Chapter 1

My husband and I scrimped and saved through half a lifetime of hardship.

The one time we ever let loose was a single week's vacation.

When we got back, our son and daughter-in-law were waiting for us at home.

They laid into us: "Why are you two getting more foolish the older you get?"

We were furious: "We're spending our own money. How does that hurt you?"

Our son shouted, "You're spending my money!"

"Everything you have is going to be mine one day!"

"The more you spend, the less is left for me!"

We were stunned by how shameless they were.

What we never saw coming was this: when they couldn't bully us into signing our assets over to them—

these two actually started policing every penny we spent!

Groceries couldn't cost more than five dollars! No air conditioning even when it hit a hundred degrees!

Even going to the bathroom, we were only allowed two squares of toilet paper!

And the worst of it: to save a little on medicine—

they landed my husband in the ICU, fighting for his life!

You want it all so badly, don't you? You think it's yours by right, don't you?

Well, we're going to spend every last cent of our money!

And then we'll shamelessly burn through every cent of your savings too!

...

My husband and I stood there holding our suitcases, not even a place to sit.

The two of them had taken over our home like a cuckoo in another bird's nest, and now put us on trial one after the other.

Our son, Thaddeus, sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Mom, Dad, aren't you two living it up."

"A trip like that couldn't have cost less than ten grand, right?"

"With that kind of money, couldn't you have helped me pay down my mortgage early?"

His wife, Edwina, was half-reclined on the other side, her eyes locked on the two boxes of local specialties we'd brought back.

"Mom, don't blame us for butting in, but you two got taken for a ride!"

"Those specialty things are just a scam for old folks like you. You can get them online for half the price!"

"With brains like yours, you're exactly the type to get suckered by a pyramid scheme someday."

My husband and I both frowned, anger rising bit by bit.

Our son glanced at us and, far from backing off, kept twisting the knife.

"Mom, Dad, spending like this just won't do. You've got to think long term!"

"Look, I'm your only son, and I've got my own family and career now."

"Here's what we'll do: you transfer all the family savings to me and sign this house over to me too."

"And your monthly pension checks, transfer those to me every month as well."

"I'll manage it all for you, so you don't fritter it away."

My husband and I looked at each other, and I saw the same disbelief in his eyes.

"Sure," I said with a cold laugh.

"This time it's not thirty or fifty thousand you're after—now you want to take it all in one go?"

"If we hand everything over to you, how are we supposed to live?"

Our son didn't care, just leaned back into the sofa.

"You're old now, you eat and drink at home—how much can you possibly spend?"

"We'll give you eight hundred or a thousand a month for living expenses. That's plenty."

My brows knit deeper and deeper—none of it sounded like anything a human being would say.

"Eight hundred or a thousand? Plenty? Plenty for what? Plenty to live on scraps and weeds?"

"Even if we don't spend much, old people get sick all the time, and that costs money, doesn't it?"

His wife jumped in at once, smiling that phony smile.

"Mom, the way you talk, you'd think we were so undutiful."

"If you two got sick, how could we not take care of you? Of course we'd take you to the doctor."

Take care of us, my foot.

I gave a cold snort.

We bought our son a car, a house, and paid for his wedding—we emptied most of a lifetime's savings.

And we've never seen a penny from him, never once eaten a meal he cooked.

After he married, it only got worse—he never came around for the holidays or festivals.

The occasional phone call was always crying poverty and playing the victim, every other sentence about money.

Every time he came empty-handed and left with both pockets full.

Like locusts, they stripped our home bare.

Thinking about all this, I couldn't be bothered to waste any more words on them.

"Don't even dream about it. Our money is still ours."

"When we're dead, then it'll be yours."

Our son shot to his feet.

"Mom, what's that supposed to mean?"

"They say you raise kids so they'll look after you when you're old—and here you are, guarding yourself against me?"

"Drawing such hard lines makes my heart go cold. Don't blame me if I stop looking after you from now on!"

My husband was so furious he slammed the luggage down hard on the floor.

"Are you threatening me?"

"You think I'd ever count on you to look after us? A son like you—we'd be better off without one!"

"Dad, why do you get more and more—" our son craned his neck, itching to fight.

"Shut up!" I cut him off coldly.

"Enough arguing. I'll say it once and for all today."

"You want our property? Not a chance!"

Our son wouldn't accept it and kept ranting at the top of his voice.

His wife chimed in beside him, playing the good cop.

Saying things like, "These days scammers go after the elderly. It's not safe with the money in your hands."

And, "We're all one family. Pooling the money together keeps us more united."

No matter how sweetly they spun it, my husband and I would not give an inch.

Finally our son took a deep breath, as if he were making some enormous concession.

"All right then, we'll move back in with you."

His wife jumped right in, her tone sickeningly soft.

"That's right, and we can take good care of you two properly."

Take care of us? More like keep an eye on us.