‘How does it feel to be useless, son?’ Mom laughed, the whole table watching. I met her eyes and said calmly, ‘Feels great… since I just stopped paying your rent.’ Silence swallowed the room. Forks clattered. Faces went pale. For three years, I had been feeding her life while she mocked me. And now? I was done. The question is… what happens next?

---

The pungent aroma of roasted turkey, rosemary, and sage couldn’t overpower the tension that hung over the dining room. It was Thanksgiving at my mother’s house.

This house—a two-story Victorian mansion with a spacious garden in Montclair, New Jersey—was my mother Evelyn’s pride and joy. She always boasted to relatives about her comfortable life thanks to her smart stock investments from my father’s insurance money.

I, Michael, 32, sat at the end of the table, silently cutting a dry piece of chicken. I wore an old hoodie and faded jeans. I looked, in my mother’s words, “the embodiment of failure.”

Around the table were my aunts, uncles, and cousins ​​who worked for large corporations in Manhattan. They wore suits, Apple Watches, and talked about vacations in the Hamptons.

“Hey, Michael,” Aunt Susan said, her voice sharp. “You’re still doing… what’s your name again? Freelancing? Or, to put it bluntly, are you unemployed in disguise?”

Everyone chuckled.

“I’m fine, Aunt Susan,” I replied softly, without looking up.

“Fine? What do you mean fine!” My mother, Evelyn, slammed her wine glass down on the table. She sat at the head of the table, wearing a pearl necklace and an expensive silk dress. “He’s holed up in that tiny studio apartment all day, no wife, no kids, no career. I envy other people’s children.”

She turned to me, her eyes as sharp as a scalpel. She’d had quite a bit to drink. This was her favorite moment: humiliating me to glorify herself – the “strong, independent” woman.

“Michael,” she called my name, drawing out the word sarcastically. “Look at your face. Dull, sluggish. I wonder what kind of child I gave birth to.”

I tightened my grip on the knife in my hand. Three years. It had been three years since my father died.

“Mother,” I said, trying to remain calm. “It’s a ceremony today, don’t start anything.”

“Start what?” Evelyn laughed loudly, her shrill laughter echoing throughout the room. She pointed her finger at me in front of fifteen relatives.

“I’m just asking a sincere question. How does it feel to be useless, son? How does it feel to live a life of hiding, to be able to do anything worthwhile?”

The entire table fell silent, waiting for my reaction. They were used to me bowing my head, apologizing, or going outside to smoke. Aunt Susan covered her mouth and chuckled. Uncle Bob shook his head in exasperation.

But not today.

I set my knife and fork down on the plate. Clink. A dry, sharp sound.

I looked up, meeting my mother’s heavily made-up eyes. I no longer felt fear. I only felt pity.

“Do you really want to know?” I asked.

“Go ahead, let everyone hear your humiliation,” she challenged.

I leaned back in my chair, crossed my arms, and said in a voice so calm it was cold:

“It feels great, Mom… because I just stopped paying your rent.”

The room fell silent. The only sound was the clanging of a plate.

Everyone’s faces turned pale. Evelyn’s smile froze, then slowly twisted.

“You… what did you say?” she stammered.

“The rent for this mansion,” I said clearly, word by word. “4,500 dollars a month. Plus the electricity, water, internet, and the credit card you used to buy that dress you’re wearing. I’ve paid it all for the past three years.”

“Liar!” Aunt Susan yelled. “Evelyn says she invests in stocks! She’s rich! You’re unemployed, where are you going to get the money?”

I pulled out my phone, opened my banking app, and connected it to the large TV screen in the dining room (which I also paid for).

I projected the transaction history onto the screen.

Recurring transfers: -$4,500 to “Landlord Management LLC” (Landlord Management Company).

Amex card payment: -$3,200 (Nordstrom Store).

Transfers to Evelyn: -$2,000 (Spending).

The list went on endlessly. In total, I spent about $10,000 a month on her.

“Mom’s right, I’m a freelance programmer,” I explained, pointing to the numbers. “But Mom forgot to tell everyone that I’m the chief architect of a blockchain project that just got valued at $500 million. I make more money than everyone in this room combined.”

I turned to my mother, who was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

“I kept it a secret because you wanted to save face. You wanted to play the role of the successful widow. I accepted. I accepted playing the failure so you could shine. I thought that if I provided enough, you would love me, or at least be less bitter.”

I stood up.

“But three years is more than enough for a meaningless sacrifice. You don’t need a son. You need a wallet and a punching bag to vent your anger. And today, that wallet is closed.”

“You… you can’t do that!” Evelyn screamed, tears smudging her mascara. “I’m your mother! You have a responsibility to support me!”

“I’ve been supporting her,” I replied. “But I canceled the automatic money transfer this morning. And I’ve also blocked the secondary credit card.”

“So… so what?” Uncle Bob chimed in, trying to salvage the situation. “She still has savings, doesn’t she?”

I gave a wry smile.

“Savings? Her insurance money was taken by Mom.”

“She gambled it all away at the Atlantic City casino two years ago. My mother is broke. Completely broke.”

Evelyn slumped into her chair. Her darkest secret had been laid bare.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

Chapter 3: The Uninvited Guest

“Alright, Michael,” Aunt Susan stood up, her voice feigning conciliatory. “She’s your mother, after all. You can’t leave her out on the street. This house…”

“Oh, speaking of the house,” I looked at my watch. “7 p.m.” “They must be here soon.”

“Who’s here?” My mother looked up, panicked.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Sharp. Decisive.

I went to open the door.

Standing at the door was a large man in a Sheriff’s uniform, accompanied by a man in a suit carrying a stack of files.

“Mrs. Evelyn Vance?” the officer asked loudly.

My mother staggered out. “What… what’s going on?”

The man in the suit stepped forward.

“I’m representing Montclair Holdings. We’ve come to deliver an immediate eviction notice.”

“Eviction?” the whole family exclaimed.

“That’s right,” the manager said coldly. “The lease is in Michael Vance’s name. This morning, Michael unilaterally terminated the lease and agreed to forfeit his security deposit to end the lease early.” According to the regulations, when the person named on the contract cancels, the dependent residents must leave within 24 hours.

“But… but has Michael paid this month’s rent yet?” Aunt Susan asked.

“No,” I answered for him. “I usually pay on the 25th. Today is the 24th. I’ve decided not to pay anymore.”

“But today is Thanksgiving!” my mother yelled. “You can’t evict me on a holiday!”

“Actually, you can, ma’am, because this is a repossession order due to a serious breach of contract,” the manager said. “However, Michael has been very kind.”

He turned to me and nodded.

“He paid an extra fee so you could finish your dinner tonight. But by 8 a.m. tomorrow, the lock will be changed.” “Anyone remaining in the house will be arrested for trespassing.”

The police officer taped the bright orange notice to the front door.

“Enjoy your meal,” the officer said, then turned and walked away.

The door closed. Chaos erupted in the dining room.

“You devil!” My mother lunged at me, trying to scratch me. “Are you going to leave me to die on the street? I’m old! I don’t know how to do anything!”

I grabbed her hand, gently but firmly pushing her away.

“You’re not going to die,” I said. “You have so many loved ones here.”

I turned to look at Aunt Susan, Uncle Bob, and our fancy cousins.

“Aunt Susan,” I smiled. “You always say family comes first, right? You have a five-bedroom house in Connecticut.” “Surely you’ll welcome my dear sister to live with you, won’t you?”

Aunt Susan’s face turned from red to deathly pale. She recoiled, bumping into the edge of the table. “Uh… um… my house is being renovated… Uncle Bob is allergic to cat fur… and Evelyn has a cat…”

“The cat can be sent to a shelter,” I said. “So you’ll take Mom in?”

“No way!” Aunt Susan yelled. “The money’s tight! We can’t afford another mouth to feed!”

I turned to Uncle Bob. “And what about you? You just bragged about buying a new yacht?”

“The yacht is too small,” Uncle Bob avoided my gaze. “Besides… Evelyn’s personality… is hard to live with.”

I burst out laughing. My laughter echoed through the crumbling room.

“See, Mom?” I looked at Evelyn. “The people you tried to impress, the people you used my money to amuse yourselves with, they’re rejecting you now.” “When Mom has no money, she’s nothing to them.”

“And me,” I said, my voice dropping. “I’m the only one who truly cares about you, even though you treat me like trash. But I’m human too. I have my limits.”

I walked toward the door, picking up my worn-out backpack.

“Michael! Don’t go!” My mother knelt on the floor, sobbing. “I’m sorry! I was wrong! I’ll do anything you want! Don’t leave me with these people!”

I stopped at the door.

“I don’t want anything, Mom. I just want to feel… useful. And the most useful way to do that now is for you to learn to stand on your own two feet.”

I pulled a small envelope from my pocket and placed it on the shoe rack.

“Inside is $1,000 in cash. Enough for you to rent a motel room for a week and buy food. Then you can go look for a job. Walmart is hiring sales assistants.” Perhaps that job will teach Mom how to genuinely smile at others.

I opened the door and stepped outside. A cold wind rushed in, but I felt strangely warm.

“Michael!” My mother’s desperate scream echoed behind me.

But I didn’t turn around.

I got into the waiting Uber. I was going to the airport. I had a flight to Bali tomorrow morning – where I’d bought a small villa to work remotely.

In the rearview mirror, I saw Aunt Susan and Uncle Bob hurrying out of the house with their bags, leaving my mother sitting alone, crying amidst the messy turkey dinner table.

She had asked me what would happen next?

The answer was simple: She would have to live the life of a…

She was truly “useless,” but this time, there was no one to blame, and no one to cling to.

And me? I was finally free.