After Selling My House To Help My Three Children Start Their Businesses, I Ended Up Living In A Small Room Above A Garage. Last Christmas, I Showed Up At My Daughter’s Mansion With A Gift And Was Met With Surprise. ‘Sorry, This Is A Private Event,’ She Said.

I reached for Richard’s card in my pocket, a sudden calm washing over me. “Tomorrow, I’m calling Richard.

I’m accepting that job. I’m claiming that award money. And then I’m going to make some changes in my life.

Starting with how I allow my own children to treat me.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

I met her gaze steadily. “It means I’m taking back control of my life.

And it means the three of you have a choice to make.”

Just then, the dining room doors swung open and a server appeared. “Ms. Wallace, your guests are waiting.

Should I serve the first course?”

Emma looked torn between her party and the family crisis unfolding in her living room. “Yes, please do. We’ll be right there.”

After the server disappeared, she turned back to me, her voice low and urgent.

“Mom, please. Can we discuss this tomorrow? My future depends on how tonight goes.”

I looked at my daughter—beautiful, accomplished, and utterly self-absorbed—and felt a strange mixture of love and disappointment.

“Your future has always been more important to me than my own, Emma. That ends tonight.”

With that, I turned toward the dining room where the party guests waited. But as I reached the doorway, I paused and looked back at my children.

“By the way,” I said softly. “That gift I brought? It’s the deed to the family home.

I found a way to buy it back with help from an old friend. I was going to sign it over to the three of you as a Christmas gift. Now I’m not so sure.”

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