I married David five years before his teenage son, Josh, moved in. From the beginning, Josh made his stance clear: I wasn’t his mom, and I never would be. He mocked my every effort—my cooking, my taste in music, even how I spoke. I gave everything I had to build a bond, but he gave me nothing back.

By his senior year, college was around the corner and money was tight. I had an inheritance that could have paid his tuition, so I offered—no strings, just support. He looked me in the eye and said, “You can’t buy your way into being my mom.” David backed him up. That day, I stopped trying.