My Greedy Son Made Me Ration Toilet Paper,So I Sold Everything

Every single time, they showed up empty-handed and left with their pockets stuffed full.

Like locusts, stripping our home bare.

The thought alone killed any patience I had left.

"Don't even think about it. Our money is still ours."

"When we're dead, then it's yours."

Phineas shot to his feet.

"Mom, what's that supposed to mean?"

"They say you raise kids so they'll take care of you in old age. But here you are, guarding everything against me?"

"If you want to draw the line this clearly, don't come crying to me when you need someone later!"

Harold slammed his luggage onto the floor, his face red.

"Are you threatening me, boy?"

"You think I'm counting on you to take care of us? A son like you—I'd be better off without one!"

"Dad, the older you get, the more you—" Phineas craned his neck forward, ready to fight.

"Shut your mouth!" I cut him off, my voice ice-cold.

"Enough. I'm saying this once, and it's final."

"You want our property? Not a chance."

Phineas refused to back down, raising his voice even louder.

Bridget chimed in right on cue, playing the good cop.

"These days scammers target the elderly specifically. It's not safe for you to hold onto all that money yourselves."

Then: "We're all family. Pooling our money just brings us closer together."

No matter how prettily they dressed it up, Harold and I didn't budge.

Finally, Phineas drew a deep breath, acting like he was making some grand concession.

"Fine. Then we're moving back in."

Bridget jumped in immediately, her voice dripping with sweetness that turned my stomach.

"Exactly. We can take proper care of you two."

Take care of us? More like keep tabs on us.

But Phineas didn't give us a chance to refuse.

The next day, they moved in.

Just as I'd expected, they started monitoring every dollar we spent.

Bridget quit her job entirely. Her new full-time occupation was watching us.

She tailed me to the grocery store.

I reached for a carton of eggs, and she practically shrieked.

"Mom, a pound of eggs costs as much as five pounds of potatoes!"

"Older people have slower metabolisms. You can't even digest the protein in eggs properly. Stick to vegetables—that's what's actually good for you."

What kind of garbage logic was that? I didn't even bother looking at her.

But her mouth never stopped running. "I heard the farmers' market sells off whatever's left after noon in bulk bundles."

"You two don't have anything going on anyway. Just come later and you'll save a ton."

When I went out to play cards with my friends, she tagged along like a shadow.

"Mom, you're not gambling, are you? That's illegal, you know."

I gave her a sideways look. "We're law-abiding citizens."

"Loser pays for the card room. Twenty bucks for the whole afternoon."

"That's still too much!" She grabbed my hand to stop me from playing.

"Twenty dollars isn't money? Twenty a day, that's six hundred a month!"

"Think of all the better things you could do with that!"

She even watched over our shoulders when we used our phones.

I was scrolling through short videos and an ad for thermal underwear popped up. I tapped on it to take a closer look.

She was on me in a second, terrified I might actually buy something.

"Mom, don't you dare order anything online! It's all scams!"

I finally snapped. I hurled my phone onto the couch.

"Bridget, you never eat with us. Every single meal, you order delivery—and I've seen the bills. Thirty, forty dollars a pop."

"And those shopping trips with your girlfriends? I saw the receipts. Hundreds of dollars on a single afternoon tea."

"So explain to me why you get to spend money like water while I can't even buy a carton of eggs without a lecture."

Bridget's face transformed in an instant, her voice shooting up an octave.

"Mom, how can you even compare us?"