My daughter and her boyfriend already had six kids, and all of them were living in my house rent-free. For years, I covered the groceries, the bills, and even babysat while they both worked. They never offered rent, but they never hesitated to ask for money. Yesterday, during dinner, they proudly announced that my daughter was pregnant again. Everyone at the table cheered, but instead of smiling, I felt my chest tighten with anger.
I put down my fork and said, “That’s enough. You two need to find your own place. I can’t keep supporting eight children and two adults. It’s too much.” The room went silent. My daughter looked at me like I’d just betrayed her, then crossed her arms and snapped, “Well, if you want us gone, then you’d better give us the money to get a bigger house. You owe us that much.”
I couldn’t believe her words. “Owe you?” I repeated. “I’ve given you free housing, food, and childcare for years. You and your boyfriend both work. Why should I keep paying for your choices?” She glared at me and said, “Because we’re family. Family is supposed to help no matter what.” I looked around at the children, who had no idea of the weight of the conversation, and I felt torn between love for them and frustration at the adults who kept taking advantage of me.
Finally, I stood up and said calmly, “I love my grandkids, but I won’t keep enabling you. You need to take responsibility. If you want another child, you need to provide for it yourselves. I’m done being your safety net.” My daughter’s boyfriend shifted uncomfortably but said nothing. My daughter’s face turned red, but deep down, I think she knew I meant it. For the first time in years, the decision was mine—not hers.