My Brother Makes Our Grandma Do Everything around the House — When I Saw Her Washing the Floors I Taught Him a Lesson

Hi! My name’s Mia, and here’s my story. My grandma moved into my brother’s house a few months ago after hers was sold. She needed money for medical bills, and living with him seemed like a great idea. She never complained about it, and I thought they were having a great time until I came to visit…

During my first week there, I saw my grandma cook, clean, do laundry, and tend to the yard day after day. Not once did my brother lift a finger to help. Despite Granny’s back problems, he told her to do more and more with this bored, entitled tone.

“Granny, can you iron my shirts?” he would call out from the living room.

“Sure, dear,” she would reply, forcing a smile.

“Granny, the yard needs mowing,” he would say while playing video games.

“Of course, I’ll get to it,” she would answer, wincing as she stood up.

One afternoon, I found her mopping the floors. Her hands were red and dry, with knuckles sticking through pale skin. She moved slowly, pain evident in every step. That’s when I broke down and decided I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

“Grandma, why are you doing all this?” I asked, my voice trembling with anger. “You should be resting!”

She looked up, tired eyes meeting mine. “He needs help, dear. He’s busy with work.”

“Busy?!” I exploded. “He’s playing video games all day! This is not fair!”

Grandma sighed. “I don’t mind. It’s just a little work.”

But it wasn’t just a little work. It was too much for anyone, let alone an elderly woman with health issues. I knew I had to do something. I decided to organize a party, but not just any party. This would be a party with a twist.

The relationship between my brother and me had always been complicated. Growing up, Mike was the golden child, the one who could do no wrong.

He was a star athlete in high school, always surrounded by friends and admiration. I, on the other hand, was the quiet, bookish one. I didn’t mind staying out of the spotlight, but it did create a rift between us.

Our parents adored Mike and doted on him, often overlooking his flaws. They saw him as ambitious and driven, while I was seen as the responsible one.

I expected him to help out more around the house. This dynamic followed us into adulthood. When Grandma moved in, I hoped Mike would finally step up and take responsibility.

“Mike, can you at least help Grandma with the groceries?” I had asked one day when I called to check in.

He had laughed. “She’s fine, sis. She likes to stay busy.”

“She’s not a maid,” I had snapped back, frustration boiling over.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he had replied dismissively.

Seeing Grandma now, struggling and in pain, I felt a mix of anger and sadness. Mike had always been self-centered, but this was a new low. I couldn’t stand by and watch any longer.

One evening, I sat down with Grandma after dinner. “Granny, you need to rest. You can’t keep doing all this.”

She patted my hand. “I’ll be fine, sweetie. I’ve handled worse.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” I insisted. “Mike needs to learn to help out. This isn’t fair to you.”

She sighed, looking weary. “He’s just used to it. He’s always been like this.”

I shook my head. “That doesn’t make it right.”

As I thought about what to do, an idea formed in my mind. It was bold, maybe even a bit risky, but I knew it had to be done. Mike needed a wake-up call, and I was just the person to give it to him. He couldn’t keep getting away with treating Grandma like this. It was time for a change.

The plan started to take shape in my mind. I would organize a surprise for Mike, something that would make him see just how much work Grandma was doing. He needed to understand the weight of responsibility and the value of family. And I was determined to make sure he learned his lesson.

On her last day of staying there, I asked my brother Mike for a small party. He agreed, thinking it would be a good way to see old friends.

The party was planned for the evening before I left. Our high school friends, his football team, and even some nostalgic teachers were invited for a BBQ and a celebration.

As the time when everyone was supposed to arrive approached, I got busy with my plan. I yanked all of Mike’s clothes into the laundry bin and dirtied them with ketchup and dirt. He wouldn’t have anything clean to wear.

Next, I put clean dishes in the sink and covered them with soap and ketchup. I made sure to mess up everything Grandma had been doing for him all this time.

Mike was lounging on the couch, oblivious. “Hey, sis, can you get me a beer?” he called out.

I rolled my eyes. “Sure, Mike,” I said sweetly. I handed him the beer, knowing chaos was about to unfold.

As the first guests started to arrive, Mike finally noticed the mess. “What the heck happened here?” he muttered, looking around the kitchen. “Grandma, did you forget to clean up?”

Grandma, who was resting in the living room, looked confused. “I’m sorry, dear. I must have missed it.”

Mike huffed and went to the laundry room. He opened the bin and saw his clothes stained and dirty. “Seriously?” he grumbled. “I have nothing to wear!”

He stormed back into the kitchen, where I was setting out snacks. “What’s going on, sis? Why is everything a mess?” he demanded.

I shrugged. “I don’t know, Mike. Maybe you should ask Grandma.”

He groaned and grabbed a dirty shirt from the bin, reluctantly putting it on. Guests started coming in, and Mike was running around in his stained clothes, trying to clean up.

“Ugh, my grandma was supposed to clean this already,” he muttered to his friend, Tom. “Because of her, I have nothing to wear!”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “Dude, you’re thirty. Are you serious?” he asked, laughing.

Another friend, Jake, smirked. “Yeah, man. Do your own laundry. What’s wrong with you?”

Mike ignored them and kept trying to clean up. Grandma, despite her exhaustion, got up to help him. “I’m sorry, Mike. I can help now,” she said, grabbing a mop.

“You should have done this earlier, Grandma. Now everything’s ruined.”

The room fell silent as everyone watched the scene unfold. Mike’s angry speech echoed in the quiet house. “Why can’t you just do your job, Grandma?” he shouted.

People looked at him in disbelief. One of the old teachers, Mr. Parker, shook his head. “Mike, you should be ashamed. She’s your grandmother, not your maid.”

Mike’s face turned red. He looked around at the judgmental faces of his friends and family. Humiliated, he stomped upstairs and locked himself in his room.

I turned to Grandma, who looked upset. “Don’t worry, Grandma. Let’s enjoy the night,” I said, giving her a hug.

The guests slowly resumed their conversations, the awkwardness fading away. We enjoyed the BBQ, shared stories, and had a good time. Grandma finally relaxed and laughed with her old friends.

As the evening went on, I felt a sense of satisfaction. Mike needed to understand what Grandma had been going through. Hopefully, this would be a wake-up call for him to change his ways.

Grandma smiled at me. “Thank you, dear,” she said softly. “I hope he learns from this.”

“I think he will,” I replied, looking up at the darkened window where Mike had retreated. “He has to.”

HOA Manager Destroyed My Grandma’s Garden — After Finding Her Crying among the Ruins, I Took Him up on a Date He Won’t Forget

After an HOA manager ruined my grandmother’s garden, I knew I had to avenge her. I hatched the perfect plan to humiliate the man for making my grandmother cry. Payback would be sweet.

Mike from work had been trying to get me to go out with him for ages. I always said no because he seemed a bit off. Aside from being my overly persistent coworker, Mike was also the part-time HOA manager for my grandma’s neighborhood. My grandma didn’t like him at all. She always complained about his strict and often unreasonable enforcement of community rules.

One sunny afternoon, I went to visit my grandma. She loved her garden; it was her sanctuary, especially after Grandpa passed away. As I pulled into the driveway, I noticed something was terribly wrong. The garden was a wreck. Flowers were uprooted and decorations were shattered. My heart sank.

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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.