I gave my daughter a farm so she could rebuild her life. When visited, I saw her standing by the sink, quietly crying, while her new husband’s

When I arrived that Saturday, I found Laura crying at the kitchen sink while Robert’s family lounged in her home, demanding food and attention. She moved like a ghost, serving them as if she were hired help.

It had been a year and a half since she left her abusive marriage, which had taken everything from her. She came to me broken and lost, unsure how to start over at forty-three.

I used my savings to buy her a small farm on Atlanta’s outskirts—two acres, fruit trees, a cozy house—a place where she could finally heal and reclaim her life.

I spent $52,000 on the farm, took a $7,000 loan, and it felt worth it the day I gave Laura the keys.

“Is it really mine?” she asked, tears in her eyes.

“Yours. A place to start over,” I said, hugging her.

Six months later, she married Robert—and his family turned her sanctuary into their playground. Two weeks of chaos went unnoticed.

I saw her hands—red, cracked, worn down from endless chores. My strong, independent girl was broken.

“Laura, tell me everything,” I said.

Through tears, she whispered, “Robert seemed perfect, but his family… they’re controlling, abusive.”