My Ungrateful Son Begged for Forgiveness After I Cut Him Off

"Couldn't ask for more."

I hung up.

My old man came out of the kitchen, spatula still in hand—he'd clearly heard most of it. He looked at me and sighed.

"Should've been like this a long time ago. A too-soft mom ruins her kid."

"You saw that post too?" I asked.

He nodded, expression calm. "Old neighbor took a screenshot and sent it to me. Said your son blocked everyone—just forgot to block him."

So he'd known all along. He just saw me always giving in, and it wasn't his place to say anything.

"So next weekend?" I asked.

"We're going." Alex set the spatula down, voice fired up. "Our son thinks I'm embarrassing? Let's see who embarrasses who."

We really did prepare to go looking ordinary. I hit the farmers market and bought a floral shirt for fifty bucks. Alex dug out his old work pants from his factory days.

Junior called a few more times—threatening, begging, cursing, the whole circus. I blocked his number.

On the day of the reunion, we took the bus, swaying for over an hour before reaching the hotel. Sure enough, the moment we got to the entrance, Junior came rushing over, face dark as a storm cloud.

He was wearing a suit he'd borrowed from god knows where. When he saw us, his eyes practically shot fire.

"You actually came!" He kept his voice low, teeth gritted. "Dressed like this? I'm really impressed."

"Wasn't it you who said we weren't ordinary enough?" I swept him a glance. "This is called returning to simplicity."

"You—!" His chest heaved, but he was too worried about classmates approaching from a distance. "Once you're inside, keep your mouths shut!"

I ignored him, linked my arm through Alex's, and walked straight in.

The moment we entered, the lively chatter went quiet. Every gaze landed on us—curious, scrutinizing.

Junior's face flushed crimson, like he wanted to find a crack in the floor and disappear. He forced a smile and introduced us stiffly. "These are my parents. They were just passing by, so they stopped in."

Someone greeted us half-heartedly. A woman in heavy makeup covered her mouth and giggled. "Junior's parents are really... simple."

That got a few low snickers. Junior's head dropped even lower.

But Alex and I acted like we hadn't heard. We found two empty seats and sat down.

The girl Junior had been crushing on since college was there too—Vivian James. She glanced at us, and disgust flickered in her eyes.

During the meal, parents exchanged pleasantries. When it was Junior's turn to introduce us, he hemmed and hawed. "My parents are just ordinary retired factory workers."

"Oh, workers are good. Steady." Someone brushed it off.

"Right, unlike us—running a business, we're on edge all day." Vivian's mom picked up the thread, smiling smugly. "This year we opened two more locations. So busy we barely have time to manage Vivian. Good thing the kid's got talent—got into the State Theater all on her own."

Junior looked at Vivian, gaze infatuated. Then he looked at us, full of resentment.

Right then, Alex—who hadn't said a word the whole time—picked up his teacup, took a sip, and frowned.

"This tea is aged pu-erh, but it wasn't stored properly. It's got a moldy smell." He set the cup down. "For a hotel to serve guests tea like this—that's not decent."

The whole room fell silent.

"Uncle, you know tea?" Vivian's mom raised her eyebrows, tone skeptical.

Alex set the teacup down, voice flat.