Son Forced Me to Leave Inheritance, Rationed My Toilet Paper

My husband and I scrimped and saved through half a lifetime of hardship. The one time we ever let loose was a single week's vacation. When we got back, our son and daughter-in-law were waiting for us at home. They laid into us: "Why are you two getting more foolish the older you get?" We were furious: "We're spending our own money. How does that hurt you?" Our son shouted, "You're spending my money!" "Everything you have is going to be mine one day!" "The more you spend, the less is left for me!" We were stunned by how shameless they were. What we never saw coming was this: when they couldn't bully us into signing our assets over to them— these two actually started policing every penny we spent! Groceries couldn't cost more than five dollars! No air conditioning even when it hit a hundred degrees! Even going to the bathroom, we were only allowed two squares of toilet paper! And the worst of it: to save a little on medicine— they landed my husband in the ICU, fighting for his life! You want it all so badly, don't you? You think it's yours by right, don't you? Well, we're going to spend every last cent of our money! And then we'll shamelessly burn through every cent of your savings too! ... My husband and I stood there holding our suitcases, not even a place to sit. The two of them had taken over our home like a cuckoo in another bird's nest, and now put us on trial one after the other. Our son, Thaddeus, sat on the sofa with his legs crossed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Mom, Dad, aren't you two living it up." "A trip like that couldn't have cost less than ten grand, right?" "With that kind of money, couldn't you have helped me pay down my mortgage early?" His wife, Edwina, was half-reclined on the other side, her eyes locked on the two boxes of local specialties we'd brought back. "Mom, don't blame us for butting in, but you two got taken for a ride!" "Those specialty things are just a scam for old folks like you. You can get them online for half the price!" "With brains like yours, you're exactly the type to get suckered by a pyramid scheme someday." My husband and I both frowned, anger rising bit by bit. Our son glanced at us and, far from backing off, kept twisting the knife. "Mom, Dad, spending like this just won't do. You've got to think long term!" "Look, I'm your only son, and I've got my own family and career now." "Here's what we'll do: you transfer all the family savings to me and sign this house over to me too." "And your monthly pension checks, transfer those to me every month as well." "I'll manage it all for you, so you don't fritter it away." My husband and I looked at each other, and I saw the same disbelief in his eyes. "Sure," I said with a cold laugh. "This time it's not thirty or fifty thousand you're after—now you want to take it all in one go?" "If we hand everything over to you, how are we supposed to live?" Our son didn't care, just leaned back into the sofa. "You're old now, you eat and drink at home—how much can you possibly spend?" "We'll give you eight hundred or a thousand a month for living expenses. That's plenty." My brows knit deeper and deeper—none of it sounded like anything a human being would say. "Eight hundred or a thousand? Plenty? Plenty for what? Plenty to live on scraps and weeds?" "Even if we don't spend much, old people get sick all the time, and that costs money, doesn't it?" His wife jumped in at once, smiling that phony smile. "Mom, the way you talk, you'd think we were so undutiful." "If you two got sick, how could we not take care of you? Of course we'd take you to the doctor." Take care of us, my foot. I gave a cold snort. We bought our son a car, a house, and paid for his wedding—we emptied most of a lifetime's savings. And we've never seen a penny from him, never once eaten a meal he cooked. After he married, it only got worse—he never came around for the holidays or festivals. The occasional phone call was always crying poverty and playing the victim, every other sentence about money. Every time he came empty-handed and left with both pockets full. Like locusts, they stripped our home bare. Thinking about all this, I couldn't be bothered to waste any more words on them. "Don't even dream about it. Our money is still ours." "When we're dead, then it'll be yours." Our son shot to his feet. "Mom, what's that supposed to mean?" "They say you raise kids so they'll look after you when you're old—and here you are, guarding yourself against me?" "Drawing such hard lines makes my heart go cold. Don't blame me if I stop looking after you from now on!" My husband was so furious he slammed the luggage down hard on the floor. "Are you threatening me?" "You think I'd ever count on you to look after us? A son like you—we'd be better off without one!" "Dad, why do you get more and more—" our son craned his neck, itching to fight. "Shut up!" I cut him off coldly. "Enough arguing. I'll say it once and for all today." "You want our property? Not a chance!" Our son wouldn't accept it and kept ranting at the top of his voice. His wife chimed in beside him, playing the good cop. Saying things like, "These days scammers go after the elderly. It's not safe with the money in your hands." And, "We're all one family. Pooling the money together keeps us more united." No matter how sweetly they spun it, my husband and I would not give an inch. Finally our son took a deep breath, as if he were making some enormous concession. "All right then, we'll move back in with you." His wife jumped right in, her tone sickeningly soft. "That's right, and we can take good care of you two properly." Take care of us? More like keep an eye on us.

But our son didn't give us any chance to refuse. The very next day, they moved in. Sure enough, they started policing our daily expenses. Edwina quit her job too, just to devote herself to watching us. When we went grocery shopping, she tagged along. I was just reaching for the eggs when she started yelping right next to me. "Mom, one pound of these eggs could buy you several pounds of potatoes!" "Old people have slow metabolisms, they can't even digest the nutrients in things like eggs. You need to eat more vegetables to stay healthy." What kind of nonsense logic was that? I couldn't even be bothered to look at her. But her mouth kept running. "I hear the vegetables that don't sell at the morning market after twelve get sold off in bundles." "You two don't have anything to do anyway, so come by around then from now on. It'll save you quite a bit of money." When I got called out to play cards, she trailed after me like a shadow. "Mom, you don't play cards for money, do you? That's gambling." I gave her a sidelong glance. "We're all good citizens." "Whoever loses pays for the card room, twenty bucks for an afternoon." "That won't do either!" She pinned down the hand I was playing with. "Twenty bucks isn't money? Twenty bucks an afternoon, that's six hundred a month!" "What better things could you do with that money?" She even watched us when we used our phones. I was scrolling through short videos and saw an ad for thermal underwear, so I clicked in for a couple more looks. She immediately leaned over, terrified I might buy something online. "Mom, whatever you do, don't buy anything online! It's all scams online!" I finally couldn't take it anymore and threw my phone down on the couch. "Edwina, you never eat with us, you always order takeout, and I bet a single delivery order runs several tens of dollars." "And when you go shopping with your girlfriends, I've seen the receipts. A single afternoon tea costs a few hundred." "Why is it that you spend money like water, but we get monitored over buying a few eggs?" Edwina's face changed in an instant, and her voice went shrill. "Mom, how can we be the same?" "I'm in the flower of my youth, exactly the time to enjoy life!" "You two are so old, what's the point of eating well and dressing well? Fancy or plain, isn't it all the same for you?" "At your age, you should be scrimping and saving, leaving more behind for your kids!" I studied her calmly. "Enjoying life at thirty? What, are you not going to live to see retirement?" Seeing that Edwina was choked into silence, I went on. "When your dad and I were your age, we worked from dawn to dusk and pinched every penny to support the family." "If you've got the time to keep an eye on us, you'd be better off finding a job!" At that, Edwina shot to her feet. "If you insist on making yourselves suffer for no reason, what's that got to do with me?" "We just happened to be born in a good time, in an era when parents give everything to lift their children up, so what?" "Besides, my husband is willing to support me, so I'm just naturally blessed with a good life!" Listening to Edwina's grating words, I didn't want to leave her any face at all. "Right, you marrying into our family, that's your good luck." "But our family taking you in, now that's eight generations' worth of rotten luck." "You—you—" Edwina pointed at me, unable to get out a word for the longest time. "Mom, your money belongs to me and Thaddeus!" "As long as I'm here, don't even dream of spending one cent more!" She flung out one last vicious line and went back to her room. I may have won the argument, but I didn't sleep a wink all night. I tossed and turned, wondering what on earth I'd done in a past life to deserve this. To raise a son like this, and then bring in a daughter-in-law like this.

The next day, there was actually a sheet of paper stuck to the refrigerator. The title read "Household Austerity Guidelines." Below it were dozens of rules, packed tight— 1. Daily food money shall not exceed five dollars, mostly vegetables, with meat dishes no more than twice a week. 2. Water used for washing hands, washing vegetables, and bathing must be caught in a basin and used to flush the toilet. 3. Shower no more than once a week, and no longer than five minutes each time. 4. Lights out and to bed promptly at 8 p.m. No staying up late to watch TV or use your phone. 5. Toilet paper: each person, no more than two squares per use. ... Two squares of paper?! My eyes went wide before I could stop them. My vision went black in waves, and I couldn't read any further. One phone call brought my son back home. "Take a look at what your dear wife came up with!" I slapped the paper down on the table. My son picked it up and read it through, start to finish. Then he actually smiled, his face full of approval. "Mom, Edwina's only doing this for the good of the family." "Look how detailed these rules are. She's covered everything—food, clothing, housing, the works." For our good? I stared at him in disbelief. My son seemed to suddenly remember something and turned to his wife. "Oh, right—Dad also takes some really expensive supplements. Did you know that?" "That should be controlled too. Put it in the rules!" Hearing this, the old man got so angry he pounded the table. "What supplements! That's my blood pressure medication!" My son put on an earnest, well-meaning act. "Dad, take it easy, I'm not saying you can't take your medicine." "But blood pressure pills only cost a few dollars a bottle, don't they? You insist on the imported kind, several hundred a box." "Isn't that just having too much money to burn?" I forced my anger down and explained. "Your father's regular medication doesn't work for him. Only that imported one does any good." "And that medicine is very hard to get. Every time I have to ask someone to buy it for me." "It's a lifesaver. We can't cut corners on it." Edwina curled her lip beside us. "She's just being dramatic." "Isn't medicine just a few ingredients? What difference can there be between domestic and imported?" "He'll get used to it. Dad's this old already, he's not so delicate." I glared at her. "Absolutely not!" "This medicine will not be switched, don't even think about it!" Seeing how firm I was, Edwina said nothing more. She just quietly shot my son a look. He got the message and waved his hand. "Fine, fine, keep taking it then. Forget I said anything." After that day, the old man started to seem off. His blood pressure swung high and low, often spiking to 170 or 180, with all kinds of discomfort along with it. I was worried. "Why don't we go to the hospital and get it checked?" "No need. It's probably just the heat lately, and getting angry with them. It's normal for the blood pressure to be unstable." He waved me off; he didn't want the fuss. I knew he was afraid of spending money, and even more afraid that if our son and daughter-in-law found out, they'd never let it go. Then one day, the old man suddenly said he was terribly dizzy. His blood pressure had actually reached over 200. I panicked. If this went wrong—cerebral hemorrhage, stroke—either one could be fatal. I was about to take him to the hospital when the doorbell rang. It was a middle-aged man I didn't recognize. "Hello, is this Edwina Sears's place? I'm here to pick up the medicine." "What medicine?" I wasn't sure what he meant. The man explained, "That imported blood pressure medication." "Edwina's sold me several boxes already. She said the old folks at home couldn't finish it, so she was letting it go cheap." "I accidentally lost a box from last time, so I came early this round." What? My head buzzed all at once. I spun around and rushed to the TV cabinet, examining the old man's medicine closely. The size of the pills was wrong. Finally I understood. The medicine had been secretly switched by my daughter-in-law! And she'd taken the real medicine and sold it for cash! No wonder his blood pressure had been shooting up these past few days. Thinking back to the look those two exchanged that day, my son surely knew about this too. The old man and I looked at each other, and a wave of bitter sorrow rose up in us.

They came back before long, hands full of designer shopping bags. I slammed the medicine bottle down on the table, my voice trembling beyond my control. "Edwina, you switched out his blood pressure medicine?! And you sold it off too?!" Edwina's face flickered, but she quickly regained her composure. "So what if I switched it? Why can't he take the domestic generic?" "That medicine costs nearly ten thousand a year! How can such a minor ailment be so precious?" "A minor ailment?" My hand shook as I pointed at her. "Do you have any idea his blood pressure spiked past two hundred?!" "You're going to kill him!" Off to the side, my son grew impatient. "Mom, who are you trying to scare?" "Plenty of people have high blood pressure. You don't see them just dropping dead all the time." "Dad's perfectly fine, isn't he? Stop making a mountain out of a molehill." I was about to open my mouth when Edwina started shouting from the side. "You two just spend money and don't earn any. You should count yourselves lucky you've got any medicine at all!" "Plenty of people keep working after they retire, and here you two sit at home taking it easy every day and still aren't satisfied?" "Exactly!" my son chimed in. "Dad's high blood pressure, to put it plainly, is from being too idle and eating too well." "Go out and do some work every day, eat plain simple food, and he'd have nothing wrong with him at all." "You—" I took a step back, unable to get out a single word. Walter sat on the sofa, saying nothing, but his face grew paler and paler. He pressed a hand to his temple, his brow tightly knit. "Walter? Walter, what's wrong?" I rushed over. "My head hurts... it hurts so much..." Walter's voice came in broken pieces. Suddenly his body tilted, and he slid off the sofa and collapsed onto the floor. "Walter! Walter!" I threw myself down beside him, patting his face. He didn't respond. His lips were turning purple, his eyes half open, his pupils looking blown. Frantic, I grabbed my phone to call 911. My son blocked me. "Mom, wait a second!" "Dad'll probably be fine if he just lies down for a while." "Every old person has something wrong with them. Nobody runs to the hospital over every little thing!" I shoved him off, and then Edwina rushed over to snatch at my phone. "Mom, why are you calling an ambulance? Do you know you have to pay for that out of pocket? It's hundreds of dollars a trip!" "If it's really that bad, just have Thaddeus drive him, that works, doesn't it?" I was shaking all over, not knowing if it was from anger or fear. "Do you people have no conscience, or no common sense?!" "You drive him yourself in a state like this—the bumps on the road, no emergency equipment—it could kill him!" I shoved Edwina to the floor like a woman possessed, and after that not one of them dared stop me. I finally got through to 911. At the hospital, the ER doctor examined him quickly, then called me aside with a grim expression. "The patient has a hypertensive brain hemorrhage. The bleeding is substantial. His condition is very serious." "Thankfully you called 911 in time and there was no delay on the way, or he definitely wouldn't have made it." My legs went weak, and I braced myself against the wall. "But it's still very dangerous now," the doctor went on. "We need to operate immediately and do everything we can to save him." "It's just that at his age, with this much bleeding..." "There's a risk of death. As his family, you need to be prepared." My son and Edwina crowded in beside us. "Doctor, how much will the treatment cost?" my son asked. The doctor glanced at him. "This is a brain hemorrhage. The cost can range widely." "Given the patient's condition, surgery plus follow-up ICU care, you're looking at several hundred thousand." Hearing that, my son frowned and fell silent for a few seconds. Then he asked a question I will never forget for the rest of my life— "So... not treating it... that's not an option?" I whipped my head around, staring at him in disbelief. I knew he had no conscience, but I never imagined he could be this cold-blooded. My son avoided my eyes, but he kept talking. "Mom, didn't you hear the doctor? This surgery might not even save him." "What if... then that money's just thrown away, isn't it?" "Hundreds of thousands! How am I supposed to manage after that?" Edwina leaned in too, her voice dropping low. "That's right, Mom." "Even if he pulls through, the doctor said it himself, a lot of people end up paralyzed after surgery, even in a vegetative state." "Then Dad's the one suffering, and you're the one worn ragged." "Think about it. Could you really handle caring for a paralyzed patient all on your own?" "Wouldn't it be better to..." "Better to what?" I turned my head and fixed my eyes on her. "Wouldn't it be better to..." Edwina said, head bowed. "Let Dad suffer less." I looked at them, and suddenly I laughed. I laughed for a long time, laughed until the two of them started to feel uneasy. Then I went calm again and spoke without a trace of emotion. "Your father made a will long ago, and it's notarized." "When he dies, every asset in his name—the house, the savings, the investments—all of it goes to charity." "Not one cent will be left to you." "What?!" My son and Edwina went pale at the very same instant. I looked them in the eyes and said it slowly, one word at a time. "If you still want to see so much as a single cent—" "then you'd better pray your father survives and walks out of this hospital conscious!" "If he lives, the will can be changed." "If he dies, you get nothing."