My Daughter Earns $215k But I Pay For Her Teslas And Mortgage. When I Cut Her Off To Save Myself From Bankruptcy, She Sued Me For “elder Exploitation.” Am I The Jerk For Choosing My Dream Trip Over Her Luxury Lifestyle?
“I’ve been thinking about my future, about Robert’s dreams and mine. We always wanted to travel, to see the world. I’m 67 now, and I’m realizing that if I don’t do it soon, I might never get the chance.”
“That’s great, Mom. You should totally do that. Maybe a cruise? I’ve heard Alaskan cruises are really nice for, you know, your age group.”
“Actually, I was thinking about Europe. 3 months: Italy, France, Switzerland.”
Jessica’s fork stopped midway to her mouth.
“3 months? That’s… that’s a really long time. What about the kids? You watch them every Thursday after school.”
“I’m sure you and Brad can arrange for after-school care.”
“Mom, that costs money.”
I took a breath.
“Jessica, I need to talk to you about money, about our financial arrangement.”
Now I had her full attention; her phone went down on the table.
“What about it?”
“I’ve been supporting you and Brad for 8 years now. The mortgage, the schools, the cars, the club membership—92 automatic payments every month.”
“We’ve been grateful, Mom. You know we appreciate everything you do,” Jessica said.
“I know, but sweetheart, I’m running out of money. My retirement fund is depleting faster than it should. If I keep going at this rate, I won’t have financial security in my own old age.”
Her expression hardened.
“So what are you saying? You’re cutting us off?”
“I’m saying we need to have a conversation about transitioning to you and Brad managing your own finances. You both have good incomes; you can afford to support yourselves if you make some adjustments.”
“Adjustments?” She said the word like it tasted bitter. “You mean like pulling the kids out of their school, losing our house, destroying the stable life we’ve built for them?”
“Jessica, I’m not trying to destroy anything. I’m just asking you to be responsible for your own expenses.”
She stood up abruptly.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you’re being this selfish. All my life you and Dad were never there, always working, always building your careers, and now, now when we actually need you, you want to go play tourist in Europe?”
“That’s not fair, Jess.”
“You know what’s not fair? Having a mother who would rather spend money on herself than ensure her grandchildren have a good life. Those kids didn’t ask to be born; they deserve stability. They deserve the best education we can give them.”
“On my dime?”
“You have the money. Dad’s insurance, your retirement, this house—you’re sitting on millions of dollars while your own daughter is struggling.”
“You’re not struggling,” I said quietly. “You’re making over $200,000 a year combined. You’re choosing to live beyond your means.”
“We’re done here.” Jessica grabbed her purse. “I can’t even look at you right now. This is so incredibly selfish and hurtful. You’re choosing a vacation over your own grandchildren. What kind of grandmother does that?”
She left before I could answer. The door slammed, rattling the framed photos on the wall. These were photos of family dinners, birthdays, and Christmases—moments when I thought we were close.
I sat alone at my dining table, looking at her half-eaten chicken picata, and cried. But here’s the thing about hitting rock bottom: it clarifies everything.
