I married David when his son Josh was 16. From the moment he moved in, Josh treated me like the enemy. If I suggested a movie night, he rolled his eyes. If I cooked his favorite meal, he’d sneer, “This isn’t how Mom made it.” Every word was sharp, every glance hostile.
David tried to reassure me: “He’s just hurting.” But I was hurting too.
By Josh’s senior year, David was stressed about tuition. His grades were decent but not scholarship-worthy, and David’s business was struggling. I had an inheritance from my grandmother—enough to cover Josh’s college.
One evening, I offered: “I can pay your tuition.”
Josh looked up from his phone, disgusted. “You can’t buy your way into being my mom.”
David nodded. “He’s right.”
Their words cut deep. I backed off completely. When Josh juggled part-time jobs and community college, I stayed silent. I knew my place.
Josh never called me—until one day, his name flashed on my phone.
“I’m getting married to Kelsey,” he announced. “We want a destination wedding in Costa Rica. It’s expensive, so we’re hoping family can help.”
Then came the kicker: “You won’t be invited, but if you care about this family, you’ll help pay.”
I refused. “You want me to fund a wedding I’m not invited to? I’ll pass.”
Josh hung up. David was furious. “This was your chance to fix things!” he said coldly. “Maybe I should reconsider our marriage.”
I agreed to meet Josh and Kelsey for dinner. They arrived late, acting entitled. Kelsey gushed about their $75,000 wedding plans.
I excused myself, returned with a folder. Inside was a check—more than enough for their wedding—and a contract.
“In exchange,” I said calmly, “you’ll acknowledge me as your mother. I’ll be included in all family gatherings, holidays, milestones. You’ll call me Mom and treat me with respect.”
Josh’s jaw tightened. Finally, he signed.
“Happy now?” he sneered.
“Yes,” I replied, “because you just proved I could buy my way into being your mom all along.”
Then I tossed the folder into the fireplace. Flames consumed the check and contract.
From beneath a bowl, I pulled another envelope. I placed it before David.
“Divorce papers,” I said. “I’ve been reconsidering our marriage too. I won’t be part of a family where my only value is a checkbook.”
I walked out, leaving them stunned.
“Good luck with the wedding,” I said at the door. “Find someone else willing to buy their way in.”
