You spend your life believing love and sacrifice will be enough. That family will protect you. But sometimes, love just makes you easier to use.
I’m Annie, 60, a widow who raised my son Thomas alone. I scrubbed floors, gave him everything—even $40,000 to buy the apartment down the hall from mine. I help raise their son, Max, who gifted me a toy walkie-talkie.
One night, it crackled on. I overheard Lila mocking me, planning to rent my room, laughing at how I overpay for daycare. Thomas joined in. “When she’s too old to be useful…”
They came over for my birthday with fake smiles and cake. I smiled too, then toasted, calmly exposing everything I’d heard. I handed them a $500 check—for actual daycare costs—and ended the free ride.
That night, Max’s voice came through the walkie-talkie: “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, baby. You did something very right.”
The truth hurt—but it set me free. From now on, my time and love go to the only one who gave without taking: Max.
