My family left me to eat alone on my 75th birthday, using my money to vacation in Europe. So I sold the house while they were gone and moved next door to watch their faces when they came back…

I didn’t want to embarrass myself, but something in her tone told me I should listen. So I opened my old laptop and let her sit beside me. Took a few tries, but I got into the account.

I noticed it before she even said a word. The balance. Didn’t look right.

She scrolled through quietly, not speaking yet. I sat beside her, heart-pounding, watching her face. When she finally turned to me, she didn’t speak like a judge.

She spoke like a woman who’d seen too many stories, just like mine. Miss Nguyen, she said gently. Your account’s been drained over the past year.

We’re talking multiple withdrawals, thousands of dollars, mostly transferred to a secondary account. I felt cold all over. That must be Andres.

He’s been handling things. She tapped her finger against a line on the screen. Look at this.

Jury store. Resort charges. Electronics.

Even some payments labeled consulting services. But they’re all routed through his personal account, not any business account. This isn’t help.

This is misuse. My throat tightened. He’s just been under stress.

He told me things were tight. He’s trying to grow something. Nor gave me a look.

Not cruel. Not judgmental. But real.

Dolores, she said, calling me by my first name for the first time. You are not a bank. And you are not here to be bled dry while smiling through it.

I blinked. My lips trembled. But he’s my son.

And you’re his mother. She replied. And you are worth more than how he’s treating you.

You raised him. You worked hard. You don’t owe him everything you’ve got.

I sat still. My hands were folded so tight they ached. She closed the laptop gently.

You said you wanted help. I can help. But only if you’re ready to stop letting your kindness be turned into a weakness.

I didn’t answer right away. I looked down at the kitchen tiles and thought about the years I spent wiping those same floors on my knees. Thought about how I saved every receipt.

How I skipped hair appointments so Andre could have football cleats. How I never once let him see how scared I was when the money ran thin. I thought about how I waited on my birthday for a dinner that never came.

And how the people I gave everything to use my money to toast under palm trees. I don’t want to hurt him. I whispered.

You’re not, she said. He’s already hurting you. We didn’t finish the conversation that day.

I needed time. Nora understood. She left me her card and said to call her if anything else came up.

It didn’t take long. Because the very next week, Andre showed up at my door again. Smiling.

Hey mama, he said stepping in. Got some good news? I found a house. Real fixer-upper with potential.

I’m trying to put in an offer before it gets snapped up. I raised my eyebrows. Oh.

He sat at the table like it was his own. I need 40 grand to secure the down payment. I figured maybe you could front me part of the inheritance now.

You know, before it’s too late. That was it. That was the moment the air left my lungs like a punch.

I looked him in the face. He didn’t even flinch. He truly believed he was entitled to the life I’d built.

I don’t have that kind of money, I said. He leaned back. Sure you do.

You just don’t want to help. My voice was flat. You’ve been helping yourself, Andre.

I’ve seen the charges. His expression changed. Excuse me…