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?

When I’m in Rome, I’ll eat gelato and think of you. I’ll send you postcards from every city I visit, and I promise I’ll bring you back something purple. You and Mason are always welcome in my home and in my heart.

The door is open whenever you want to visit, but you’ll have to come with honesty and respect, not entitlement. I love you more than words can say. Grandma Linda.

P.S. You’re going to survive sharing a room with your brother; it might even be fun. P.S. You’re wise beyond your years, and I’m so proud of the person you’re becoming.

Wanderlust Realized

I mailed it that afternoon and immediately called Mr. Chen to add a codicil to my estate planning. The educational trust funds for Olivia and Mason were ironclad. No matter what happened between me and Jessica, my grandchildren would have their college paid for.

Two days later, I boarded a plane to Rome. Europe was everything I dreamed it would be. I ate pasta in trattorias where no one spoke English.

I stood in the Sistine Chapel and cried at the beauty. I rode trains through the Swiss Alps and drank wine in French cafes and felt, for the first time in 8 years, like myself again. Not Linda the widow, not Linda the enabler, not Linda the ATM. Just Linda.

A woman who’d worked hard her whole life and finally, finally was living for herself. I sent Olivia postcards from every city.

Rome: The gelato here is amazing! Had three flavors today and thought of you. Paris: Saw the Eiffel Tower sparkle at night. Magic is real. Switzerland: Found a purple Swiss Army knife with your name on it. Literally.

I didn’t hear from Jessica once during those three months. But I got two more letters from Olivia, telling me about her new school—public, not private, but she liked it. She told me about her new room—Mason wasn’t as annoying as she thought—and how Dad was working harder and Mom seemed less stressed.

When I came home, tanned and energized and fundamentally changed, there was a message on my answering machine.

“Mom, it’s Jessica. We need to talk. Please call me when you get this.”

I didn’t call right away. I unpacked, did my laundry, and organized my photos. Then, on my own timeline, I picked up the phone.

“Hello, Jess. It’s Mom. I got your message.”

There was a long pause.

“How was Europe?”

“It was beautiful. Exactly what I needed.”

There was another pause.

“Mom, I… I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. We had to make a lot of changes. Brad got a second job. We sold one of the Teslas. The kids are in public school now, which is actually… it’s actually fine. We moved to a smaller house. We quit the country club. And you know what? We’re managing. It’s tight, but we’re managing.”

“I’m glad to hear that, sweetheart.”

“I was so angry at you for months. I was furious. I thought you were being selfish and cruel and punishing us for no reason. And now…” She laughed, but there were tears in it. “Now I think maybe you saved us. We were drowning in a lifestyle we couldn’t afford, and we were so used to you throwing us life preservers that we forgot how to swim. We got dependent. Entitled. I got entitled.”

“Jess…”

“No, let me say this. I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry for taking advantage of you. I’m sorry for calling you selfish when you were just trying to survive. I’m sorry for lying to the school and getting lawyers involved and all of it. You deserved better from me.”