I sent my son and daughter-in-law $700 every week, but they skipped my 75th birthday, ignoring the dinner I had planned and prepared for weeks.

I sent my son and daughter-in-law $700 every single Friday. For three years. And yet… they skipped my 75th birthday. Ignored the dinner I had spent weeks planning.

When I asked why, my daughter-in-law smirked: “Your age means nothing to us.”

I didn’t reply. My hands shook. But something had to change.

For years, every Friday at 9 a.m., I sat at my kitchen table with my chipped “Best Mom Ever” mug, my pill organizer, and my phone. $700 went from my late husband’s pension to my son’s account. At first, there were thank-you texts, heart emojis, photos of my grandchildren. Then gratitude faded. Requests grew. Car tires. Electric bills. Winter coats. I skipped appointments, rode the bus, lied to friends about being “tired,” not broke. Holidays became silent meals alone, smelling of cinnamon and disappointment.

Then came my 75th birthday. I wore my best blue dress, pearls, shoes that hurt. An hour passed at the quiet Italian restaurant. A call finally came — laughter, music, pop songs. “We’re at a friend’s party,” she said. “Your age means nothing to us.”

The next morning, something shifted. Coffee, pills, the table. I didn’t open the banking app.

When she called, asking why, I said one word:

“Enough.”

Thirty-five minutes later, everything changed. Gratitude, respect, and for the first time in years… real connection.

I learned then: generosity is love, yes—but love without boundaries is just loneliness in disguise.