I also started taking a closer look at other investments I had made over the years.
The dining room where my mom worked – I bought it three years ago when the original owner wanted to close it down.
I retained my mother’s former boss as manager, as well as most of the original staff, but invested heavily in renovations and equipment upgrades.
Now it was bringing in a decent profit.
Time to sell it.
The house Jessica and Mark are renting is also mine.
I bought it as an investment property and rented it to them for a price well below market price.
They pay $1,200 a month for a house that should actually cost $2,000 a month.
Their lease was subject to month-to-month termination, so I drafted a notice stating that the rent would increase to market rate starting the following month.
I spent Monday and Tuesday getting it all in motion: making phone calls, signing documents, scheduling meetings with lawyers and real estate agents.
I worked methodically and thoroughly.
No emotions.
Just business.
Meanwhile, my phone rang.
On Sunday evening, my mother called and complained that I had left the table early and embarrassed her in front of Marek’s parents.
She left three voicemails demanding that I call her back and explain.
Jessica sent me several messages asking why I was being so dramatic and saying that Sarah needed to toughen up if she wanted to be a mother.
I did not respond to any of these messages.
On Wednesday morning, my mother’s credit card was declined at the supermarket.
She called me immediately, panicked.
“David, there’s something wrong with my card. The bank says there’s no money in my account. Can you solve this?”
“There’s nothing to fix, Mom,” I told her calmly. “I won’t be depositing any more money into your account.”
Silence.
Then:
“What do you mean you quit? Why would you do that?”
– I think you know why.
– This is about Saturday night, right?
“You’re punishing me for trying to maintain certain standards in a good restaurant.”
“I’m not punishing anyone. I’m just not paying for your lifestyle anymore.”
Then she started screaming, demanding to know how to pay the bills, how to get food, what to do.
I let her breathe for a few minutes.
Then I said, “You’ll find out, like most people.”
“But David, I can’t work. Because of the arthritis.”
“You can apply for benefits. You can get food stamps. You can adjust your living situation.”
“You have options, Mom. You just don’t like them.”
On Thursday morning, Jessica called.
She was crying.
“David, what are you doing? My mother called me, completely upset. She says you’ve cut off all contact with her and my car insurance has been canceled.”
“Yes,” I said. “I stopped paying for everyone’s insurance, cars, housing benefits, credit cards, and savings accounts.”
“You can’t just abandon your family.”
“I won’t let anyone down. I just won’t financially support anyone’s lifestyle anymore. That makes a difference.”
“But we rely on you.”
“Yes, I know. That’s the problem.”
“This is crazy. You’re ruining our lives over one dinner.”
“No, Jessica, I’m not destroying anything. I’m just not investing my own money in it anymore.
On Friday, the real estate agent called me and said we had received an offer on my mother’s house.
It was a good offer, close to the asking price.
I accepted it.
That evening my mother came to our house.
Sarah was resting upstairs, and when I opened the door, my mother was standing there with red eyes and a desperate look on her face.
«Please, David, we need to talk.»
I let her in and we sat down in the living room.
She looked around our house—a house I bought and decorated, full of beautiful furniture and art—and I noticed she was mentally calculating.
“I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she said. “I raised you. I sacrificed everything for you and Jessica after your father died. How can you just abandon me?”
“You didn’t abandon me, Mom,” I said. “You did what parents should do. You took care of your children.”
“But I am no longer your child and you no longer have a right to my money.”
“But I can’t do it without your help.”
“Of course you can. You just can’t live like this.”
She paused for a moment, then said, “This is about Sarah, isn’t it? You’re choosing her over your own family.”
“It’s about respect. You treated my pregnant wife like trash. You humiliated her publicly.”
“You told her to eat in the bathroom because she was making you feel uncomfortable.
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