“My mom screamed ‘I’m not your bank!’ in front of everyone just because I asked for help with a leak in my apartment… so the next morning, I cancelled the secret monthly allowance I’d been sending them for years, and everything started falling apart.”

“I’m not your ATM, Maya. I’m done subsidizing parasites.”

My mother tossed that sentence across the table with the same practiced nonchalance she used to order another bottle of Sancerre. The white linen tablecloth, the flickering candlelight, and the soft hum of the piano at Le Bernardin didn’t stand a chance against the silence that followed. Even the waiter, a man trained in the art of invisibility, froze mid-pour.