I Bought a Dream House at a Huge Discount, Only to Find Out It Came With a Granny I Had to Care For — Story of the Day

I thought I bought a peaceful countryside home until I found the previous owner waltzing upstairs like she still lived there. Then I read the contract... and everything changed.

They say, if life stops listening — change your scenery.

At some point, I realized that all my relationships followed the same recipe: start pretty, end messy, block and delete. The last guy broke up with me in a McDonald’s. While holding fries.

"You're very dear to me... like a friend," he said, holding his fries.

After three years together and one gassy chihuahua weekend.

Before him, there was Max — charming, muscles like a Greek statue… and the emotional depth of a teaspoon. He had a fling with my friend.

And the one before that?

I don’t even want to talk about it.

So no, I didn’t cry. I ordered a pizza, opened my laptop, and typed:

“House in the countryside for escaping everything, including exes.”

Of course, Google didn’t have a category for that.

But then — a listing:

“Charming house in a quiet town. A real place for fresh beginnings.”

I clicked. A two-story wooden house with a porch and a little garden. It was in the town where I’d grown up! The kind of place where the cashier still gives you coins, and the librarian remembers your zodiac sign.

The price… was attractive, but still a bit high for me. I filled out the form, thinking nothing would come of it. But within the hour — a video call request.

Weird.

Not like me at all. Still, I clicked “Accept.”

A woman in a bright floral robe appeared — curly silver hair, cherry lipstick, and a face that looked oddly familiar.

"Darling!! Hello! It's me, Edna! You sent in an inquiry about the house," she chirped.

"Do we know each other?"

"Unlikely, sweetheart. But I forget most things by lunch, so who knows?"

"I wasn’t expecting a call so soon…"

"The house is nice, right?"

"It is! But to be honest… a little over my budget."

"Oh, sweetheart, I’ve decided to lower the price."

She held up a handwritten number on paper.

"Whoa! Why such a discount?"

"I don’t need money-hungry landlords. I want someone real. Maybe a little broken, but still with a heart."

I laughed. "Sounds like me — a little broken, still breathing."

"Exactly what I thought. So, here’s your price. My gut tells me this house was meant for you."

"That’s the final price? Seriously?"

"Money’s no use to me anymore. But if you bake me a pie someday — we’ll call it even."

I laughed again. Really laughed. For the first time in months.

Edna printed out the contract and emailed it over. I signed it. Without reading all the fine print.

Why bother?

It’s just a house. Not like I’m signing away my soul... right?

***

A week later, I was off to peace, space, and a future without city men who don’t know how to use a washing machine.

The house looked just like the pictures. Sunlight glinted off the windows. The breeze played with the curtains on the porch…

I found the key in the secret place — tucked inside a pot of pelargoniums. Just like old times. I smiled and opened the door, unaware peace had other plans.

***

The first day passed faster than I expected. I’d unpacked most of the boxes, found my mugs and stumbled upon my old kettle.

It was almost six. The sun slid lazily across the floorboards as I sat on the couch, with that pleasant kind of tiredness in my muscles.

“Just five minutes. I’ll lie down. I won’t fall asleep.”

I kicked off my slippers and curled up under a throw blanket. My eyes closed. My mind was still buzzing — about the porch I’d repaint, the...

Suddenly — BOOM-BA-BOOM-BUH-BUUUUM!

The chandelier above me rattled. Music started.

"What the..."

I hadn’t even been upstairs yet. Hadn’t had the time. Finally, I climbed the stairs slowly, gripping the handrail.

And then I stepped into another century. The wallpaper — roses. The dust — soft like mist. Furniture — antique, with lace doilies on the arms.

In the corner stood a record player. In the middle of the room was... Edna! Waltzing.

“Oh. My. God.”

She twirled in rhythm. And honestly, she looked like it was her usual Friday routine. Then she turned and noticed me.

“Oh, hey, sweetheart! Just showing you how to really unwind. You’ve been so busy — boxes, throws, sighs, drama...”

“Edna, you... sold me this house.”

“Of course I did! Aren’t you thrilled?”

“We signed a contract.”

“We did. With conditions. You and me. Together. Every day. For a whole year! Isn’t it magical?”

“Wait, are you saying... you’re staying here?”

“Yes. Why? Is something wrong with our lovely little co-habitation?”

I didn’t answer. I just backed away, hurried downstairs, grabbed my laptop, and pulled up the contract. My eyes raced down the document. And there it was. Clause 8. In fine print:

“The buyer agrees to provide housing, basic care, and social interaction to the previous homeowner for a minimum of one calendar year, or until her natural death, whichever occurs first. The purpose is to support good neighborly relations and preserve legacy traditions.”

I read it again.

And again.

“What the hell is this?!”

Edna was already standing at the top of the stairs, leaning on the banister like a dramatic opera diva.

“We got along so well during our call. I figured you bought the house for our blossoming friendship — not just for the discount. Though it was a pretty generous one, wasn’t it?”

I opened my mouth. Closed it.

She winked.

“Come on, darling. Let’s have some tea. I’ll show you how to brew it properly — not that green bagged swamp water you drink.”

And somehow, before I could even properly get mad, I was already following her into the kitchen. Because something about her... still felt oddly familiar. I had to find out what.

***

Living with Edna was like starring in a never-ending reality show.

It didn’t matter what genre I was trying to live through—rom-com, thriller, or low-budget tragedy—she was always there. Edna didn’t just live nearby. She actively inserted herself into every aspect of my life. Uninvited.

It all started with the curtains.

“Sweetheart, I replaced your old drapes. Yours were too depressing. These, with little geese — instant mood boost!”

“Edna, they glow at night. I feel like I’m performing in a circus tent.”

“Oh, you’ll get used to it.”

Then came the incident with my client's Zoom call.

I scheduled it carefully — during Edna's “daily nap window.” I sat quietly in the kitchen, headphones in, coffee in hand. And then… she appeared.

“Oh honey! You’re already working? I won’t disturb you! I’ll just make some pancakes.”

And then it began. The coffee grinder roared like she was trying to crush bricks. Then came the pots—banging and clanging.

I fled to my room, slammed the door shut, and then… WHRRRRRRR! She started vacuuming. Right. Outside. My. Door. Through gritted teeth, I whispered to myself:

“It’s fine. Just one year. One year and this house is mine.”

But the next day, she broke me again. That time, I found my old underwear in the trash.

“Don’t thank me! I just couldn’t let those panties sit there. They screamed loneliness.”

“Edna, those are my favorite! They’re comfortable! And I want to be alone—for the rest of my life!”

“Oh darling, don’t worry. We’ll fix that.”

That was the final straw.

I threw on my running clothes, slammed the door, and ran. To the woods. No destination. Just away. From the pots, the panties, and the psychological warfare.

An hour later, I returned from my jog—sweaty, breathless, with hair that looked like it had been through a wind tunnel.

But honestly? It was the first time in a week I’d felt peace.

Then I opened the door. And… oh no. Men’s sneakers. Right in the hallway.

“This better be a plumber.”

I walked into the kitchen. A man was sitting there. Not a plumber. Not the mailman. A man-man.

And next to him, Edna, was stirring something on the stove.

“Oh! You’re back! We were waiting. I thought you might change… but hey, natural beauty is in these days.”

“What is THIS?!”

“This is dinner. And this is Jason. My grandson. Remember I mentioned him? He’s a doctor. Not married.”

I shot my hand up like a stop sign.

“No. No men. I told you!”

“Well, that was then. Now you look like someone ready for change.”

I rolled my eyes. Then Jason stood up. Smiled. And...

“Oh my God. Jason? The Jason… from college?”

“Whoa! I didn’t even recognize you! What a coincidence! Grandma, do you remember Olivia? We studied together!”

I turned to Edna slowly.

“You KNEW?!”

“That’s why I gave you the discount — family rates. Time to reconcile, for Jason’s sake.”

“Grandma!” Jason groaned. “What are you doing?!”

I didn’t say another word. I just turned around and locked myself in my room. To Edna, I was the one who got away. She wasn’t trying to drive me crazy. She was matchmaking.

But I had the right to fight back. And the following morning? Oh, I was going to show her what social interaction really meant in paragraph 8.

***

By morning, Edna awoke to the scent of breakfast. Jason flipped pancakes in my apron. I danced in his hoodie, humming Sinatra.

"Good morning!" I beamed. "Hope you’re hungry. Your future granddaughter-in-law’s cooking today."

Edna blinked. And then… squinted at my hand.

There, on my ring finger, sparkled her family's sapphire — the one she’d always claimed was “too good for modern women.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Jason smiled and slid the plate toward Edna.

"She said yes. Around 3:17 a.m., right after the peach pie."

Well, technically, I said “maybe” — but Edna didn’t need details. The ring did the talking.

"Wait a minute..." she croaked. "Dear heavens. I didn’t plan THAT. I just wanted you two to go on a few dates! A dinner! A movie! Not marriage before breakfast!"

Jason shrugged.

"You said love can’t be scheduled."

Edna stared at us, scandalized, then let out a dramatic sigh.

"Fine. But don’t expect me to babysit before noon."

We burst out laughing. I glanced at Jason.

The night before, Edna had finally dozed off with her lavender tea. Jason and I stayed up in the kitchen — just the two of us. We talked until almost sunrise. We laughed, debated the best '90s song of all time, and even confessed things we never told anyone else.

Turned out, skipping that college date years ago? We’d both missed a lot more than just coffee.

Maybe fate had a funny way of working things out. Maybe living with a matchmaking tornado wasn’t the worst thing after all.

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