Tears dripped onto the screen, distorting the cruel words into a watery blur.
The daughter I had cherished. The girl I had spoiled and sacrificed *everything* for.
A heartless ingrate.
That "2,000-buck subsidy" she bragged about? It didn't even cover a week of their groceries.
They demanded fish and meat at every meal. Jade insisted on imported fruits and premium milk. On weekends, they dragged me out to "enjoy myself" at fancy restaurants—only to wait for me to pick up the check.
Every month, I had to ask my husband for money just to keep their fridge full.
I was *paying* to be their servant.
And why didn't I use my own pension for daily expenses?
Because Jade had cried poor.
"Mom, the mortgage and car payments are crushing us," she had sobbed years ago. "Can you help? Otherwise, I can't stay home and recover from the birth in peace!"
I felt sorry for her. I foolishly bound my salary card to their mortgage account.
For seven years, 5,000 bucks vanished from my account every month like clockwork.
And now she had the *audacity* to nitpick a 2,000-buck "allowance"?
As for Savannah's breakfast?