My daughter had just turned eight. She saved her birthday money to buy a pool float she dreamed about for weeks. At Grandma’s house—where we spent summers — she treated it like treasure. Dried it carefully, stored it lovingly, and warned everyone: “That’s mine.”
But last weekend, everything changed. I walked out to the pool and my daughter rushed over—only for her face to fall when she saw her float. It was half-deflated, torn, and shoved behind the shed like trash. No one said a word.
I held my daughter’s gasp in my heart. She didn’t cry—just whispered, “Why would someone do that?” Later, the truth came out through my niece: Grandma’s partner tried to nap on the float. When he sank, he panicked and stabbed it with a garden tool. Everyone knew how much it meant to her…but no one told me. No apology. No call.
That night, I sat with my daughter, explained what happened, and promised we’d buy her a new one—together. Then I did something else: I gathered every toy and float left at Grandma’s and brought them home. No respect, no use. A week later, my sister-in-law texted, puzzled: “Where did all the fun stuff go?” I replied simply, “We take better care of it than you do.”
