My Husband’s Cousin Came to Stay with Us Temporarily with Her Child – If Only I Had Known It Was All a Setup

When Derek’s cousin Daisy and her son arrive, it seems like an innocent favor. But strange comments, awkward glances, and hidden tension hint at a darker truth. Then comes the devastating revelation: Daisy isn’t his cousin, and Patrick isn’t his nephew. Shattered by betrayal and blindsided by lies, Rebecca is forced to unravel the secrets her husband tried to bury. Can trust survive a truth this explosive, or is it already too late?

When my husband told me his cousin Daisy and her son Patrick needed a place to stay for a couple of weeks, I didn’t think twice. He said they’d fallen on hard times and just needed a little help to get back on their feet.

“Of course,” I said. “Family is family.”

A woman and her son sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

A woman and her son sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

I mean, really? Before Derek and I were married, I had financial issues, too. It had been a struggle and a half to get myself out of my study loan debt, among other things.

So, what would it say about me if I didn’t reach out to help my husband’s family?

That was a month ago. If only I knew how deeply those words would cut.

A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

When Daisy and Patrick arrived, everything seemed fine. At first, Daisy was polite but reserved, and I chalked it up to shyness. She wasn’t particularly warm toward me, but toward Derek?

She was a different person altogether!

She was animated, laughing at his jokes and chatting like they’d known each other forever. I ignored the faint flicker of discomfort that rose in my chest.

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

They were family.

Right?

Patrick, though, was another story. At first, he was just an energetic eight-year-old. But within days, he turned into a whirlwind of chaos.

A little boy playing with his toys | Source: Midjourney

A little boy playing with his toys | Source: Midjourney

Crumbs littered the living room floor, sticky handprints appeared on the walls, and his toys became landmines scattered across the house.

The worst part?

He didn’t listen. I once asked him to clean up after himself, and he threw a tantrum, flinging cushions from the couch.

“You’re not my mother!” he shrieked. “I don’t listen to you!”

I finally had enough one evening.

An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney

An upset little boy | Source: Midjourney

“Patrick,” I said firmly, abandoning the light and caring attitude I wanted to initially use with him. “I need you to understand that you’re a guest here. Act properly. Behave. This isn’t your home.”

His reply made my stomach drop.

“No, Rebecca,” he said, spitting out my name. “My mom told me this is our home now.”

I stared at him, unsure if I’d heard him right.

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

Excuse me?

It had to be a misunderstanding, I told myself. Kids misinterpret things all the time, and Daisy probably said it to make the move easier on him.

But his words stayed with me, a tiny splinter in the back of my mind.

The real unraveling began a week later, during a casual lunch with Derek’s sister, Ashley. She’d come by to invite us to a family dinner, and the three of us were sitting outside, enjoying lemonade and plates of spaghetti. Daisy had taken Patrick for ice cream and a walk to the park.

A little boy holding an ice cream cone | Source: Midjourney

A little boy holding an ice cream cone | Source: Midjourney

At some point, she turned to me with a warm smile.

“You’re a saint for letting them stay here, Becca,” she said.

I waved her off with a laugh, spearing a meatball with my fork.

“Stop it! It’s your family. How could I turn your cousin and nephew away? Why wouldn’t I let them stay?”

A plate of food | Source: Midjourney

A plate of food | Source: Midjourney

Her fork froze midway to her mouth.

“Wait. So he didn’t tell you?” she gasped.

My chest tightened.

“Tell me what? Ash? Derek?”

Ashley’s eyes darted to Derek, who was suddenly very interested in his glass of lemonade.

A man sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney

A man sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney

“Oh, my god. Becca…” she whispered. “You really don’t know…”

“Know what?” My voice wavered as the splinter in my mind turned into a dagger.

Ashley’s face paled.

“Daisy isn’t our cousin, Becca,” she blurted out. “She’s Derek’s ex-girlfriend. And Patrick? He’s their son.”

The room tilted.

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

A shocked woman | Source: Midjourney

I had to grip hard onto the edge of the table to steady myself, my pulse pounding in my ears.

“What are you talking about?” I croaked, though deep down, I already knew the answer.

Ashley looked stricken.

“I thought you knew, Becca! Derek told the whole family he’d explained everything to you. Our mother told him that he had to tell you the truth before you got married. Daisy was raising Patrick with her then-boyfriend, but Derek was sending child support to them!”

A talking older woman | Source: Midjourney

A talking older woman | Source: Midjourney

She sighed deeply, remorse filling her lungs. I knew she hated being the one to tell me.

Then, her gaze snapped to him.

“You said you told her!”

Derek didn’t meet my eyes. My stomach churned as every odd moment from the past month clicked into place.

An upset woman | Source: Midjourney

An upset woman | Source: Midjourney

Daisy’s reserved demeanor around me, her easy laughter with Derek, Patrick’s defiant declaration. I felt like the biggest fool on earth.

I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor.

“You have to get back to work. I have to clean up here and log onto a meeting. I will be at your office in two hours. And you’re going to explain everything.”

Derek’s face clouded and then cleared. He nodded.

An upset man sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney

An upset man sitting at a table | Source: Midjourney

“Fine. I’ll push my meetings, Becs,” he said, leaving.

“I’m so sorry, Rebecca,” Ashley said, picking up the empty plates. “I truly thought that Derek was a man of his word.”

“It’s not your fault, babe,” I said. “This is on him. But I need you to know that whatever happens next has nothing to do with you. Okay?”

She nodded meekly and began to wash the dishes.

A woman busy at the sink | Source: Midjourney

A woman busy at the sink | Source: Midjourney

At Derek’s office, I waited in a small conference room, my heart still hammering. When Derek walked in, he looked like he’d aged ten years in the span of an hour.

He sat across from me, his shoulders slumped.

“Start talking,” I demanded.

He exhaled shakily, avoiding my gaze.

A conference room | Source: Midjourney

A conference room | Source: Midjourney

“Yes, Daisy is my ex-girlfriend,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And Patrick is my son.”

The words hit like a wrecking ball.

“You lied to me,” I said. “You looked me in the eyes and lied. You allowed me to set up the guest room, to turn my home office into a makeshift kid’s room? You watched all of that, and you didn’t think about telling me the truth?”

A cozy guest bedroom | Source: Midjourney

A cozy guest bedroom | Source: Midjourney

“I didn’t know how to tell you, Becca,” he stammered. “It was years before we met. Daisy and I broke up before Patrick was born. I’ve always supported him financially, but I kept my distance. When Daisy reached out, she said that she needed help. And I felt obligated. That’s my son, after all.”

“Obligated?” I spat. “You lied to me about who they are! You let me believe they were your cousin and nephew! Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?”

“I know,” he said, tears pooling in his eyes. “But I was scared. I thought it would push you away. I thought it would be easier this way. I’m sorry. I’ll tell Daisy and Patrick to leave tonight if that’s what you want.”

An upset woman | Source: Midjourney

An upset woman | Source: Midjourney

His desperation might’ve softened me on any other day, but right then, it only made me angrier.

“They should’ve left the moment this charade started. You’ve disrespected me in every way possible.”

He didn’t try to argue.

“You’re right,” he whispered. “I’ll fix this.”

The next few days were excruciating.

An upset man | Source: Midjourney

An upset man | Source: Midjourney

Daisy avoided me entirely, and Patrick kept to his room, his usual chaos replaced by an eerie silence.

Derek threw himself into damage control, arranging for Daisy and Patrick to move into a rental while simultaneously begging for my forgiveness.

I confronted Daisy once, though.

“Why would you go along with this lie?” I demanded, watching her make her way through my kitchen while she made a sandwich.

A woman standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A woman standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney

She flushed with shame, almost dropping the jar of mayonnaise.

“I didn’t want to lie,” she said softly. “But Derek thought it would be easier. I’m sorry. I never wanted to cause problems.”

Her apology didn’t heal the wound, but it clarified one thing for me:

This disaster was Derek’s making.

A jar of mayonnaise | Source: Midjourney

A jar of mayonnaise | Source: Midjourney

Once Daisy and Patrick moved out, the house felt unbearably quiet.

Derek tried everything to make amends. He left me notes apologizing for his lies, attended therapy on his own, and took on every household chore without being asked.

His remorse was evident, but my trust in him had been shattered.

A man busy in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A man busy in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

It took weeks of reflection, long conversations with my best friend, Sharon, and more than a few sleepless nights before I made my decision.

“Just know what you’re getting into, Becca,” Sharon said, stirring her matcha latte. “I’ll support you, of course, but please, think about it from all sides.”

One evening, I called Derek into the living room. He sat across from me, his face tense with anticipation.

A matcha latte | Source: Midjourney

A matcha latte | Source: Midjourney

“I’m not ready to forgive you, D,” I began, my voice steady. “But I’m willing to try.”

Relief washed over his face, but I held up a hand.

“This is your last chance, Derek,” I said firmly. “No more lies. No more half-truths. If you want this marriage to survive, you have to earn back my trust.”

“I will,” he said, his voice thick and heavy. “I promise.”

A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

A woman sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

Rebuilding our marriage won’t be easy, and part of me wonders if it’s even possible.

But for now, I’m taking it one day at a time. I’ve learned one thing through all of this. Trust isn’t something you can take for granted.

It’s fragile.

As for Derek? He’s on thin ice. And if he thinks I’ll ignore the warning signs ever again, he’s dead wrong.

So now, I have to figure out how to be a stepmother.

A close up of a couple | Source: Midjourney

A close up of a couple | Source: Midjourney

If you’ve enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you. When Alicia and Matt’s Christmas holiday trip to Jamaica is canceled due to his father’s open-heart surgery, they decide that spending time with the family is more important. Weeks later, Nancy, Matt’s mother, promises the couple a gift… only to take it back later and replace it with something unexpected.

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.

Bride Claimed I Destroyed My Son’s Wedding Because of My Outfit Choice – Was I Really Wrong Here?

Claire just wants to be the glamorous mother-of-the-groom—but when she realizes that her daughter-in-law has her own plans for the wedding, she steps back to focus on her own outfit, only for there to be a fight between her and Alice on the big day. Alice claims that Claire has destroyed the wedding by stealing her dream dress, while Claire sees nothing wrong in her actions. Who is wrong?

All I wanted was to be the mother-of-the-groom. That’s it. I just wanted to be the doting mother who loved her son more than anything—but this is the story of how my attempt to make my son’s wedding perfect turned into a day we’d all rather forget.

When Mark introduced Alice to us, she was unlike anyone I expected him to fall for. Mark, my son, is a lawyer at a top firm—a position that he secured straight after his graduation from Stanford.

“I’m going to be a lawyer, Mom,” he told me once when he was still in high school and doing an essay on the career he wanted to get into.

“I could easily see that,” I told him, making him breakfast as he worked away.

“It’s to help fight injustices. For children, specifically,” he said, drinking his orange juice.

Mark had big dreams, and I knew that my son was always going to reach for the stars.

Alice, on the other hand, was completely different from my son. Her entire personality was light and carefree, whereas Mark was serious and brooding. Alice was a self-taught coder, who freelanced from their cozy apartment. Their worlds, their politics, their interests didn’t align.

But they made it work—and they were a sweet couple for the most part. But love, as they say, is blind.

When Mark proposed to Alice, we were all invited to the scene to help surprise her.

“Please, Mom,” Mark said on the phone. “Alice isn’t close to her family, so to see you and Dad there will be good for her. She’ll know that she’s welcomed and supported.”

“Of course, honey,” I told him, already envisioning their wedding in my head.

I swallowed my reservations and offered to pay for the wedding. James and I had put money away for Mark’s studies, but he had always gotten bursaries which paid for it all.

“We can just use that money for the wedding, Claire,” my husband said over lunch the day after the proposal.

“It’s the best thing we could do for them,” I agreed. “This way they can save up to move out of that small apartment. I know Mark’s been talking about a house with a garden because he really wants a dog.”

When we told Mark and Alice, I thought that the gesture would bring us closer. I didn’t have any daughters, so I thought that this would be my chance.

I could get to know Alice better—and that would be good for Mark, to know that his wife and his mother got along well. Instead, the wedding planning only highlighted our differences.

After a few months into the wedding planning, I met Alice at a coffee shop so that we could go over the details. But we clashed on everything.

“I think roses are timeless,” I said, helping myself to a slice of cake.

“They are, but they’re also overdone in a sense,” Alice said, sipping her tea. “Mark and I want peonies.”

Our meeting went back and forth a few times—and we were stuck in a space where we just couldn’t agree on anything.

“Okay, how about this?” I asked her. “You go ahead with everything else, and just tell me what color your bridesmaids are wearing, so that there won’t be any clashes.”

“They won’t be wearing green,” she said. “I’m leaning toward pink.”

I paid the bill and we parted ways with the wedding planning.

But then, one afternoon Alice texted me.

Hi Claire, just picking out my wedding dress with the girls! I’m so excited! I wish you were here!

Attached were photos of her five top wedding dress picks.

I knew that Alice and I were on different ends of what we thought that the wedding should look like, but I wanted to be included in the big things. I wished that she had included me in the wedding dress shopping.

“At least she’s sending you the top picks,” James said as he read the newspaper next to me.

“I know, but it’s not the same,” I said.

“Do they look good?” he asked. “Can I see them?”

Together, we scrolled through the photos of the potential dresses. They were adequate choices, but nothing stood out.

Nothing that would fit the standard of my future daughter-in-law.

The dress that was Alice’s favorite and the first contender for the actual wedding dress wasn’t what I expected.

I typed back, telling Alice that it wasn’t quite the best choice. And I hoped that my financial stake in the wedding would weigh in. James and I hadn’t given the kids a budget. They had everything at their disposal.

Why not consider the second one? It might be more flattering for you.

James chuckled beside me.

“You’re at the point of over-stepping,” he said.

Before I could say anything, my phone pinged with a message from Alice.

Sorry, but I disagree. This is the dress I’m choosing.

That night over dinner, as James was plating our salmon, I shared my frustration with him.

“Alice is not even considering my opinion, and I’m paying for the dress!” I exclaimed.

James tried to mediate; he also texted Mark to make sure that he knew how I felt, too.

“I think you should just leave the wedding planning to them now,” James said. “Put all your attention into yourself and what you’re going to wear.”

But it also turned out that Mark was able to persuade Alice to wear the dress I preferred.

I had to admit, it was the less stressful option, and I hadn’t been able to shop for my dress before that.

So, that’s what I did.

I went to a few different boutiques and eventually found my perfect dress. It was emerald green, which I knew brought out my eyes.

“That’s beautiful,” James said when I tried the dress on for him.

I had felt different. I no longer felt like the mother-of-the-groom who had been pushed aside. Instead, I felt beautiful in my own skin, my self-esteem growing every time I thought of the dress.

When the wedding week loomed upon us, James and I tried to make ourselves as present as possible. We went to all the events that Mark and Alice needed us to be at—including the rehearsal dinner where we saluted them and drank champagne to toast the festivities.

“All sorted, Mom?” Mark asked me. “Your dress and everything?”

I smiled at my son. Despite being in the middle of Alice and me, he was always checking in on me.

“Of course,” I said. “I’m ready to celebrate you and Alice.”

On the morning of the wedding, I put on my green dress and did my make up. It was everything I had wanted to look for my son’s wedding—elegant and sophisticated.

As I arrived at the venue, the air was thick with murmurs. I ignored them, thinking that everyone was just so used to me being dressed in comfortable clothing, that this was something different for them.

I went straight to the bride’s dressing room, hoping to see Alice and compliment her before she walked down the aisle.

Upon opening the door, Alice looked up—her joyful expression collapsing into one of utter devastation. She looked me up and down before bursting into tears.

“Why did you do this to me, Claire?” she sobbed, her voice choked with emotion.

Confused, I stepped into the room and closed the door.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her.

“Your dress!” she exclaimed.

“What about it?” I asked, second-guessing everything.

“It’s my dream wedding dress, just in another color,” she said, nearly shouting.

I was taken aback.

“Alice, honestly,” I said. “I didn’t realize—they look so different in color.”

But Alice wasn’t having any of it. She sat on the edge of the couch, her head in her hands.

“How could you?” she looked up and cried out. “You’ve made this day about you! Just because we didn’t take any of your suggestions!”

Mark, having heard the commotion from his dressing room next door, came rushing in.

“Mom? What’s going on here?” he asked me.

He looked from Alice to me, seeking an explanation.

Trying to calm the waters, I explained everything slowly.

“I didn’t see the resemblance, Mark,” I said. “I truly just loved the dress, and I thought—”

Alice stood up and marched toward Mark.

“No!” she exclaimed. “You thought that you’d show me what I could’ve had, but in green. Isn’t that it?”

“Mom, please,” my son said. “Let’s just try to get through the day. Please, for me.”

I agreed and left the dressing room. I just wanted to find James and sit quietly until the day was over.

I knew that Alice and I were walking a thin line, but I didn’t expect her to shout at me in the manner that she did.

Naturally, I was upset, but I didn’t want to ruin their day any further.

Reflecting now, perhaps I should have been more open to Alice’s preferences. It was her day after all, not just mine to orchestrate. The question of whether I was wrong hangs heavily over me.

Yes, in trying to enforce my vision, I might have lost sight of what was truly important—Alice’s happiness and Mark’s peace on their special day.

Was I wrong for what I did?

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