You’re Being Selfish! Said My Son And His Wife Threw Wine At Me, So I Texted My Lawyer!

I never thought I’d spend Easter dinner in a hospital waiting room with wine soaked shirt and blood dripping down my forehead. But there I was texting my lawyer four words. Phase 1 is complete. Let me back up. My name is Robert Chen. I’m 63 years old, been retired from my accounting practice for 3 years now.

 My wife Sarah passed away 5 years ago from cancer. And since then, I’ve been living alone in our three-bedroom house in North Vancouver. It’s a modest place. We bought back in 1992 for $170,000. Today it’s worth nearly 2 million. The neighborhood changed. Young families everywhere. Tech workers. The kind of people who put Tesla chargers in their driveways. My son Daniel is 32.

 Works in pharmaceutical sales. Does well for himself. Married to a woman named Britney. They have two kids, Emma and Lucas, 8 and six. They live out in Langley about an hour away depending on traffic. Nice suburban house but nothing special. I see the grandkids maybe once a month, sometimes less. Easter Sunday started normal enough.

 Daniel called me Tuesday to confirm I was hosting dinner. I always host the holidays. It’s tradition. Sarah would have wanted it. I spent Saturday preparing leg of lamb, roasted vegetables, Sarah’s famous hot cross buns from her recipe. I even got chocolate eggs for the kids. The house smelled like rosemary and garlic. It reminded me of better times.

 They arrived around 3:00 in the afternoon. Daniel’s Tesla pulled into my driveway and I watched from the kitchen window as they unloaded the kids. Britney was carrying a bottle of wine. Expensive looking. She only brings expensive things when she wants something. I learned that the hard way. Dad. Daniel came in first. Gave me a quick hug.

Stiff. Performative. House looks great. Thanks, son. Kids. Come give grandpa a hug. Emma and Lucas ran over. At least the kids were still genuine. They showed me their Easter baskets. Told me about the egg hunt at their school. Normal grandparent stuff. It felt good. Britney kissed my cheek. Too much perfume.

Robert, thank you so much for having us. This wine is from Okanagan. Supposed to be exceptional. You didn’t have to bring anything. Oh, I insist. She said it on the counter with this little smile. The kind that doesn’t reach the eyes. We settled in the living room. I’d set up the good china in the dining room, but Daniel wanted to chat first.

 That should have been my first warning. Daniel never wants to chat. He’s always checking his phone, talking about quarterly numbers, complaining about his manager. Today, he was focused, present, looking at Britney every few seconds like they were tag teaming a sales pitch. So, dad, Daniel started.

 Britney and I have been talking about your situation. My situation living here alone, this big house, it’s a lot for one person to maintain. I smiled, kept my voice level. I managed just fine. House has paid off. Maintenance isn’t bad. But you’re getting older, Britney added. She was perched on the edge of the armchair, leaning forward. We worry about you.

Falls. Medical emergencies. What if something happens and no one’s here? I have my phone. Neighbors check in. Daniel exchanged another glance with Britney. Here it comes, I thought. We have a proposal, Daniel said. My in-laws, Britney’s parents, they just retired last month. sold their place in Cam Loops.

 They’re looking for somewhere in the Lower Mainland, but the market is insane right now. Congratulations to them. They’re good people, Dad. Really active, healthy. Britney’s mom was a nurse. Her dad taught high school shop class for 30 years. I nodded, waited. Britney jumped in. We were thinking, “You have those two extra bedrooms just sitting empty.

 What if my parents moved in? They could help around the house, keep you company, and honestly, it would be cheaper for everyone. They’d pay you rent, of course. You want your parents to move into my house. It’s perfect. Britney’s voice went up an octave. You wouldn’t be alone anymore. My mom could help with cooking, cleaning.

 My dad’s handy. He could fix things and we’d all be closer together as a family. I looked at Daniel. And what do you think about this? I think it makes sense, Dad. Practical. You’d have built-in help. They’d have an affordable place in a great neighborhood. Win-win. The lamb timer went off in the kitchen, saved by the bell.

 Let me check on dinner, I said. I stood up, walked into the kitchen, and closed my eyes for 5 seconds. Breathe. Stay calm. This was exactly what Thompson, my lawyer, said would happen. We’d been preparing for 6 months. You see, 3 months ago, I got a call from my financial adviser. Someone had tried to access my investment accounts.

 Not successfully, but they’d gotten far enough that the bank flagged it. They’d used some of my personal information. Birth date, Sarah’s maiden name, mother’s maiden name. The attempt came from Daniel’s IP address. I didn’t confront him. Instead, I called Richard Thompson, the estate lawyer who’d handled Sarah’s will. Smart guy.

 Used to work in elder law before switching to estates. He knew exactly what this smelled like. Robert. He’d told me over coffee at a Tim Hortons near his office. I see this pattern every week. Adult children getting impatient about inheritance. They start testing boundaries, accessing accounts, suggesting living arrangements.

 Then it escalates.

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What do I do? We set up safeguards and we document everything. Over the next 3 months, Thompson helped me do several things. First, we arranged a full cognitive assessment with a geriatric specialist passed with flying colors, documented proof I was mentally sharp, no signs of dementia or impairment.

 Second, we updated my will with ironclad language and multiple witnesses. Third, we set up a living trust with specific instructions. Fourth, and this was Thompson’s idea, we installed hidden cameras in my living room, dining room, and kitchen. If they’re planning something, Thompson said, they’ll reveal it eventually, and when they do, you’ll have proof.

 I checked the lamb. Perfect. Golden brown thermometer reading exact. I carved it at the counter, plated everything, and called them to the table. Dinner started pleasant enough. The kids talked about school. I asked Daniel about work. Britney complimented the food. All very civilized.

 Then Daniel brought it up again. So, Dad, about my in-laws. Have you thought about it? I have. And I set down my fork. I appreciate the concern, but I’m not interested in having roommates. I like my privacy. I like my routine. Britney’s smile flickered. Roommates? They’re family, Robert. They’re your family. I’ve met them twice. But you have all this space.

 Her voice was getting sharper. Two empty bedrooms, your own bathroom. What are you even using them for? That’s my business. Daniel leaned forward. Dad, be reasonable. You’re 63, living alone. What happens when you’re 70? 75? Eventually, you’ll need help. Then I’ll hire help or move to a retirement community on my terms.

 Those places cost a fortune. Britney actually laughed. Why spend money on strangers when you could have family here? Because it’s my money and my house. The room went quiet. Emma looked scared. Lucas was focused on his chocolate egg, oblivious. Kids, I said gently. Why don’t you two go watch TV in the living room? Find something on Netflix. They scrambled off. Smart kids.

They could feel the tension. Once they were gone, Daniel’s mask dropped. This is unbelievable, he muttered. What is your selfishness? We’re trying to help you and you’re acting like we’re asking for a kidney. I stayed calm. I said, “No, that’s not selfish. That’s a boundary.” Britney stood up. Her face was flushed.

 Whether from wine or anger, I couldn’t tell. Do you know what our mortgage payment is? Do you know how much child care costs? We’re drowning, Robert. And you’re sitting here in a $2 million house like some feudal lord, hoarding space. I’m not hoarding anything. I live here. You live here alone? She was nearly shouting now. Sarah’s been gone for 5 years.

 When are you going to move on and think about someone other than yourself? That one stung. I’ll admit it. But I kept my face neutral. Daniel grabbed Britney’s arm. Babe, calm down. She shook him off. No, I’m tired of this. My parents are good people. They raised me. They helped us with the down payment on our house.

 They babysit whenever we ask. And now they need help. And your father can’t even spare two empty bedrooms. I said, “No.” “Why?” She leaned over the table. Give me one good reason why. Because I don’t want to. Her hand shot out and grabbed the wine bottle. Before I could process what was happening, she hurled it at me.

Not the bottle, thankfully. She grabbed her wine glass and threw the contents at my face. Red wine splashed across my forehead, my shirt, the wall behind me. The glass itself hit the edge of the table and shattered. A shard caught my eyebrow. I felt warmth, then blood. Brittney. Daniel jumped up. I stood slowly, touched my forehead.

 My fingers came away red. I looked at Britney. She was breathing hard, eyes wild, like she couldn’t believe what she’d just done. Then I looked at Daniel. I think, I said quietly. I need to go to the hospital. Dad, I’m so sorry. She didn’t mean. Yes, she did. And I need medical attention. So, I’m going to drive myself to emergency. You all should leave.

 I walked past them into the bathroom, grabbed a towel, pressed it to my head. The cut wasn’t deep, but head wounds bleed a lot. I looked at myself in the mirror. Blood, wine. Easter dinner ruined. Perfect. I walked back through the dining room. Britney was crying now. Daniel was trying to comfort her. The kids were still in the living room.

Thank God. Please leave, I repeated. Take the kids home. Dad, let’s talk about this. There’s nothing to talk about. Your wife just assaulted me. I need medical care. Please leave my house. I grabbed my keys and walked out. Got in my car, started driving to Lion’s Gate Hospital. At a red light, I pulled out my phone and texted Thompson.

 Phase 1 is complete. He responded immediately. On my way to hospital. Don’t talk to Daniel. document everything. The emergency room on Easter Sunday was busy but not crazy. A nurse took one look at my head and got me triaged quickly. While I waited, Thompson showed up. 50-year-old guy, gray hair, always wears these brown leather shoes.

 He looked at my forehead and shook his head. Tell me exactly what happened. I recounted the whole dinner. Every word I could remember. Thompson took notes on his phone. They have the kids? He asked. Took them home, I assume. Good. You did the right thing leaving. And the cameras? Should have everything. Robert, I need to ask, do you want to press charges? I looked at him.

 This was the moment. Thompson and I had discussed this scenario extensively. If things escalated to violence, we had options. Assault charges, restraining orders, but it would nuke the family relationship permanently. Yes, I said. I want to press charges. Thompson nodded. I’ll call the RCMP. Within an hour, two officers showed up at the hospital.

 A male constable and a female sergeant. Professional, polite. They took my statement, photographed my injury, took the wine stained shirt for evidence. They asked if I felt safe going home. I do, I said. But I want a restraining order against my daughter-in-law. The female sergeant nodded. We’ll file the assault charge first.

 Assault with a weapon. In this case, the wine glass and contents. Given your age, there may be additional considerations under elder abuse statutes. Elder abuse. You’re over 60. She’s a family member. B. C. Law takes that seriously. They left to file paperwork. A doctor finally saw me, cleaned the cut, applied liquid stitches, minor injury, no concussion.

 I was discharged around 8:00 p.m. Thompson drove me home. My house was dark, empty. I half expected Daniel to be waiting on the porch, but no one was there. Thompson followed me inside. “Let’s check the footage,” he said. We went to my office. I pulled up the security system on my computer. Four camera angles.

 Living room, dining room, kitchen, front entry. We watched the whole thing. Britney’s escalation was clear. Her throwing the wine glass. Daniel’s weak attempt to control her. My calm exit. This is gold. Thompson said. Clear video, clear audio, unprovoked assault. The fact that you stayed calm and left makes you look reasonable. She looks unhinged.

 What happens now? RCMP will investigate. They’ll interview Daniel and Britney probably tonight or tomorrow morning. Britney will be charged. She’ll have to appear in court. You’ll need to get a peace bond or restraining order, which should be straightforward given the evidence. And Daniel Thompson hesitated. That’s complicated.

 He didn’t assault you, but we need to address the bigger issue. The account access. Exactly. I think they were building up to something larger. this house, your assets. The suggestion about her parents moving in. Classic setup. Get people in the house, establish residency, then claim you’re incapable of living independently. Push for power of attorney.

 Maybe even guardianship. My stomach turned. You really think Daniel would do that? I think Britney would. And I think Daniel is weak enough to go along with it. We sat in silence for a moment. What do I do? I asked. We go on offense. Tomorrow I file a formal complaint about the account access with your bank and the police.

 Financial exploitation of an elderly person is a crime in BC. We also fortify your estate documents. Make it crystal clear that Daniel gets nothing if he contests the will or tries any legal maneuvers. What about the grandkids? Thompson’s expression softened. set up education trusts for them separate from Daniel’s inheritance, managed by an independent trustee.

They’ll get the money when they turn 25, no matter what. That felt right. The kids didn’t deserve to suffer for their parents’ choices. Thompson left around 10:00. I sat in my living room alone with a bandage on my forehead and dried wine on my collar. The Easter decorations suddenly looked absurd. Pastel eggs, spring flowers, celebrating resurrection while my family relationships died. My phone buzzed.

Daniel. I let it ring. It buzzed again. Voicemail. Then a text. Dad, please call me. Britney feels terrible. We need to talk. I turned off my phone. The next day, Monday, the police called. Brittney had been formally charged with assault. She was released on conditions. No contact with me.

 surrender of passport, promised to appear in court. Daniel called Thompson’s office 16 times. Thompson didn’t answer. Tuesday, Thompson filed the financial exploitation complaint. The bank froze my accounts temporarily while they investigated the access attempt. We had to prove it wasn’t me. Thankfully, I’d been at a dentist appointment during the exact time of the attempt with records to prove it.

 Wednesday, the RCMP interviewed Daniel. According to Thompson’s contact in the department, Daniel admitted he’d tried to access my accounts to check on his father’s financial health. Said he was worried about me, concerned about cognitive decline. That phrase cognitiv. Thursday, Thompson and I met with a judge to request a restraining order.

 We presented the video evidence, the assault charge, the account access attempt. The judge granted it immediately. Britney had to stay at least 100 m away from me and my property. Daniel could visit technically, but only with 48 hours notice and only during daylight hours. Friday, my doorbell rang.

 I checked the camera. Daniel alone. I opened the door but didn’t invite him in. He looked terrible, unshaven, dark circles under his eyes. Dad, please, can we talk? Your 48 hour notice period hasn’t passed. I’m your son and I have a restraining order against your wife for assaulting me. The conditions are clear. She’s sorry.

 She was stressed. She drank too much. She didn’t mean she meant it. And you stood there and let it happen. He flinched. I tried to stop her. Not hard enough. Daniel, do you understand what you two were doing? We were trying to help. You tried to access my bank accounts without permission.

 You pushed your in-laws into my home. You called me selfish for wanting privacy in my own house. That’s not help. That’s control. You’re paranoid. I pulled out my phone and showed him a document. The cognitive assessment results, perfect scores across the board. Recent date stamp. I’m not paranoid. I’m competent and I’m done. His face crumpled.

 What does that mean? It means I’ve updated my will. You’re still in it, but only if you respect boundaries. Any attempt to contest it, to claim I’m incompetent, to manipulate my finances. You get nothing. There’s an education trust for Emma and Lucas. They’ll be fine. But you and Britney need to figure out your own lives. You’d really cut me off.

 You threw me away first at Easter dinner for two empty bedrooms. He stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Finally, Britney’s parents lost their deposit on a rental because of this. We were counting on living here. And there it was. The truth. You were counting on living here, I repeated. Not her parents. You, he didn’t deny it.

 Get off my property, Daniel. Dad, 48 hours notice in writing through Thompson’s office. That’s the condition. Follow it or I’ll call the police. I closed the door. Through the window, I watched him stand there for 3 minutes. Then he got in his Tesla and drove away. That was 6 months ago.

 Britney’s assault case went to court. She pleaded guilty, got a conditional discharge with probation and anger management counseling. The elder abuse aspect got noted but not separately charged. Her lawyer argued it was a one-time incident, stress related, out of character. The judge didn’t buy it entirely, but accepted the plea. Britney got 2 years probation.

 The financial exploitation investigation took longer. Eventually, the RCMP determined it was attempted fraud, but declined to prosecute given Daniel’s relationship to me and the fact that he didn’t actually access any funds. Just attempted. The bank flagged his information in my account security. He can never access it now.

 Daniel sent me letters, five of them over 6 months, apologizing, explaining their financial stress. His job was struggling. Britney’s maternity leave had ended and child care costs were crushing them. Her parents really had been planning to help. It all sounded so reasonable on paper, but I remembered his face when he said cognitive decline.

 I remembered the access attempts, the pressure, the entitlement. I didn’t respond to any of the letters. Last week, I booked a trip to Scotland. Three weeks, Edinburgh, the Highlands, Isle of Sky. Sarah always wanted to go. We never made it before she got sick. I’m going alone and I’m okay with that. The house feels different now. Not lonely, peaceful.

I’ve joined a book club at the community center. Started taking watercolor classes. Met a widow named Patricia who makes me laugh. We get coffee sometimes. My financial adviser says my investments are doing well. The house keeps appreciating. I’m comfortable, secure, safe. Emma sent me a drawing last week. It appeared in my mailbox.

 No return address, but I recognized her handwriting on the envelope. A picture of me and her and Lucas at a park. Hearts around us. I miss you, Grandpa. Written in crayon. I cried for an hour, but I didn’t call Daniel because that’s what he wants. He wants the grandkids to be the wedge, the emotional leverage, and I can’t let that happen.

 Thompson says when Emma turns 18, she can reach out on her own. We’ll have coffee. I’ll explain everything. She’ll understand or she won’t. That’s a decade away. I’m 63 years old. I might have 30 more years. I might have three. But however long I have left, I’m living it on my terms in my house with my boundaries intact.

Sometimes family means the people who love you unconditionally. Sometimes it means the people who want to love you conditionally if you just give them what they want. I chose myself after years of choosing everyone else. I finally chose myself. And you know what? I sleep fine at night. The house is quiet. The doors are locked.

 The cameras are running. And every morning I wake up in my own bed, in my own house, living my own life. That’s not selfish. That’s survival. If you’re out there dealing with family pressure with adult children who think they’re entitled to your home, your money, your life, document everything. Get a good lawyer.

 Have the hard conversations. Set the boundaries. And don’t feel guilty for protecting yourself, even from your own blood. Especially from your own blood. Because at the end of the day, you don’t owe anyone your peace. Not even family. Maybe especially not