Five years later, Josh called out of the blue. Not to reconnect—but to ask for money for his destination wedding. I wasn’t invited. “If you care about this family, you’ll help,” he said. David echoed him: “This is your chance to fix things.” Fix what—being treated like a stranger for years?
I agreed to meet. Over dinner, they bragged about a $75,000 dream wedding. I left the table and returned with a folder: a check—and a contract. Josh had to agree to call me Mom, invite me to family events, treat me as more than a wallet. He signed. I smiled, then tossed it all into the fireplace. “You just proved I could buy my way in,” I said. Then I handed David an envelope—divorce papers. I won’t be part of a family that only sees my value in dollars.
