I told my son I lost my job he kicked me out. But he didn’t know I had just received $8M. So I…

In fact he might have been dumped into foster care, treated like a stray dog no one wanted. Every sacrifice I made, every choice, every tear was for him to have a chance at a whole life. But now here he was biting back like a cornered animal blaming me for destroying the very future I tried so hard to protect.

I pressed a hand to my chest trying to steady the storm inside me but the ache only deepened. All those years of devotion, of sacrifice, of love suddenly felt like the cruelest joke life could have played on me. Ethan wasn’t my biological child.

He was adopted. The first time I saw him I was volunteering at the city’s child welfare center. He was barely a year old then.

Frail as a kitten, lips tinged with blue, his tiny body drained of all life. The director told me Ethan had been born with a severe congenital heart defect. His birth parents had abandoned him in a dumpster.

A passerby heard his faint cries and brought him to the orphanage. I still don’t know exactly what drew me to him. Maybe it was the way his eyes, full of fear and longing, clung to mine.

Or maybe it was because I’d lost my own mother when I was very young. Something about watching a child suffer felt unbearable to me. I went home and discussed it with my then husband.

After much thought we decided to adopt him. From that moment on, we crossed the country searching for hospitals and specialists, doing everything we could to save Ethan’s life. But two years later my husband changed.

He said he was tired of raising someone else’s child. He wanted a child of his own. He gave me an ultimatum, either send Ethan back to the orphanage, or leave him and raise the child alone.

I didn’t hesitate. I chose Ethan. Back then his condition was still unstable.

I was terrified that going back to the orphanage would mean delayed treatment. Or worse, the end of his life. So I worked double shifts, sometimes three jobs at once.

At night I’d sit at the kitchen table, eyes burning, making handmade crafts just to scrape together extra income. And somehow through those long, desperate years I kept him afloat. He survived, recovered, and eventually became as healthy as any other boy.

He even made it to college. I never told him the truth about his past. Not because I wanted to lie, but because I didn’t want to burden him.

He was already a sensitive, insecure child. I didn’t want him to carry the weight of knowing he was first thrown away by his birth parents, then rejected by his adoptive father. I wanted him to believe the world could still be kind.

That love, real love, did exist. But never in my worst nightmares did I imagine he’d grow into this. Cold, selfish, ungrateful.

As furious as I am now, there’s also a flicker of relief. Thank God I never mentioned the trust fund. If they knew that the eight million dollars had already been legally transferred to me, I can only imagine how much uglier this would have become.

I looked at Ethan, my gaze icy and unflinching. If this is how heartless you are, then so be it. From this moment on we’re done.

You and I have nothing to do with each other anymore. I reached down, lifted my suitcase, and turned to leave. But Susan suddenly grabbed my arm.

What are you saying? Ethan is your son. You’re supposed to be responsible for his future. You can’t just pack up and walk away like this.

Nicole stepped in, echoing her mother’s outrage. Yeah, what kind of mother does that? You raised him and now you want to wash your hands of it? That’s unbelievably irresponsible. I let out a cold laugh.

You’re a college professor, an educated woman, and this is the argument you’re making? Legally, a parent is only obligated to care for a child until they turn 18. Me? I’ve supported Ethan all the way into his 30s. What more does he expect? Ethan’s face twisted, his voice rising in fury.

That’s not parenting. That’s you making bad choices and trying to pay off your guilt. Every miserable thing in my life is because of you.

You owe me for life. Then he shouted, voice dripping with venom. Did you ask for my permission when you decided to bring me into this world? I almost laughed out loud at the sheer madness of it.

He sounded completely deranged. I stared at him like he was a stranger, someone I no longer recognized. I must have been blind to have raised someone like you.

And if you’ve got such deep, twisted philosophical questions, maybe you should ask your birth mother, the one who left you in a dumpster. I didn’t know if he even processed what I’d just said. He froze for a beat, confused, but the fury still clung to his face.

It didn’t matter. Whether he understood or not no longer concerned me. I shook off Susan’s grip and walked out the door without looking back.

Almost immediately, I heard angry shouts behind me. You’re disowning your own son? You’re not even human. Don’t get too proud, Margaret.

When you’re old, sick, and no one wants to take care of you, let’s see how far that independence gets you. No one’s going to hire a woman your age. When you hit rock bottom, don’t come crawling back to us.

I paused, turned around slowly, and looked at them with cool detachment. You should be more worried about yourselves, I said calmly. Don’t forget, the house you’re living in, that house you treat like your birthright, was bought with every penny I scraped together over the years.

If I ever decide to take it back, don’t be so sure you’ll still have a place to live. Nicole stormed to the doorway, pointing a finger at my face, seething with rage. Don’t you dare touch this house.

It’s registered in my and Ethan’s names. It’s legally ours. You have no claim.

The more she shouted, the steadier I felt. Fine, I said my voice unwavering. Then hear this, I don’t care if I have to spend the price of two houses.

I will not let this house stay in the hands of a bunch of ungrateful leeches. Nicole’s eyes widened in disbelief. Then she burst out laughing, her voice mocking.

You’ve lost your mind. Two houses. You probably don’t even have a thousand bucks to your name.

This house is ours. It’s our marital property. You’re just some washed up maid trying to bite off more than you can chew.

Get lost. People like you deserve to rot on the streets. With that, she slammed the door in my face.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t argue. I didn’t even flinch.

I just turned toward the elevator, pulled out my phone, and started browsing listings for luxury homes in the city’s top neighborhoods. A bitter smirk played at my lips. If I didn’t move into the best house in town, I’d be doing a disservice to the eight million dollars sitting comfortably in my trust fund.

That night, I checked into the most exclusive five-star hotel downtown. Then I contacted Catherine’s private attorney and instructed him to initiate the legal proceedings to reclaim everything that was rightfully mine. In the days that followed, I lived in that hotel while diving deep into the city’s luxury real estate market, researching properties, reviewing listings, and scheduling viewings.

A week later, I had an appointment to tour a highly sought-after gated villa community. It was the most prestigious development in town. What I didn’t expect was the sales agent assigned to show me the property.

It was none other than Susan’s niece, Chloe. The luxury real estate showroom was bustling with people. Despite the starting price of these villas being well over a million dollars, the project’s exclusivity had drawn a steady stream of prospective buyers.

I had just stepped into the grand lobby when a young woman with long hair and a fresh, eager smile approached me. Good afternoon, ma’am. Would you like me to walk you through the project details? Yes, please.

Could you start by showing me the model homes? I followed her toward the display area, but we hadn’t made it more than a few steps when a sharp voice rang out across the room. Who’s handling client screening today? Do we just let anyone walk in now? I looked up. There she was.

Chloe. Susan’s niece. Nicole’s cousin.

We’d only met a few times, but she had left a lasting impression. Classic social climber attitude. The kind who drips arrogance in every word and move, constantly flaunting how she only dealt with high-society clients.

Before I could react, she was already striding over, heels clicking confidently, eyes full of disdain. Margaret? What are you doing here? I glanced at her coolly and kept walking. I’m here to view a property…