I’m David and I’m 34 years old. Sarah, my wife, is 28 years old and pregnant with our first kid.
This book is about family, respect, and the lessons people need to learn when they forget who really makes them feel better.
We didn’t have a lot of money when we were kids. When I was sixteen, my father died, and we had to pay a lot of hospital bills. To support us, my mother worked two shifts at the café down the street. As soon as I could, I started doing tiny jobs. Jessica was my sister, and she was four years younger than me. This made things a little easier for her because I was already helping her.
I worked hard to pay for school, and later I earned a good job in private equity. I took care of my family as my career took off. Five years ago, I paid off my mother’s bills and put the deed to her house in my name so I wouldn’t have to pay taxes on it or get it. I gave her a monthly allowance that covered all of her requirements when she developed arthritis. I was pleased to pay for the whole wedding when Jessica became engaged to Mark, who works in IT.
But as the years went by and I gained more money, I noticed a troubling change: people no longer considered my help as a nice thing to do, but as a right. They began to act as if my help was certain. They were also very rude to Sarah, which showed how full of themselves they had become.
Sarah is a preschool teacher. She grew up in a disadvantaged family. She is clever, nice, and polite. But from the start, my mom and Jessica made fun of her profession and her humble origins to show me that she wasn’t good enough for me. After Sarah got pregnant, the criticism got worse.
Last weekend was Jessica and Mark’s first wedding anniversary. My parents planned a celebration supper at Bella Vista, a fine Italian restaurant in the city, knowing I would have to pay for it. I didn’t care.
We sat down at exactly 6 p.m. Sarah looked great in a dark blue dress 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 order whatever she wanted.
Things grew tense right away when drinks were ordered. Sarah wanted sparkling water with lemon flavor. My mom chuckled and said, “Oh, you can’t drink anything fun now,” but it made me feel cold all over.
“Sarah, I heard that drinks with bubbles aren’t good for the baby,” Jessica said right away. Jessica kept screaming, “Better safe than sorry,” even though Sarah calmly reminded her that her doctor had given her the go-ahead. Being a mom involves giving up things. Sarah’s jaw tightened, but she nodded and modified her order. That was the first hit.
The food told the truth about what transpired.
Sarah ordered seafood risotto, but halfway through, she became pale and said she had to go to the restroom. Morning sickness doesn’t care where or when it happens, and she’d been having difficulties for weeks. She felt more stable when she got back, but she said she needed a vacation.
At that point, my mom exclaimed, “Sarah, if you’re sick, you should probably eat in the bathroom.” We came to eat a great meal because it’s Jessica’s special night.
The people at the table stopped talking. Mark’s mom and dad looked terrified. I was so mad that I couldn’t say anything. “Pregnant women shouldn’t stay at the table if they can’t calm down,” my mom advised. It makes other folks angry.
Jessica stood up and remarked, “Mom’s right,” with a sneer. You are having a bad night because of all of this. “You should have stayed home.”
Sarah’s eyes swelled with tears, but she pulled them back and stated she was sorry. This just made me more angry. People were making fun of her merely because she was going through with her pregnancy.
I didn’t scream. I smiled, stood up, and walked up to Sarah instead. I held out my hand and said, “Come on, love, let’s go home.” Her face changed from doubt to relief. I took her purse, picked up the piece of cake I had laid out, and told the table, “Please have a good night.” I hope you’re doing well.
We went out together.
Sarah lost it in the car. “I’m sorry, David.” I ruined Jessica’s celebration.
I told her firmly, “Don’t apologize.” “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I made her tea at my house. She was tired and went to bed around 10 p.m. But I went to work and started calling folks. My mom and Jessica acted like they forgot that comfort doesn’t just come to you. I had to pay for everything, including utilities, snacks, and extra money. They were mistaken to believe they could insult my wife and yet need my aid.
I told the bank that I would stop paying the mortgage on the home that was in my name by Monday. I also stopped all automatic transfers to my mother’s account and disconnected my card from her utilities. They put the house on the market. I closed the credit card that was in my name, halted Jessica’s joint account, and canceled her car insurance.
I owned the cafe where my mom used to work and the rental home where Jessica and Mark lived. I made the decision to sell the diner and raise their rent to the fair market value.
My phone was vibrating with calls and texts—complaints, accusations, and desperate pleas. I didn’t pay heed to what they said.
The grocery store wouldn’t take my mom’s card on Wednesday morning. She called me in a panic. “David, my card isn’t working!” The bank says there isn’t any cash.
I responded, “No, there isn’t.” “I stopped the transfers.”
A break. “What? Over the weekend? “You are punishing me!”
“I don’t punish anyone,” I said. “I just don’t pay for lifestyles anymore.”
She yelled, “How am I going to pay my bills?” I told you, “You’ll figure it out.” “Like everyone else.”
Jessica cried on the phone the next day and pleaded, “You can’t just leave us!”
“I am not leaving anyone behind,” I said. “I just won’t give you any more money.”
It was clear that the changes had happened within a few weeks. Because she wanted to sell her house quickly, 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 moved into smaller quarters, and Jessica worked extra shifts at the hospital.
But the biggest change was how they handled Sarah. They suddenly apologized, brought flowers, and even offered to throw her a baby shower. Sarah replied no in a courteous but careful way.
Sarah’s family had their own baby shower six weeks later. Jessica and my mom went out of respect. The difference was huge: Sarah’s family, who were mostly teachers, nurses, and small business owners, were very kind. My mom and Jessica were too nice and brought gifts that were too huge for them to pay for.
Later, my mom pulled me aside. “You’ve made your point.” We were wrong about Sarah, and we’re sorry. But how long will this romance last? “When will we be a family again?”
I said, “We are already.” “But with new terms.”
“David, I’m having a hard time. The area is unsafe, and my apartment is small.
I told you, “You live like people who never thought about getting old.” “I’ll help you with medical emergencies, but I won’t pay for your way of life anymore.”
“What’s the difference?” She pushed.
“Respect,” I said. “The right to be treated well.”
Three months later, Sarah gave birth to our son, Tommy. My mom and Jessica came right away with gifts and love, but I could tell what they actually wanted: for the youngster to bring back their money. No, it didn’t.
They can see their grandchild, but they won’t ever get any money from him again. My mom has gotten adjusted to things. She has made friends in the area and even helps out. Jessica and Mark have had a terrible time, but their marriage got stronger as they learnt to be on their own.
The most important thing is that Sarah is now getting the respect she deserves. No matter what made them change, the result is clear: my wife will never be treated as a burden again.
People want to know if I wish I hadn’t done it. There is nothing I regret. That dinner merely confirmed what I had already learned over the years: my wife deserves better, and my son needs a family that cares about his mother. Being kind implies having standards, 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 their mistakes.