Pretending To Be In A Tight Spot, I Asked For One Safe Night Indoors. My Well-Off Kids Said It Wouldn’t Work. Only My Youngest Son, A Teacher, Took Me In, Ready To Sell His Wedding Ring To Cover Groceries. Next Morning, My Lawyer Arrived With A $100m Check, And Their Expressions Changed…

The vacation home in Vermont that I’d let them use so often it became theirs in everything but name until I finally signed it over to avoid the guilt trips. The doorbell rang precisely at 6. Through the peepphole, I could see Sandra adjusting her designer handbag, the one I’d bought her for her birthday last year, while Donald checked his Rolex.

They looked like a successful couple, which they were, thanks in large part to my generosity over the years. Sandra worked as a marketing director for a tech company, pulling in six figures. Donald was a financial adviser who managed wealthy clients portfolios with the same calculating precision he brought to every family interaction.

“Hi, Mom.”

Sandra’s hug was brief, peruncter. She was 45 now with the kind of carefully maintained appearance that came from expensive salons and regular personal training sessions. Her dark hair was pulled back in a sleek Shinon, not a strand out of place.

“You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

I lied, leading them to the living room. The space still reflected Richards and my taste. Warm woods, comfortable fabrics, family photos that told the story of better times.

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