Chapter 8 - The Demands of the Entitled
I didn't answer any of their messages, but the silence from my end only seemed to throw fuel onto their smoldering indignation.
Ten minutes later, another message from my mother appeared, containing an attachment that made my jaw drop.
It was a screenshot of a luxury vacation rental listing featuring the very lodge where Lauren had hosted us in Big Sky.
Beneath the image was the nightly rental rate: four thousand two hundred dollars per night, plus cleaning fees and private staff gratuities.
My mother had spent her Tuesday morning reverse-image searching my photo, hunting down the estate to calculate how much money she thought I had spent.
Her follow-up text arrived thirty seconds later, completely unmasking the disgusting rot at the core of her outrage.
"I looked up that lodge, Jenna. It costs nearly five thousand dollars a night to stay there," she wrote without a shred of shame.
"If you have enough disposable income to blow on lavish private ski retreats, you shouldn’t be ignoring your own flesh and blood."
"Our property taxes on the Portland house jumped by four thousand dollars this winter, and your father’s pension doesn’t cover the increase."
"Since you’re doing so exceptionally well for yourself, we expect you to wire us the money for the tax bill by Friday."
"Family takes care of family, Jenna. Don’t turn your back on your parents now that you think you’re above us."
I read the words again, a cold, humorless laugh escaping my throat as the sheer absurdity washed over me.
Not a single person had asked how Maisie was doing.
Not a single person had asked if she had grown, if she was teething, or if her pediatrician appointments were going well.
My mother had not apologized for leaving me stranded on the side of a highway four hours from home on her birthday.
She had not expressed an ounce of remorse for declaring that my three-month-old daughter was an unwanted burden to be excluded.
She didn't care about my well-being, my daughter's happiness, or the state of my emotional health as a single mother.
The only thing that had rattled her was the terrifying realization that her personal ATM might be spending money on herself instead of on them.
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They had spent two weeks ignoring me, assuming I was sitting in the dark weeping over their absence, wallowing in shame.
Seeing me thrive without them hadn't inspired reflection or regret; it had triggered their panic that their golden goose had flown the coop.
