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

When Mike’s careless attitude toward his elderly grandmother reaches a boiling point, his sister Mia devises a cunning plan to teach him a lesson. What starts as a simple party quickly unravels, exposing family tensions and leaving Mike humiliated in front of friends and family.

Mia’s grandmother had moved into Mike’s house a few months ago. Despite her back problems, she cooked, cleaned, and did laundry while Mike did nothing to help. One evening, Mia asked Mike to have a small party, which he agreed to, thinking it would be a good way to see old friends.

On the day of the party, Mia dirtied all of Mike’s clothes and messed up the house. When guests arrived, Mike noticed the chaos. “Grandma, did you forget to clean up?” he muttered. The room fell silent as everyone watched. One of the old teachers, Mr. Parker, shook his head. “Mike, you should be ashamed. She’s your grandmother, not your maid.” Humiliated, Mike stomped upstairs and locked himself in his room.

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My stepmother pu:shed me into marrying a wealthy but dis:abled man. On our wedding night, when I helped him toward the bed and we fell together, I uncovered a truth that left me shaken to the core. My name is Clara Parker. I was twenty-four years old, raised under the strict authority of my stepmother, a woman who believed emotions were weaknesses and survival was everything. She repeated the same lesson throughout my childhood: “Never tie your life to a poor man. Love doesn’t put food on the table—security does.” For years, I thought she was simply practical. That illusion shattered the day she announced I would marry a dis:abled man. His name was Ethan Moore, the sole heir of one of the most powerful families connected to Ashford Estate. Five years earlier, a devastating accident had left him “paralyzed.” Since then, he had withdrawn completely from society, living behind closed gates and unanswered rumors. People whispered that he was cold, volatile, and deeply distrustful—especially of women. None of that mattered to my stepmother. What mattered were my late father’s debts. “If you marry Ethan, the house stays with us,” she said flatly. “Do it for your mother.” I agreed—not because I wanted to, but because I felt trapped. Shame settled in my chest like a stone. The wedding was extravagant, held in a grand estate filled with chandeliers and silk-draped halls. My red-and-gold gown shimmered under the lights, but inside, I felt hollow. Ethan sat in his wheelchair, expression unreadable. He never smiled. Never welcomed me. He simply watched. That night, I entered our bedroom with trembling hands. Candlelight framed his sharp features as he remained seated in his chair. “Let me help you onto the bed,” I said softly. “No,” he replied calmly. “I can manage.” But when he tried, the chair tilted danger0usly. “Wait—!” I rushed forward. We fell together, the sound echoing through the room. I landed on top of him, my face burning with embarrassment. And in that moment, I realized something impossible. …To be continued in the first comments👇👇

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