The silence on the line startled me.
“You’re really spending your savings… like that?” Our son Jake’s voice tightened when we shared photos of the sunrise-view room. “Shouldn’t you be conserving for… later?”
Emma’s sigh carried through the phone. “Mom, Dad, we need to discuss expectations. Your assets aren’t just yours anymore—they’re part of our family legacy.”
Tom’s grip on his cane turned white. That night over chamomile tea, we faced the bitter truth: Our children saw us as temporary keepers of “their” inheritance.
“Time for some old-fashioned parenting,” Tom declared. At dawn, we typed two letters with shaking hands, announcing we’d donate half our savings to St. Jude Children’s Hospital and Meals on Wheels.
The storm hit three days into our Florida retreat. Jake’s call shook the seashell wind chimes in our room. “Are you senile? That’s our college fund for the grandkids!”
I waited for his breathing to slow. “Son, when you helped paint Mrs. Wilson’s porch after her stroke last summer – was that about money?”
“Of course not! She needed—”
