I’d been married to David for five years when his 16-year-old son, Josh, came to live with us.
From the start, Josh treated me like an outsider.
Whenever I suggested a family movie night, he’d roll his eyes so dramatically I thought they’d get stuck. I once made his favorite meal, only for him to push the plate away with a disgusted, “That’s not how Mom made it.”
He weaponized the word “Mom” every chance he got.
“You’re not my mother,” he’d snap whenever I tried to support or comfort him. “Stop pretending.”
He’d ridicule my hobbies—like painting watercolors, which he called “grandma art”—and mock me for being from a small town in Ohio. He even teased me about my age, even though I was only twelve years older than him.
Each word he threw at me carried a sting.
I tried to hold it together.
Sometimes I’d cry in private, and David would try to comfort me. “He’ll come around,” he’d whisper. “He’s just dealing with pain.”
But I was in pain too.
When Josh started his senior year of high school, David was a wreck, stressing about how we’d afford college. Josh had decent grades, but not good enough for scholarships, and David’s small business was barely getting by.
That’s when I thought I could help—not to win Josh over, but to give him a shot I never had.
I asked David to bring Josh to the table one evening so we could talk.
I had inherited a sizable sum from my grandmother that had been sitting in savings, untouched. It could easily cover all of Josh’s college expenses.
“I know you two are stressed about paying for college,” I began, doing my best to keep it light, “and I’d really like to help. I can pay for your tuition.”
Josh looked up from his phone with a face full of contempt.
“You can’t buy your way into being my mom.”
The words hit me like a punch to the chest. But what shattered me even more was David’s quiet nod of agreement.
“He’s right,” David said softly.
That moment broke something in me. They turned a sincere offer into an accusation—that I was trying to buy love or approval.
After that, I stayed silent.
I watched as Josh struggled to juggle work and community college. I stayed quiet when David worried about his son’s future. I kept my distance.
Josh eventually stopped acknowledging me altogether. Years passed. He and David stayed in touch, but to me, it was like I never existed.
Until, out of the blue, I got a phone call—from Josh.
Seeing his name on my caller ID made me think I was hallucinating. He had never once called me before.
“I’ve got big news,” he said bluntly. “I’m marrying Kelsey. Dad probably told you about her.”
“Congratulations,” I replied.
“We’re planning a destination wedding in Costa Rica,” he continued. “It’s going to be expensive, so we’re hoping family can chip in.”
He paused, waiting for me to offer.
“We’re only inviting close family,” he added. “So, you won’t be there. But if you actually care about this family, you’ll help make this happen.”
Let me get this straight—you want money for a wedding I’m not even invited to?
“Sorry, Josh,” I said flatly. “I’ll pass.”
He hung up immediately.
When I told David about it later, he looked disappointed.
“Why would you do that? This could’ve been your chance to fix everything.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Fix everything? By throwing money at a wedding I’m not even welcome to attend?”
“You’re being too emotional,” David said, pacing the room. “This is about family. I can’t believe you won’t even try to mend things.”
Then he gave me this icy stare. “Maybe I need to rethink our marriage.”
I was stunned.
All the years I had poured into this family—taking Josh’s cruelty, trying to build bridges—and now I was being told that my worth came down to my willingness to foot the bill.
I looked at David square in the eyes.
“Alright,” I said. “Let’s have dinner Friday. You, me, Josh, and Kelsey. I’ll bring a check.”
He looked relieved and even tried to hug me, but I stepped aside.
They had no idea what I was planning.
Friday evening came, and David set the table like we were expecting royalty.
Josh and Kelsey arrived fashionably late, acting like VIPs. Josh had grown into a sharp version of David, though the coldness in his eyes hadn’t changed.
“This place is cute!” Kelsey gushed, eyeing the décor like she was appraising it. “Josh has told me so much about you.”
I highly doubted that.
Dinner was tense at first, but Kelsey loosened up as she launched into her Pinterest-fueled wedding plans—talking about custom signage and floral arches.
“We’re budgeting around $75,000,” she said breezily. “Give or take.”
I smiled, set my fork down, and excused myself.
I returned with a manila envelope and placed it in the center of the table.
“What’s this?” Josh asked warily.
“It’s a contract,” I said calmly. “There’s a check inside—more than enough to pay for your wedding and your honeymoon.”
Kelsey lit up and reached for it, but I held up a hand.
“Before you take it, I want you to read what you’re agreeing to.”
Josh flipped through the pages. As he read, his jaw tightened.
“It’s simple,” I explained. “In exchange for my financial contribution, you agree to acknowledge me as your mother. You’ll include me in all family functions—weddings, holidays, future milestones. You’ll call me ‘Mom’ and treat me with the respect and courtesy a mother deserves.”
The room went quiet.
David looked like he’d seen a ghost.
Kelsey muttered, “This is insane.”
But Josh didn’t shove the papers away. He stared at them, then at the check. Then, with a grim expression, he picked up a pen and signed.
“Happy now?” he snapped.
“Yes,” I replied, picking up the documents. “Because you just proved that I could buy my way into being your mom. It was always just a matter of finding the right price.”
His face turned white.
I walked to the fireplace, tossed the folder into the flames, and watched as the check and contract burned to ash.
“What the hell?” Josh shouted.
I calmly pulled a second envelope from under the key bowl and handed it to David.
“Divorce papers,” I said simply. “I’ve also been rethinking this marriage.”
David gaped. “Why?”
“Because I refuse to stay in a family where my only value is my wallet.”
Then I turned and walked out—past the expensive table settings, past the good china, past the years I spent trying to be accepted.
At the door, I turned back one last time.
“Good luck with the wedding. I hope you find someone else willing to buy their way in.”
Some things can’t be bought. But the people who try to sell them? They reveal exactly who they are.