I’m 34 years old and my name is David. Sarah, my wife, is 28 and pregnant with our first kid.
This book is about family, respect, and the lessons people need to learn when they forget who makes them feel better.
When we were kids, we didn’t have a lot of money. When I was sixteen, my father died, and we were left with a lot of medical costs. To support us, my mother worked two shifts at the café down the street, and I started doing tiny jobs as soon as I could. Jessica, my sister, was four years younger than me, so life was a little easier for her because I was already helping her.
I worked nonstop to pay for school, and eventually I landed a good job in private equity. As my career took off, I took care of my family. Five years ago, I paid off my mother’s debts and put the deed to her house in my name so I wouldn’t have to pay taxes on it or inherit it. When she had arthritis, I gave her a monthly allowance that paid for all she needed. I was glad to pay for the whole wedding when Jessica got engaged to Mark, who works in IT and is quite serious.
But as the years went by and my money got better, I noticed a troubling change: people no longer considered my help as a kind thing to do, but as a right. They began to behave like my contributions were going to happen for sure. How they treated Sarah also demonstrated how full of themselves they had become.
Sarah is a preschool teacher who grew up in an impoverished family. She is brilliant, pleasant, and kind. But right from the start, my mom and Jessica made light of her profession and her modest upbringing to show that she wasn’t good enough for me. People were even more critical of Sarah after she got pregnant.
Last weekend was Jessica and Mark’s first wedding anniversary. My mom made plans for a party supper at Bella Vista, a nice Italian restaurant in the city. She knew I would have to pay for it. I didn’t care.
We sat down at six o’clock. Sarah looked great in a dark blue outfit that showed off her baby bump. It costs more than €800 to feed eight people in a place like this, but I told my mom to purchase what she wanted.
Things grew tense right away when drinks were ordered. Sarah wanted sparkling water with a lemon flavor. My mom chuckled and said, “Oh, you can’t drink anything fun now,” but it made me feel cold all over.
Jessica said right away, “Sarah, I heard that drinks with bubbles aren’t good for the baby.” Sarah calmly told Jessica that her doctor had given her the go-ahead, but Jessica kept adding, “Better safe than sorry.” Mothers have to give up things. Sarah’s jaw tightened, but she nodded and modified her order. That was the first hit.
The food showed what truly transpired.
Sarah ordered seafood risotto, but halfway through, she got pale and stated she needed to use the restroom. Morning sickness doesn’t care what time it is or where you are. She had been having difficulties for weeks. She came back feeling better, but she said she wanted a vacation.
At that point, my mom exclaimed, “Sarah, if you’re sick, you should eat in the bathroom.” We’re here to eat a great meal because it’s Jessica’s special night.
The table got quiet. Mark’s parents looked terrified. I was too angry to say anything. My mom replied, “If you’re pregnant and can’t calm down, you shouldn’t stay at the table.” It makes other folks mad.
Jessica stood up and stated with a sneer, “Mom’s right.” All of this is making your night worse. “You should have stayed home.”
Sarah’s eyes were watery, but she held them back and claimed she was sorry. This just made me more upset. People were making fun of her since she was going through with her pregnancy.
I didn’t shout. I smiled instead, stood up, and walked up to Sarah. I held out my hand and said, “Let’s go home, sweetheart.” She went from doubt to relief on her face. I took her purse, picked up the piece of cake I had laid out, and told everyone at the table to “Please enjoy the evening.” I hope everything is going well for you.
We went out together.
Sarah had a panic attack in the automobile. “I’m sorry, David.” I ruined Jessica’s celebration.
I told her firmly, “Don’t say you’re sorry.” “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
I made her tea at home. She was tired and went to bed at 10 p.m. But I went to work and started calling folks. My mom and Jessica seemed like they forgot that comfort doesn’t just happen. I had to pay for everything, from utilities to snacks to extra money. They were mistaken to believe they could insult my wife and yet need my aid.
I halted all automatic payments to my mother’s account, cut off her utilities from my card, and told the bank that I would cease paying the mortgage on the house that was in my name by Monday. They put the house on the market. I closed Jessica’s joint account, her automobile insurance, and the credit card that was in my name.
I was the owner of the rental house where Jessica and Mark lived and the cafe where my mother used to work. I made the decision to sell the diner and raise their rent to what it would be worth on the open market.
I started getting calls and texts on my phone—complaints, accusations, and desperate pleas. I didn’t pay any attention to them.
The grocery store wouldn’t take my mother’s card on Wednesday morning. She called me in a hurry. “David, my card isn’t working!” The bank says there isn’t any cash.
I answered, “There isn’t.” “I stopped the transfers.”
A break. “What? Over Saturday? “You’re punishing me!”
“I don’t punish anyone,” I said. “I just don’t pay for ways of living anymore.”
She yelled, “How am I going to pay my debts?” I told them, “You will figure it out.” “Like everyone else.”
The next day, Jessica cried over the phone and pleaded, “You can’t just leave us!”
I said, “I’m not leaving anyone behind.” “I won’t give you any more money.”
It was clear what the consequences were after a few weeks. Because she had to sell her house, my mom had to relocate into a modest apartment in the outskirts for €1,200 a month instead of €3,000. Jessica and Mark also found smaller places to live, and Jessica worked longer hours at the hospital.
But the biggest change was how they acted toward Sarah. They stated they were sorry, sent her flowers, and even offered to throw her a baby shower out of the blue. Sarah replied no in a courteous but cautious way.
Sarah’s family had their own baby shower six weeks later. Jessica and my mom left out of respect. Sarah’s relatives, who were mostly teachers, nurses, and small business owners, were very friendly. The difference was significant. My mom and Jessica were too kind and brought gifts that were too huge for them to pay for.
My mom pulled me aside later. “You’ve made your point.” We were wrong about Sarah, and we apologize. But how long will this romance last? “When will we be a family again?”
“We already are,” I said. “But with new rules.”
“David, I’m having a hard time.” The area is unsafe, and my apartment is small.
I remarked, “You live like people who never thought about retirement.” “I’ll help you with medical emergencies, but I won’t pay for your lifestyle anymore.”
“What’s the difference?” She pushed.
I said, “Respect.” “The right to be treated well.”
Three months later, Sarah gave birth to Tommy. My mom and Jessica came immediately with gifts and love, but I could tell what they truly wanted: for the youngster to give them their money back. It didn’t.
They can see their grandchild, but they will never get any money from him again. My mom has gotten adjusted to things; she has made friends and even volunteers in the region. Jessica and Mark have experienced a lot of trouble, but their marriage got stronger as they learned how to be on their own.
The most important thing is that Sarah is now respected. No matter what made them change, it’s evident that no one will ever treat my wife like a burden again.
People want to know if I wish I hadn’t done it. I don’t regret anything at all. That dinner merely confirmed what I already knew: my wife deserves more, and my son needs a family that cares about his mother. When you are giving, you have to have expectations, and the most important one is to show respect. People who can’t appreciate it will have to deal with the repercussions. Sometimes the best thing you can do is let people learn from real life.
