My son brought home a woman my age and told me she’s now the “lady of the house” and that I’m moving to the basement.

After I became a widow, I dreamed of my son, Andrei, starting a family of his own. For months, he talked about Lidia, the woman he’d fallen in love with in France. I couldn’t wait to meet her.

Last week, I prepared a lovely dinner. But when they arrived, I was nearly floored—Lidia was a woman my age, wearing a red dress and high heels. Still, I was willing to accept her if they were happy. But then they said this:

Andrei: “Mom, relax. Lidia is moving in to take over everything.”
Lidia: “You have a great basement. It’ll be perfect for you now—or maybe you could go stay with your lonely daughter. I’ll need a separate office, and of course, we’re taking the master bedroom.”

I was stunned by her arrogance. I wasn’t dead yet!!! But instead of arguing, I gave up the house without a fight.

A month later, Lidia called me, furious:
Lidia: “SO THIS WAS YOUR PLAN?!”

I calmly replied, “Lidia, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. What plan?”

She practically screeched into the phone. “The pipes in the master bedroom bathroom burst! Everything is flooded! The walls are ruined, the carpet is soaked, and the smell—oh, the smell! We called a plumber, and he said this has been an issue building up for years. And you didn’t warn us?!”

I couldn’t help but chuckle under my breath. “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry to hear that, Lidia. But, you know, I’ve been asking Andrei for years to fix those pipes. I even set money aside for repairs, but I suppose he had other priorities. Since you’re the lady of the house now, I trust you’ll take care of it.”

There was a long silence on the other end, and I could practically feel her fuming through the phone.

Lidia finally snapped, “And the basement? Why didn’t you tell us it leaks when it rains? I slipped on the water last night! This house is falling apart!”

I stayed calm, though I was smiling from ear to ear. “Oh, I thought you knew! That’s why I kept my furniture elevated down there. But you insisted on moving me out of my own bedroom, so I assumed you’d take care of everything. Isn’t that what the lady of the house does?”

She hung up without another word.

Later, Andrei called, clearly embarrassed. “Mom, why didn’t you tell us about all these problems with the house?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Andrei, I did—over the years, I mentioned all of these issues, but you never wanted to address them. And when you brought Lidia home and declared her in charge, I assumed she had everything under control.”

Andrei sighed. “The repairs are going to cost a fortune, Mom.”

“Well,” I replied, my tone sweet, “maybe next time you’ll remember to listen to me before making grand declarations about who’s in charge. Oh, and good luck with the basement. It rains tomorrow.”

I hung up, feeling a little smug. I’d spent years caring for that house and making it a home. If they thought they could swoop in and take over without understanding what it meant to truly maintain it, they were in for a rude awakening.

It turns out being “the lady of the house” isn’t as easy as it looks.