My Son Said Firmly “Pay The Rent Or Move Out!” He Did It In Front Of Twenty Two People At Christmas Dinner. My Daughter In Law Added, “Let’s See How You Manage.” I Packed My Things, Went To My New House… And Stopped Covering Any Extra Costs Or Help I’d Quietly Handled For Them.

Several heads nodded. My uncle George cleared his throat.

“They are right. Rents in this area are impossible. Two thousand five hundred to three thousand a month for a decent apartment.”

“Exactly.” Matthew straightened up in his chair.

“That’s why I always say you have to work hard. No one gives you anything for free in this city.”

I felt a knot in my stomach, but kept serving the turkey. No one looked at me.

No one noticed how my hands gripped the serving spoon harder than necessary. The conversation continued to revolve around money—the cost of living and how hard it was to make ends meet—for people who had just asked for the third bottle of forty-dollar wine. Then it happened.

Matthew wiped his mouth with his napkin, took a sip of wine, and looked directly at me. There was something in his eyes that I recognized immediately—the same determination his father, Anthony, had when he made important decisions. But this time, that look brought nothing good.

“Mom,” he said, in a tone that cut off all conversation. The dining room fell silent. Twenty-five pairs of eyes turned toward me.

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