I Didn’t Pay For My Daughter-In-Law’s Luxury Party, So Things Escalated And I Nearly Lost My Balance:

I could see Yara peeking through the bedroom curtains, probably making sure I was actually leaving. I took one last look at the house that had been my home for 35 years. the garden I had planted, the porch I had painted every few summers, the mailbox with our family name that I had installed when Abram was 12.

It was hard to believe I was walking away from all of it, but the weight on my chest was lifting with every step I took toward my car. The drive across town took 20 minutes through neighborhoods that gradually became smaller, more modest. I wasn’t moving to the wealthy side of town where I had lived for decades.

Instead, I was heading to Maple Street, a quiet area with small apartment buildings and houses where working people lived, real people who understood the value of a dollar earned through honest work. The apartment I had rented was on the second floor of a converted Victorian house. Mrs.

Chen, my new landlady, met me at the front door with a warm smile and a cup of tea. She was 72, a widow who had converted her large family home into apartments after her husband passed away. “Welcome to your new home, dear,” she said, helping me carry one of my suitcases up the narrow stairs.

“I think you’re going to be very happy here.”

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