5 Stories about Children Who Neglect Their Old Parents and Got What They Deserved

From inheritance surprises to shocking twists of fate, explore five gripping stories of children who neglected their elderly parents and faced life-altering consequences. These tales unravel the unexpected repercussions of abandonment – from lost legacies to karmic justice – painting a vivid picture of what happens when familial duties are forsaken.

In the complexity of family dynamics, the treatment of elderly parents often writes the most telling chapters. Each story unravels a unique scenario: two brothers who lose their inheritance to tenants due to their neglect; a greedy woman who watches her daughter's devotion go apparently unrewarded; a son whose greed leads to an unexpected beneficiary; another son's decision, influenced by a partner, resulting in a mysterious disappearance; and twins whose indifference leads to a janitor inheriting their father's wealth.

Let's discover these tales that highlight the consequences of neglect and the surprising ways life's ledger balances itself.

1. My Brother and I Left Our Aging Mother Alone and Found Out She Left All Her Inheritance to Her Tenants

As I walked into the lawyer's office, I was shocked to see two unfamiliar faces. "Who are you?" I asked with a frown, eyeing the woman and her daughter. I was there with my brother, Walter, for the reading of our late mother Teresa's will.

Our father had been quite wealthy, and we grew up with privilege, a life that set us up for the future. Walter and I left home at 18 and never looked back. Even when our father passed away, we kept our distance from our mother. She longed for our visits, but we were too caught up in our own lives.

As we settled into Mr. Goldberg's office, we learned that the woman, Grace, and her daughter, Katherine, had been renting part of our mother's house.

"Mother never said anything," Walter scoffed, annoyed.

I remember Katherine muttering something under her breath, but Grace quickly scolded her.

Feeling impatient, I blurted out, "Whatever. Let's sit down and get this over with. You two are going to have to move out soon enough because we're going to sell that house pretty quick."

I glanced at Walter, sharing a smile. The house was worth a lot, and we already had a considerable inheritance from our father.

Mr. Goldberg then cut in, "Thomas, calm down. Grace and Katherine are also part of the will, and you need to respect them because your mother valued them." His words irritated me, but I couldn't care less about what our mother valued.

The shock came when the lawyer finished reading the will. Our mother had left Walter and me one dollar each, and everything else went to Grace and Katherine.

It was a slap in the face, but there was more. Teresa had saved every penny of the rent Grace paid, intending for Katherine to use it for college.

Walter and I were furious. We rose from our chairs and screamed in anger, unable to believe our mother would do this to us. Mr. Goldberg chided us, reminding us of our absence at our mother's funeral and how Grace and Katherine had been there for her.

"We're getting our money!" Walter yelled as we stormed out. I glanced back with disdain, unable to comprehend how our mother could choose them over her own sons.

But I tried to be civil the next day when Grace and Katherine found us on their doorstep. "Listen, we're not here to fight. We just want to get a few of our things," I said, hoping to ease the tension. Grace allowed us inside, albeit reluctantly.

Once upstairs in my old room, Walter and I got close and whispered.

"We have to find some evidence that that woman lied to our mother and convinced her to change her will," I suggested.

But then, we found an envelope addressed to us from our mother. Walter read it out loud.

"Dear Sons,

"Don't you dare try to take anything from Grace and Katherine! You don't deserve a penny of my money since you were too good to spend time with me in the past decades. You already have your father's inheritance. That's more than enough.

"That woman and her daughter were my only family. They cared for me when I was ill. They celebrated Christmas with me. They had dinner with me every night, just as I loved them.

"Now, you two are my sons. I'm your mother. I love you dearly, and I always will. But I hope you never have to live with the pain I did. I hope my grandkids never treat you like you treated me. And finally, I hope you learn from this. Be better.

All my love,

Mom."

Walter and I looked at each other, sighing. She was right. We left the house quietly after that, waving goodbye to Grace. I couldn't shake off the feeling of guilt and regret.

So, each year on our mother's death anniversary, Walter and I visited her grave, a silent promise to ourselves to be better, to learn from the harsh lesson our mother left us in her will. Grace might not have understood our change in demeanor, but that letter had opened our eyes to the pain we had caused.

It was a harsh lesson but one we desperately needed.

2. My Daughter Nursed Her Sick Grandmother and Then Inherited Her Old Couch

As I stepped into the lawyer's office, I couldn't help but feel a sense of impatience. My daughter, Deborah, had been caring for my mother (her grandmother), Tessa, during the final stages of her life. The whole situation seemed unnecessarily dramatic to me.

I've always believed in being practical, not overly sentimental. Tessa had been a pillar for Deborah throughout her childhood, unlike me. I've often been described as cold-hearted, but I prefer to consider myself realistic.

When my mother expressed her wish to die at home, Deborah didn't hesitate to take unpaid leave from her job and move into Tessa's house with her kids. Honestly, I didn't see the point. I didn't exactly have the best relationship with my mother. And unfortunately, my daughter and I didn't always see eye-to-eye on things, either. Especially when it came to Tessa. Her days were numbered, and Deborah's sacrifice seemed excessive.

As for me, I had my own life to enjoy. I had booked a three-month world cruise and had no intention of canceling it. Why should I? Deborah had everything under control.

Over the next four months, Deborah dedicated herself to her grandmother, tending to her every need. She seemed to find joy in caring for her grandmother as if she were her own child. I heard from Deborah how they spent hours talking, with Tessa reminiscing about her past.

"I told her how much I love her, and I said that you loved her too," Deborah told me once. It all sounded overly sentimental to me.

Then, one evening, Tessa passed away peacefully with my daughter by her side. When Deborah called me to break the news, I maintained my practical demeanor. "I'll see her at the service, won't I?" I responded.

I was more focused on the logistics – the funeral arrangements, the estate, and especially the inheritance. I remember Deborah being upset with me, "How can you think of that at a time like this?" But I've always believed in being pragmatic, not emotional.

I quickly organized the funeral and contacted the lawyer to discuss the will. I was eager to find out about the estate – the house, the money, and the jewels my grandmother had inherited from her own grandmother. That's what mattered to me. I never cared what others thought of me.

But at the lawyer's office, the will reading took me by surprise. My mother had left everything to me except for a peach brocade couch that was for Deborah. I was satisfied with the outcome, but I couldn't help but feel a bit victorious.

"Oh, Deborah," I said as we left, "if you want that mangy couch, you'd better get it by the end of the week. I'm putting the house on the market."

She just nodded at me, and I tried to ignore her red-ridden eyes. Deborah arranged for a truck and hauled the couch away. I remember thinking how ridiculous it was for her to cherish such a worn-out piece of furniture.

Meanwhile, I busied myself with searching my mother's house for the jewels. I was convinced they had to be there somewhere. But my search was in vain. I turned the house upside down but found nothing.

Little did I know, Deborah had discovered a hidden treasure in that stupid couch – a black velvet bag filled with jewelry boxes and an envelope addressed to her. My mother had left her a heartfelt message:

"My dearest Debbie, I want you to know how much I've loved you; what a treasure and a blessing you've been in my life. I wanted to pass you the jewels my grandmother gave me, but I know my daughter all too well.

"Martha would find a way to cheat you, so I'm giving them to you this way so you can enjoy them, and she will never know. Remember I love you, my dearest, and remember me, and one day pass on my legacy to your own granddaughter."

I learned about this much later. But worst of all, my daughter didn't care much to show off either. While Deborah cherished the memories and the tangible connection to her grandmother through the jewels, I was left with nothing but the material possessions of the estate.

I realized, perhaps too late, that my practicality and indifference had cost me more than I had ever imagined.

As time went by, I noticed the bond Deborah shared with her children, a bond that was reminiscent of the one she had with my mother once. It was a bond I had never experienced with Deborah or my grandchildren.

In my pursuit of practicality, I had overlooked the value of emotional connections, of being there for your loved ones when they need you the most.

Ultimately, I had the house and the money, but not the love and respect my mother had enjoyed from my daughter. My grandchildren never looked at me with the same affection Deborah had for her grandmother.

The realization was a bitter pill to swallow.

3. I Sold My Mother's House, and She Left Everything to a Stranger

"I'm glad you could make it, Jake," Mr. Thompson said, shaking my hand as I sat across his office desk. I was anxious, expecting my mother's will to be straightforward, leaving everything to me.

"So what's the deal, Mr. Thompson?" I asked, shifting uneasily in my seat. "I'm hoping the will is going to be pretty straightforward as I expect Mom's assets to be mine."

Mr. Thompson sighed, looking at me with a seriousness that immediately set off alarms in my head. "I'm afraid that's not the case here, Jake," he said. "Your mother's will is quite... unusual. And she demanded that you know about it."

"What? What do you mean?" I asked, my body stiffening with tension.

"She has decided to leave her entire fortune to a foundation dedicated to psychiatry, making Mrs. McKinsey the trustee of her money," Mr. Thompson explained, showing me the will.

I couldn't believe my eyes. "Are you kidding me? Who is this Mrs. McKinsey woman? I've never heard Mom even mention her!"

"Mrs. McKinsey is the daughter of your mother's old neighbor and a doctor at a psychiatric hospital," he replied, but his explanation did nothing to calm me.

My phone started ringing, but I ignored it, my focus entirely on the absurdity of the situation. The calls kept coming until a message flashed across the screen: "If you don't pay the money back in 72 hours, you are dead! Time is running out, loser!"

Furious, I insulted the lawyer for his incompetence and stormed out of the office. In my car, I quickly looked up Mrs. McKinsey, finding out she was the chief neurologist at the Denver Psychiatric Hospital. I drove there immediately.

***

"I'm Jake, Rose's son," I said, shaking Mrs. McKinsey's hand more tightly than necessary.

"Oh, I see. I think I know why you're here, Jake," she nodded. "You can call me Sarah."

"Well, Sarah, I'm glad you know," I quipped sarcastically.

"It's only natural that your mother's decision angers you," she began. "But you should know you have an older brother, Jake. He has autism. Your mother just wanted to ensure his well-being and safety."

"What are you talking about? I'm an only child!" I exclaimed in disbelief.

"We've been treating him here for 25 years," Sarah continued. "Ever since he accidentally poured scalding water on you when you were just a year old."

My jaw dropped, but I quickly thought of a solution. "I don't care what you do with him, but I want half the money. My share," I demanded.

"Sorry, Jake, but that's impossible," she replied. "The funds were assigned for your brother's treatment and support."

Enraged, I threw a tantrum, threatening legal action, before storming out to the parking lot.

I couldn't stop thinking about how my mother had betrayed me. She knew I had sold her house, put her in a nursing home, and never looked back. I was fidgeting, wondering what to do, but then I saw a man examining my convertible.

"Arnie drove this car," the man said, turning to me. "Every Saturday, when Arnie's Mom visited him, she'd let Arnie see this car."

Realizing he was talking about my mother, I asked, "What was Arnie's mother's name?"

"Arnie's Mom is Rose. Rose. We played cards, too."

This was my alleged brother, and I remembered that some people with autism had brilliant minds. Seizing the opportunity, I invited Arnie out.

"Let's go for a drive. It'll be fun!" I said, forcing a smile.

We drove off, and soon Sarah called, furious about me taking Arnie. I made her an offer: I would take custody of Arnie and get all the money. She refused, so I took Arnie to a casino.

***

"Arnie, remember what we talked about in the car," I whispered to him at the Blackjack table. "You make your calculations, and then you quietly tell me what move I must make."

We won big, but the suspicious stares from others forced us to leave. We celebrated at a nearby bar, where a gorgeous woman named Samantha joined us from the neighboring table. I saw an opportunity and offered her money to spend the night with Arnie.

Later, I dozed off in the hotel hallway, only to be woken by screams from their room. Rushing in, I saw a man with a shotgun aiming at Arnie and Samantha. It was intense, but I managed to protect Arnie, who had a panic attack.

I calmed him down after a few minutes and looked back to realize that Samantha and the man fled with our winnings. "Arnie, they took it all—every last penny," I sighed, pulling my hair.

Defeated, I returned Arnie to the hospital, feeling sorry for everything. Sarah approached me, offering help despite everything I had done. She gave me a check, which was enough to save my life.

"Can I come and visit Arnie?" I asked, realizing how I had wanted a brother.

"Anytime," she replied. Arnie has been the most important person in my life since.

4. I Kicked My 80-Year-Old Mother to a Nursing Home; Years Later, I Couldn't Find Her

I was raised by my mother, Edith, after my father's death when I was just four. She was everything to me, and I did my best to be there for her, just as she had always been to me. But then I met Courtney at university, and everything changed.

Courtney convinced me to move in with her just a month into our dating. We used our savings from part-time jobs to pay rent. Years later, as a married couple, she began to nudge me into moving in with Mom.

Her idea was to save money for a bigger house. But she also said it would be better for Mom since we could take better care of her. I believed her, and fortunately, my mother agreed.

Things took a turn when our son, Liam, was born. Courtney started to rely heavily on Mom for housework and babysitting. My mother didn't like how she was treated and complained to me, but Courtney always managed to turn the situation around, making Mom apologize to her.

As Liam grew older, Courtney found less need for Mom and started planting ideas in my head about how she was a burden. She suggested that Mom would be better off in a nursing home. At first, I was against it. I couldn't bear the thought of sending Mom away.

But when Courtney fell ill during her second pregnancy and blamed Mom for it, my resolve weakened.

"Henry," Courtney told me, "I know you love your mother, but the worst could have happened today. It's good that the doctor gave me some medications. I'll be well, but your mother...she is dangerous for our baby."

"It was just an allergy, Courtney. You must have taken something by mistake."

"No, Henry," she persisted. "I'm sure it was because your mom…well, she planned and made lunch today, and right after that, I got sick."

I was torn. I loved my mother, but also had to think about my family. So, I made a hard decision.

"Mom," I said to her over dinner, "I was thinking that because you're in a wheelchair and I'm not always there to care for you, a nursing home would be much better for you. There'd be people to look after you there, and yes, I guess that would be great."

"A nursing home?" Mom whispered, tears gathering in her eyes. "But Henry, I'm fine here. I don't need extra care. I can manage on my own."

"No, Mom," I interrupted, "You don't get it. I have to send you. We have no other choice. That's the best for me, Courtney, and everyone else. Pack your bags by tomorrow morning. I'll drop you off before I go to work."

I never visited her as I promised. Life got in the way, and I was preoccupied with my new child, Josh. But life punished me for what I did. Five years later, Courtney cheated on me, took our second baby, and turned Liam against me. So, I went to the only place I could think of.

But Mom wasn't at the nursing home. They told me she had left two years ago to be with David, the janitor at the care home. I found her at a small cottage, happy and in love. I broke down, apologizing for everything. Surprisingly, she forgave me.

She introduced me to David, and I thanked him for taking care of her. Eventually, I bought a nearby house and arranged a destination wedding for them in Miami.

That's where I met Clara, who loved my mother like no one else. I understood only then that we can't give up on the people who love us. My ex-wife never loved me. She used me. But I'm glad she taught me that lesson.

I eventually got partial custody of my children again and had more with Clara. She was the best mom and stepmom in the world. But best of all, I never doubted her love and devotion to our family.

5. My Brother and I Sent Our Dad to a Nursing Home and Later Discovered That He Left His Inheritance to the Janitor

Being a twin always meant sharing everything with Carl, from toys to responsibilities. But when it came to our father, Bruce, sharing his care became a burden we grew tired of. We took turns hosting Dad for six months each year.

He was a retired businessman, wealthy and once sharp, but age had taken its toll. Carl and I had always eyed Dad's businesses and estate. We thought caring for him would convince him to leave everything to us. But instead, he entrusted his empire to Patrick, his right-hand man, who could control everything.

In today's terms, Patrick would be called his "fixer." In other terms, he was perhaps our father's "consigliere." Meanwhile, Carl and I were relegated to mere managerial roles.

Initially, we welcomed Dad into our homes after Mom passed. We hoped to prove ourselves worthy of his fortune. But living with him wasn't what we expected. He criticized everything and didn't like that we were bachelors.

Also, our requests for money for new ideas and investments were often met with skepticism. Furthermore, Dad wasn't fooled. He knew we were after his money, so he made Patrick his conservator, cutting off our direct access to his wealth. He did give us an account for expenses, but it was peanuts compared to his true worth.

One day, I snapped. "Dad, Carl and I have decided to put you in a nursing home," I told him bluntly.

He was shocked, asking why, given he had caused us no trouble. Carl chimed in, claiming it was for privacy and his well-being. But truthfully, we were just tired of him.

We didn't even bother finding a decent place. The cheapest nursing home would do. After Dad was taken away, I tried to shake off the guilt. He'd been a good father, but we just didn't like how he didn't trust us.

I was later told that in that nursing home, Dad met Steve, a janitor who bore an uncanny resemblance to us. Dad thought it was a prank and even called Steve by my name, Jerry. Steve was only a janitor, hoping to clean Dad's room.

But he was kind and lent Dad his phone to call us.

At the time, I was busy. "I can't talk right now. I'll talk to you some other time," I said, hanging up. Dad must have felt so isolated, but I was too wrapped up in my own life to care.

As it turned out, Steve and Dad formed a bond neither Carl nor I discovered until much later. They shared interests, and Steve often brought him home-cooked meals.

But Dad didn't take Steve's resemblance to us in stride. He had a hunch about him and secretly arranged a DNA test with Patrick's help. The results were staggering – Steve was our brother, a triplet we never knew we had.

But Dad didn't tell Steve until he was diagnosed with an advanced form of cancer. It was his last day, and Steve apparently cried. Neither Carl nor I ever saw this side of Dad, the one who could form such deep connections outside of our family – hell, he wasn't affectionate even within the family.

When Dad passed, Carl and I were more concerned about the inheritance. We still didn't know about Steve. We rushed to the lawyer's office to be told we weren't in the will. Of course, we confronted Patrick.

We then saw Steve for the first time at the nursing home, standing by Dad's body. He was the spitting image of us. He showed us the DNA test results that revealed he was our brother. Carl and I were in disbelief.

Despite the clear parentage, how could Dad leave everything to this stranger? We did what we thought was in our best interest: contest the will. But the case was dismissed.

Meanwhile, Steve went to his aunt to find out what happened 44 years ago. It turned out he was our brother, taken at birth by a desperate mother and a deceitful doctor.

Despite our initial resentment, Steve used Dad's inheritance to open nursing homes in his and his adoptive mother's honor. He even tried to involve us, showing more family spirit than we ever did.

In hindsight, Carl and I realized our obsession with Dad's wealth blinded us to what truly mattered – family. Steve, the brother we never knew we had, taught us that. In the end, our relationship with Dad was flawed, but through Steve, we learned what was really important in life.

The actions we take, or fail to take, toward our aging parents have profound implications. Each story serves as a stark reminder that neglect and indifference can lead to unforeseen outcomes, often in the form of poetic justice.

The inheritance lost to a neighbor, a treasured home gone to an unexpected caretaker, and legacies left to strangers – these are reflections of life's fundamental truth: our actions, especially towards those who once cared for us, shape our destinies.

Tell us what you think about these stories, and share them with your friends. If you enjoyed reading these, you might also enjoy these stories about mothers-in-law who acted so strangely that their families had to take action.

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Note: These pieces are inspired by stories from the everyday lives of our readers and written by a professional writer. Any resemblance to actual names or locations is purely coincidental. All images are for illustration purposes only.