My Son Broke My Car When I Refused To Give Him The Money From Selling My Farm. But Then…

“You selfish old woman. We’ve been counting on that money.”

And there it was, the truth, finally out in the open.

“Honey,” I said, standing up myself and letting all sixty-eight years of dealing with entitled nonsense show in my voice, “you’ve been counting chickens that were never going to hatch. This is my money from my land that I worked for my entire adult life.”

Derek wasn’t done, though.

“Mom, you don’t understand. We’ve already made commitments based on—”

“Based on money that was never yours to begin with,” I finished. “Derek, that’s called poor financial planning. Not my problem.”

The kitchen went quiet except for the tick of Joe’s old wall clock.

Finally, Derek played what he thought was his trump card.