“Why?”
Thomas gave a bitter laugh.
“Because you’re a burden, Mom. You always have been. And I need the money now, not twenty years from now.”
For a moment, I didn’t understand what he meant.
“What money?”
“The inheritance. I saw your bank statements last year when you were sick. Two hundred thousand dollars just sitting there while I’m drowning.”
I stared at him in disbelief. That money represented decades of careful saving, sacrifices Richard and I had made, and the security I had built for old age, but Thomas spoke about it as though my savings already belonged to him.
Then he admitted he had accumulated serious gambling debts. In his mind, my age somehow justified taking what I had because I had already “lived my life,” while he believed he deserved access to the money immediately.
“You almost killed your own children.”
Instead of showing remorse, Thomas became defensive.
“That was a calculated risk! I didn’t think you’d give away a hundred-dollar box of chocolates!”
Even Natalie gasped. Yet Thomas continued insisting that the consequences were somehow my responsibility because I had unexpectedly shared the gift instead of eating it myself.
Something changed inside me while I listened to him. For forty years, I had forgiven Thomas too quickly, excused selfishness because I loved him, and confused protecting my son with protecting him from consequences.
