t it? You didn’t like this, you didn’t like that. What about me? Why don’t you care if I’m happy?”

“Peter,” I said slowly, keeping my voice as steady as possible, “we’ve already talked about this. I just want one season with my parents. If that’s too much for you, maybe we should celebrate separately.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

His eyebrows shot up.

“Season? Are you saying you’re skipping Christmas with my family too?”

“Yes,” I replied firmly, though my stomach churned.

“This year, I’m spending the holidays with my parents.”

He laughed, a harsh, humorless sound.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Fine. Then you can explain that to my parents.”

“I will,” I said, keeping my tone quiet and even.

I felt wrung out, as if every ounce of energy had been drained by this conversation. I just wanted it to be over.

We stood in the aisle for a moment, the silence between us louder than the buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead.

He grabbed the cart handle and pushed it forward without another word.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

I followed, clutching the napkins to my chest, trying to hold on to the excitement that had felt so real just hours ago.

The tension hung heavy in the car as we neared my parents’ house.

Peter gripped the steering wheel tightly, his jaw set in a way that warned me not to push too hard. But I couldn’t let it go entirely.

“Peter,” I started softly, “please, just be kind to my parents. They’re excited to see us, and they’re nervous about making a good impression.”

He let out a sharp laugh.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Oh, great! Now you’re giving me instructions? Should I juggle for them too? Or maybe do a little dance?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “I’m not asking for much. I just want this to go well.”

“Well,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly, “maybe you should’ve just invited them to join us at my family’s house. Wouldn’t that have been easier?”

I shook my head, exasperated. “Peter, they’re old. Traveling for the holidays isn’t easy for them.”

“Great. Just perfect!” he muttered, throwing one hand up dramatically before gripping the wheel again.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The rest of the drive was silent except for the hum of the engine.

I focused on the frosty trees lining the road, trying to calm the knot in my stomach.

When we arrived, I forced a smile and rang the doorbell.

My mom, Charlotte, opened the door almost immediately, her face lighting up as she threw her arms around us.

“I’m so happy to see you! Finally, you’re here!” she exclaimed, her warmth like a balm to my nerves.

Behind her, my dad, Kevin, offered a small, reserved smile, his usual quiet presence grounding the moment.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Peter muttered a half-hearted “hello” and walked inside without eye contact.

I gave my mom an apologetic look, silently willing her to understand. Then, with a deep breath, I followed him into the house.

Inside the warm glow of the house, my mom and I moved around the dining room, setting the table with care.

The soft clatter of plates and the occasional hum of her voice filled the space as we arranged the dishes.

In the living room, Peter sat stiffly on the couch, his arms crossed, while my dad quietly flipped through a magazine beside him.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

Mom glanced toward Peter, her movements slowing. “Is Peter okay?” she asked softly. “He seems… upset.”

I hesitated, trying to find the right words.

“He’s just… frustrated, I think,” I said finally, keeping my voice low. “He wishes we were spending the holiday with his family.”

Her hands paused mid-air, holding a serving spoon. “Oh,” she said, her tone tinged with confusion and sadness. “Did we do something wrong?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“No, Mom,” I said quickly. “It’s not you. It’s just—” I stopped, unsure how to explain the unspoken tension between Peter and me. “It’s complicated.”

She looked at me, her brows drawn together.

“We’re not family to him?” she asked quietly, almost to herself.

Her words hit me like a cold wind. I didn’t know how to respond.

Was that how Peter saw it? My family, my parents—were they nothing to him? The thought stung more than I wanted to admit.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, though I wasn’t sure what I was apologizing for. For Peter’s mood? For his indifference? For years I’d put my family on hold for his?

Mom placed a hand on my arm, her touch warm and steady.

“You don’t have to apologize, sweetheart,” she said gently.

But her eyes still held a shadow of hurt, and it lingered in the air as we finished setting the table in silence.

The table was set beautifully, with crisp white linens, shining silverware, and the aroma of roasted turkey filling the room.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

My mom, Charlotte, stood back to admire her work before clapping her hands.

“Everything’s ready! Come and eat!” she said with cheerful warmth, her voice echoing into the quiet living room.

We all gathered around the table. My dad, Kevin, pulled out my mom’s chair for her, and I couldn’t help but smile at his small gesture of old-fashioned chivalry.

Peter followed sluggishly, barely making an effort to engage, and slumped into his seat with a sigh.

The meal began, but the air was tense like a storm waiting to break. My mom tried valiantly to spark a conversation.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“So, Peter,” she started brightly, “how’s work going? Busy this time of year?”

He gave a noncommittal grunt, stabbing a piece of turkey with his fork.

“Dad’s been working on the deck in the backyard,” I chimed in, trying to fill the silence. “It’s really coming together.”

My dad nodded. “It’s slow, but it keeps me busy. Maybe you could come by and give me some tips, Peter.”

Peter didn’t even look up. “Yeah, maybe,” he muttered, flicking a crumb off the table.

I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Peter,” I said softly, leaning toward him, “what’s wrong? Can I help?”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

He dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter and leaned back in his chair. “Everything’s wrong!” he snapped, his voice loud enough to make my mom flinch.

“How is this even Thanksgiving without my mom’s chocolate pudding?”

“Pudding?” my mom echoed, her voice unsure, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for her glass of water.

“It’s fine,” I interjected quickly, trying to calm the situation. “His mom always makes it for him. It’s no big deal.”

Peter scoffed, his eyes blazing. “No big deal? Of course! Because nothing I want ever matters. It’s always about Sarah, isn’t it? What Sarah wants. What Sarah needs.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Peter, please,” I begged, my voice cracking. “This is supposed to be a happy day.”

He pushed his chair back, the chair’s legs screeching against the floor. “Listen, I’m done! We’re leaving. Get your coat, Sarah!”

“NO, YOU LISTEN!” my dad shouted after Peter, jumping up from his chair. But Peter just ignored him and walked right past! I saw my dad clutch his chest.

The weight of the moment pressed on me as I stood slowly. My mom’s eyes brimmed with tears.

“I’m so sorry, honey,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, Mom,” I said, my throat tightening. “I’m sorry. I’ll fix this.”

I walked to the doorway, where Peter stood waiting, arms crossed.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“Put your coat on! We’re leaving!” he barked.

“No,” I said, surprising myself with the strength in my voice. “You’re leaving. I’m staying.”

“What? You’re my wife. You’re supposed to listen to me!”

I took a deep breath, meeting his glare.

“You don’t respect my parents, you don’t respect me, and behaving like this, you don’t even respect yourself. I’ve put up with your selfishness for years, hoping the loving man I married was still there. But now, I don’t believe he is.”

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“You want to talk about respect?” he sputtered, disbelief written all over his face.

“Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “Leave, Peter. It’s over.”

His mouth opened, but no words came. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

I returned to the dining room, my heart pounding, and found my parents sitting quietly, their faces a mixture of sadness and concern.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

“I’m sorry, Mom. Dad,” I said, my voice soft but resolute.

“I let this go on for too long. But not anymore.”

Charlotte stood and wrapped me in a warm hug. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters,” she whispered.

For the first time in years, I felt free. I had chosen the family that truly mattered and wouldn’t trade them for anything.

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