I raised my stepdaughter, Lily, like she was my own. From the moment I married her father, I loved her unconditionally—school pickups, bedtime stories, birthday parties—I was there. But now that she’s grown, she only calls when she needs money. “Hey, can you help with rent?” “I need a new phone.” At first, I gave without hesitation. But over time, I realized she never called just to talk. No thank-yous, no updates—just requests. I felt like an ATM, not a parent. The final straw came when she asked for a vacation loan while ignoring my birthday. That’s when I finally said no.
She was furious. “You’ve always helped me—why stop now?” I told her, “Because love isn’t a transaction.” I reminded her of everything we’d shared, how I’d stepped in when her own mother walked away. But she didn’t want to hear it. She hung up, and I cried—not because I was angry, but because I felt used. I wasn’t just hurt—I was heartbroken. I’d given her my heart, and she’d reduced it to a wallet.
Days turned into weeks. No calls, no texts. I missed her, but I stood firm. I needed her to see me as more than a source of cash. I talked to my husband, and he supported me. “You’ve done more for her than anyone,” he said. “It’s okay to expect respect.” That validation helped. I wasn’t being cruel—I was setting a boundary. And boundaries, I’ve learned, are a form of love too.
Eventually, Lily reached out. Her tone was different—softer, uncertain. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realize how I made you feel.” We talked for hours. I told her I’d always be here, but I wouldn’t be taken for granted. She cried. So did I. It wasn’t a perfect fix, but it was a start. She promised to do better. I promised to keep my heart open—but guarded.
Now, our relationship is healing. She calls just to chat, sends photos of her life, and even asked me to lunch—her treat. It’s not about the money. It never was. It’s about being seen, valued, and loved for who I am, not what I can give. And for the first time in years, I feel like her mom again—not her bank account.
