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

“Are you insane?” David’s voice crackled with rage. “You blindsided Mom? Without me?” “We talked about it yesterday,” Jennifer replied calmly. “I said I’d deliver the notice, and I did.”

“But we didn’t agree. I didn’t approve.” “I didn’t ask for your approval,” Jennifer gripped the phone tighter. “The apartment’s mine, and I manage it as I see fit.” A heavy pause hung on the line.

“Mom’s hysterical,” David said finally. “Says you threatened to throw her out.” “I gave her a choice: pay market rent or find another place.

If that’s a threat to her, we have different definitions.” “Jen,” David took a deep breath, trying to calm down, “let’s pause and think. $1,200 is too much for Mom.

You know her finances.” “I know,” Jennifer confirmed. “I know she blew her apartment sale money on coats, trips, and salons.

Now she wants to live off us while our son needs expensive treatment.” “You can’t blame her for spending her own money.” “I can.

She’s an adult who should own her choices. She spent it all on herself? Fine.

But she can’t expect free housing.” “She’s my mother,” David raised his voice.

“I can’t just kick her out.” “But I can,” Jennifer said firmly. “And I will if she doesn’t meet my terms.”

“Don’t you dare,” David’s voice carried a raw threat. “If you do…” “What?” Jennifer cut in. “What’ll you do, David? Divorce me? Abandon the kids? Go on, finish.” He went silent, breathing heavily.

Finally, he said, “I won’t let this slide. Mom’s not paying $1,200, period.” “Then she has to move,” Jennifer said calmly.

“She’s got one month to find a new place. I won’t extend that deadline.” “We’re not done talking,” David growled and hung up.

Jennifer slowly set the phone down, feeling drained yet oddly relieved. The cards were on the table. No turning back, only forward.

The next few days passed in tense silence. David barely came home, staying late at work or crashing at his mother’s. When he did show up, he hardly spoke to Jennifer, giving short answers about work or chores.

With the kids, he tried to be his old self: playing, reading bedtime stories, taking them to the park. But once they were asleep, the house sank into oppressive quiet. One evening, as Jennifer sat at the kitchen table reviewing bills on her laptop, David sat across from her.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said without preamble. “I found a compromise.” Jennifer looked up, bracing for another round of negotiations.

“I’m listening.” “$1,000,” David slid a sheet of calculations across the table. “Mom pays $600, I cover $400 from my personal funds.

Not the family budget.” Jennifer studied the numbers. “Why not $1,200? Why should I lose $200 a month?” “Because she’s my mother, damn it,” David slammed his fist on the table. “I can’t charge her full market rate.” “You can,” Jennifer said calmly.

“But you won’t. You’re asking me to shoulder part of your moral duty.” David pinched the bridge of his nose, reining in his frustration.

“Jen, let’s be real. If you push this, it’s over. Our marriage, our family, everything.

Are you ready to risk that over $200?” “Not $200,” Jennifer shook her head. “Principle. Your mother needs to learn she can’t manipulate us.

Our family and kids come before her comfort.” “This is a compromise. A solution where everyone’s mostly okay.”..