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Chapter 3
Emily fidgeted, her fingers nervously twisting the edge of her sleeve. She shot Michael a pleading look, but she didn’t dare say a word.
Michael glanced at me, clearing his throat. “Mom, about the bride price... Emily says it’s pretty high where she’s from.”
I set my teacup down gently, raising an eyebrow. “Oh?”
He shifted in his seat. “If Emily weren’t pregnant, I wouldn’t be asking for help like this. But don’t worry, I’ll pay you back once I start working. Think of it as a loan.”
I sighed dramatically, like I was carrying the weight of the world. “Michael, let’s be honest. Your university expenses drained us. We don’t have any savings left.”
Michael’s polite mask cracked. “How much could I have possibly spent? Are you seriously using that as an excuse not to help me?”
“What kind of parents don’t prepare a house and car for their son? You only think about yourselves! If I can’t get married, don’t expect me to take care of you in your old age!”
“Go rot in some rundown nursing home for all I care!”
Ah, there it was—his true nature, plain as day. My good son, only grateful as long as we acted like his personal ATM.
My husband’s face turned red, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I squeezed his hand under the table, stopping him.
“Michael,” I said, keeping my tone calm, “it’s not that we don’t want to help. We saved $50,000 for you. But…” I paused, letting the silence hang before continuing, “you’ve already spent it.”
His brow furrowed, but I pressed on.
“Your monthly expenses? $20,000 since your sophomore year. That’s three years of us sending you money, Michael. And then there was that time you ‘broke your leg’ and needed $5,000 for surgery.”
I leaned back, giving him a pointed look. “That’s $52,000, gone. Your wedding fund? You spent it.”
Michael’s face turned an angry shade of red. “There’s no way I spent that much! You’re just making excuses because you don’t want to help!”
“I’ve never met parents like you,” he sneered. “Since you don’t care about me, I won’t care about you either. Don’t expect me or my son to call you family. My son doesn’t need stingy grandparents!”
“Emily, let’s go!” He stood abruptly, grabbing her hand. “I’ll handle this myself!”
“And you two?” He glared at us. “Keep your precious money. I hope it keeps you warm in your old age!”
The door slammed shut behind them, and Emily, bless her timid heart, kept glancing back at me, looking like a lost puppy.
When the dust settled, my husband let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Honey, we still have some savings. Why not just help him out? He’s our son.”
I turned to him, the man I’d shared decades of my life with, and asked, “Do you really think a son like that will take care of us when we’re old?”
He fell silent, his expression clouding over as he realized I was right.
Finally, he sighed again, this time in resignation. “Fine. It’s just the two of us now. At least we won’t have to deal with his mess anymore.”