Jen’s husband, David, and his mom, Margaret, took off to Dubai with cash from Jennifer’s wallet, leaving her stuck at home with the kids

“I just haven’t decided what to do with the apartment.” “David,” Margaret turned to her son, “tell her. Can’t your wife do this small thing for your mom?” David glanced between his mother and wife.

Jennifer knew that look: he hated choosing sides. “Jen, what’s the big deal?” he finally said. “It’s just one machine.”

“See?” Margaret exclaimed triumphantly. “David gets it.

All this ‘my apartment, my apartment’ talk. Family should help each other.” Jennifer felt cornered.

If she refused now, she’d look selfish in David’s eyes. But if she agreed, it would be the first step toward Margaret taking over the apartment too. “Fine,” she relented.

“You can store the machine. But just that, got it?” “Of course, dear,” Margaret beamed. “Thank you.

I knew you wouldn’t say no.” In her eyes, Jennifer saw the familiar glint of triumph, a small victory in a larger battle. Two months later, the temporary sewing machine in her grandmother’s apartment was joined by a dresser: “It’s just cluttering your hallway,” an old china set: “Antique, too precious to toss,” and two boxes of vague contents: “Just papers, dear, might come in handy.” Then came the idea Jennifer had dreaded from the start. “You know, Jenny,” Margaret said over dinner, “I’ve been thinking.

It’s a bit crowded with four of us in a one-bedroom, right? I’m starting to feel like I’m in the way. Young family, kids. You need space.”

Jennifer tensed. This sudden talk of space, which Margaret had conveniently ignored until now, was suspicious. “And I thought,” Margaret continued, “maybe I could move into your grandma’s apartment for a bit? My stuff’s already there, and there’s more room.

You’d have space to live without feeling cramped.” There it was. The trap snapped shut.

Jennifer glanced at David. He didn’t look surprised—his mother had likely discussed this with him already. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” Jennifer said cautiously.

“The apartment needs repairs, old wiring.” “Nonsense,” Margaret waved it off. “I’m not picky.

Plus, repairs can be done gradually. David can help with the wiring, he’s handy.” “Mom’s right,” David chimed in.

“It’d be better for everyone. Mom gets peace, we get space.” Jennifer’s throat tightened.

They’d decided without her. “But I was planning to rent it out,” she made a final attempt. “Extra income would help, especially with Tommy’s medical costs.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Margaret smiled. “I’ll pay you rent. Not as much as strangers, but a decent amount.”

“From what money?” Jennifer asked bluntly. “You only have your pension.” “I have savings from selling my apartment,” Margaret’s lips tightened slightly.

“I didn’t spend it all, you know.” Jennifer barely held back a skeptical smile. In two years of living together, Margaret never offered to chip in for utilities or groceries, yet regularly bragged about her shopping sprees and trips to visit friends.

“How much are you planning to pay?” Jennifer asked. “Say, $500 a month. That’s plenty for family.”

Five hundred dollars. Half the market rate. And Jennifer was sure even that amount would only show up for a month or two before “difficulties” and “unexpected expenses” kicked in.

“I need to think about it,” she said finally. “What’s there to think about?” Margaret threw up her hands. “It’s obvious.

Tell her, David.” “Jen, come on,” he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s better for everyone. Mom, us, Tommy needs his own space, you said so yourself.”

Jennifer looked at her son. Tommy sat in his high chair, smearing puree on his plate. He did need better conditions.

But she knew the price of this decision. “Okay,” she said at last. “But with conditions.

First, we sign a lease, even if informal. Second, payments must be on time, no delays. Third, it’s temporary.

Until you find another place.” Margaret beamed. “Of course, dear.

I understand. Just temporary, two or three months, tops.”

Jennifer nodded, but deep down, she knew: those two or three months would stretch on. Possibly forever. Two months became six, six became a year.

Margaret settled into her grandmother’s apartment, started cosmetic renovations at her own expense: “Don’t worry, Jenny.” And, naturally, forgot her promise to find another place. She paid rent three times, then came the “temporary difficulties” and “unforeseen costs.”

Jennifer worked as a preschool teacher, tutored on the side, and saved every penny for Tommy’s treatment. David, absorbed in work and his own concerns, grew less involved in family issues, often siding with his mother. Then Jennifer learned Margaret was planning a vacation.

“To Dubai? Seriously?” Jennifer couldn’t believe her ears when Margaret casually mentioned it over Sunday brunch. “What’s the big deal?” Margaret shrugged. “Found a great last-minute deal, couldn’t pass it up.

Haven’t had a vacation in two years.” “What about your financial difficulties and no money for rent?” Jennifer didn’t hide her sarcasm. “Well, those are separate budgets,” Margaret pursed her lips.

“I’ve been saving for a trip forever, it’s sacred. Pay that much for a tiny apartment that’d just sit empty?” “Which could bring real income if I rented it at market rate,” Jennifer countered.

“You begrudge your husband’s mother?” Margaret went on the offensive. “I babysit your kids, cook for everyone. Isn’t that enough?” “We didn’t ask you to babysit instead of paying rent.”

“Jen, enough,” David interjected. “Why are you so worked up? Mom’s just taking a trip. She deserves a break.”

“And Tommy? His treatment?” Jennifer asked quietly. “We need money for his next surgery. Every cent counts.”

Jennifer clenched her teeth, holding back a flood of words. How do you explain to these people that a heart defect isn’t a cold you outgrow? How do you convey that money spent on a trip could fund treatment to give her son a normal life? For the first time, Jennifer considered putting an end to this situation. Taking back control of the apartment, her life, her children’s future.

That evening, she sat by Tommy’s crib, watching his pale face, and made a decision that would change everything. Jennifer sat at the kitchen table, reviewing bank statements and medical reports. It was dark outside, but she hadn’t turned on the light—the dimness helped her focus.

The numbers on her laptop screen felt like a mockery. Tommy’s next treatment cost $25,000. They’d saved only $10,000.

Their budget was a patchwork of loans, emergency borrowing, and relentless penny-pinching. Two extra tutoring sessions in the evenings, freelance copywriting at night—still, the money wasn’t enough. The door creaked.

Jennifer quickly closed her laptop. “Not sleeping?” David walked in and opened the fridge. “Calculating costs for Tommy’s surgery,” she rubbed her tired eyes.

“We’re short almost $15,000.” “Mm,” David mumbled, grabbing a beer. “Maybe it’s not urgent? The doctor said we could wait till fall.”..