At Aidan’s birthday party, I expected warmth. What I got was public humiliation.

He stood in front of our guests and joked, “How much of my money did you spend on today?” Then, louder: “You don’t even have a job or a baby.”

Everyone went silent. My hands trembled holding the tray of appetizers I had spent hours preparing. I wanted to disappear—until my father’s voice cut through the tension.

“She chose someone like you. Now she’s exactly where you wanted her—depending on you.”

My mother joined in. “She cleaned, cooked, hosted. If it’s a job, pay her.”