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

“Plenty of people work at 60, 65,” Jennifer countered. “Your mom’s healthy, educated, she could find something manageable. Clerk, consultant—there’s plenty for older folks.”

“She’s earned her rest,” David said stubbornly. “Rest is living off your savings or pension,” Jennifer’s patience waned.

“When you live off your kids, who are scraping by, that’s freeloading.” “Don’t call my mother that!” David slammed his fist on the table. “What else should I call it?” Jennifer raised her voice.

“She sold her apartment, blew the money on luxuries, and now expects us to support her. Why?” “Because we’re family.” “Family means mutual support,” Jennifer opened the medical folder. “Here. Tommy’s surgery—$25,000.

We’ve got $10,000. Renting for $1,200, we’d cover the rest in five months. Meanwhile, your mom lives in my apartment free and jets off to resorts.”

David glanced at the documents but quickly looked away. “Why dramatize? Tommy doesn’t need surgery right now. The doctor said we can wait.”

“He said sooner is better, before fall,” Jennifer felt her anger surge. “Don’t you get it? This is your son’s health.

His future.” “I get it,” David snapped. “But you don’t solve one problem by creating another.

Where’s Mom supposed to go?” “That’s her problem,” Jennifer said harshly. “She’s a grown woman, let her make grown-up choices. Get a job, rent a room, share with friends.

There are options. I won’t let her live off us while our son needs treatment.” David stared into space, silent.

Then he met her eyes, his gaze heavy. “You’re making me choose between my mother and my wife?” “No,” Jennifer shook her head. “Between your mother and your son.”

“And if you choose your mother?” She swallowed hard. “Maybe we need to rethink our marriage.” David paled. “You’re threatening divorce?” “I’m stating a fact,” Jennifer said quietly.

“I can’t stay with someone who puts his mother’s comfort over our child’s health. That’s not the foundation for a family.” “What about respect for elders?” David’s voice rose.

“Isn’t that a value?” “Respect goes both ways,” Jennifer rubbed her eyes wearily. “Your mother doesn’t respect me, our decisions, or our financial reality. She manipulates you, using her love as leverage.

And you let her.” “Because she’s my mother,” David stood.

“I owe her everything.” “And you owe nothing to your kids?” Jennifer stood too. “Or is your debt only to her, not your son?”

They faced each other across the table, divided by a chasm of misunderstanding. Jennifer saw pain and confusion in David’s eyes, but also stubbornness. He wasn’t backing down.

“I won’t choose,” David said finally. “You need to find a compromise.” “$600 is fair for family.”

“No,” Jennifer said firmly. “$1,200 or she finds another place. That’s my final word.”

“Then I don’t know what’s next,” David shook his head. “I can’t support you on this.” “Then you’ve made your choice,” a tear rolled down Jennifer’s cheek.

“And it’s not your family.” David stared at her, his eyes a mix of anger, regret, and strange resolve. “I need to think,” he said.

“I’ll sleep here tonight, and tomorrow we’ll figure it out.” Jennifer nodded, her voice failing her. That night, they slept apart.

David on the living room couch, she in the bedroom, listening to the kids’ breathing and wondering how her life had unraveled. Morning came, and David left early, before she woke. A note on the kitchen table read: “We’ll talk tonight.

Need to think it over.” Jennifer crumpled it and tossed it in the trash. What was there to think about? Choosing between a mother’s comfort and a child’s health seemed obvious to her.

That David saw it as a dilemma said everything. Work dragged on endlessly. Jennifer went through the motions at the preschool, smiling at kids and parents, but her mind was elsewhere.

What if David chose his mother? Could she raise two kids alone, with a mortgage and Tommy’s illness? The thought made her nauseous. During her lunch break, she called Lisa. “Any progress on finding tenants?” she asked without preamble.

“Got three interested already,” Lisa replied cheerfully. “A couple with a kid, a college girl with her mom, and a young businessman. All ready to pay your price.

When do we show the apartment?” Jennifer hesitated. Logically, she should wait for Margaret’s decision: pay market rate or move out. But something told her waiting was pointless.

“Next week,” she decided. “I’m sending Margaret a formal notice today, giving her a week to decide. If she refuses to pay, we’ll start showings.”

“She might just refuse to leave,” Lisa warned. “Then it’s court, and that takes time.” “I know,” Jennifer sighed.

“But I hope it won’t come to that. Worst case, I’ll change the locks when she’s out.” “Risky,” Lisa cautioned.

“But sometimes that’s the only way. Keep me posted, okay?” After work, Jennifer picked up the kids and drove home. Her phone pinged with a text.

From David: “Stuck at work. Home late, don’t wait.” She bit her lip, swallowing irritation.

Classic avoidance—hiding behind work to dodge tough decisions. David came home past midnight. Jennifer was awake, sitting in the kitchen with a cold cup of tea.

He froze in the doorway, clearly hoping to slip in unnoticed. “Why so late?” she asked, though the answer was obvious. “Work stuff,” he waved vaguely.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” “Waiting for you,” Jennifer met his eyes. “You said we’d talk tonight.” David sighed and sat across from her.

“I talked to Mom,” he began. “She’ll pay $800. That’s her final offer.”

“My final offer is $1,200,” Jennifer replied calmly. “Market rate, minus a small family discount.” “Jen, that’s too much,” David ran a hand through his hair, annoyed. “Mom’s pension is only $600. Where’s she getting $1,200?” “From the same place she gets money for coats, spas, and Dubai trips,” Jennifer shrugged.

“If she can afford that, she can afford rent.” “You know that’s different,” David grimaced. “She has some savings from her apartment sale, but they’re not endless.”

“Exactly,” Jennifer leaned forward. “She sold her place, spent the money on herself, and now wants us to cover her. That’s not fair.

$1,200 is the market rate.” Jennifer was losing patience. “I already discounted $200.

Want her to pay less? Cover the difference yourself. From your pocket, not our budget.” David drummed his fingers on the table, silent…