My name is Lisa, I’m an IT specialist for a big tech company, and this happened when I was about to turn thirty. I live clear across the country from my family. My parents are back in Ohio, and my sister, Emma, is there, too. She’s twenty-one and still in college.
I moved out to California right after I graduated seven years ago. The distance never really bothered me, but when your thirtieth birthday is coming up, you start thinking about having the people who matter there with you.
I called my parents about two months before my birthday. “Hey, Mom,” I said. “Listen, I’m planning something special for my thirtieth, and I really want you guys to come.”
There was a pause, not a long one, but enough to notice. “Well, that sounds nice, dear,” she said finally. “Let me talk to your father.” I could hear them talking in the background. When she came back on, her voice was hesitant. “We’d love to come, Lisa. It’s just that flights are so expensive these days.”
“Don’t worry about that,” I said quickly. “I’ll pay for everything. Your flights, a hotel… I’ve got the space if you want to stay here.”
“Well, if you’re sure… Let me check with Emma, too.”
I called Emma later. “Hey, Em. Did Mom tell you about my birthday plans? I want you all there. It’s my thirtieth, kind of a big deal.”
“I guess,” she said, her voice having that same uncertain quality as Mom’s, like they were doing me some huge favor. “I mean, if you’re paying for everything.”
“I am,” I said. “I’ll handle all the travel costs. You guys just need to show up.”
A few days later, Emma called me back. “Hey, about the birthday thing. I was looking at flights, and they’re super expensive right now. Why don’t you just send me the money, and I’ll handle it? I’m really good at finding deals. Might save you some cash.”
It would be easier. “How much are we talking?”
“About $1,500 should cover all three tickets if I time it right.”
I sent the money that afternoon. Worth it to have my family there.
Two weeks went by. Then Mom called. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, her voice thick with guilt. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but could you help us out with something else? Your father and I realized we don’t really have anything nice to wear to your party. We’d be so embarrassed showing up at your fancy party looking like… well, like we just came from the farm.”
They didn’t live on a farm. “We were thinking maybe $2,000 would be enough for both of us to get something decent. Maybe get our hair done, too.”
“Okay,” I sighed. “I’ll send it.”
“Oh, thank you, sweetheart! You’re such a good daughter!”
I transferred another $2,000. $3,500 total now. But you only turn thirty once, right?
The day before my birthday, I was running around getting everything ready when my doorbell rang. A delivery guy stood there with a package. It was from my parents. I was confused. Why would they send me something when they were supposed to be flying in tomorrow?
I opened the box. Inside was a dress. An absolutely hideous, shiny, metallic pink thing that looked like it came straight out of a bad ’80s movie. It had weird puffy sleeves and a bizarre bow thing around the waist. But the worst part was the smell. It smelled like mothballs and that musty odor of a thrift store.
I held it up, and that’s when I saw the tag. A secondhand store tag. The price was still on it: $15.
I just stood there, staring. My parents sent me a fifteen-dollar used dress for my thirtieth birthday after I’d just sent them $3,500 so they could come and buy nice clothes for themselves.
I called Mom’s cell. Straight to voicemail. Dad’s phone, also voicemail. Emma’s number, voicemail. This was starting to feel really wrong.
Two hours went by. Nothing. Finally, around 8:00 p.m., I got a text back from Mom. A simple message that made my blood run cold.
That’s your 30th birthday present from us. We spent the money you sent on a trip for Emma instead. She’s in Hawaii with her friends. Don’t be mad. You have to understand that Emma is our priority right now. She’s younger and needs our support more than you do.
I read that message about five times before it really sank in. They took my money, $3,500, and sent Emma to Hawaii. And they sent me a fifteen-dollar used dress.
I replied: “I understand perfectly.”
I sat on my couch, holding that awful pink dress and thinking. For the past two years, I’d been helping my parents with their mortgage payments, $500 a month. And Emma’s college tuition? I’d been paying for that for three years now—room, board, books, everything. Another $1,500 a month. And this is how they treated me.
I took a picture of the dress, then went to my kitchen drawer and got the scissors. I came back to the couch and started cutting. Each snip felt like I was cutting away years of being taken for granted, years of being the responsible one who never asked for anything back. When I was done, the dress was in about twenty pieces. I swept them into a garbage bag and threw it in the trash. Then I made a decision. I was going to cancel all the payments. But not tonight. I wasn’t going to let them ruin my actual birthday.
My thirtieth birthday party started out pretty good. The restaurant looked amazing. My friends were in a great mood. About an hour in, people started asking where my family was. “Oh, they couldn’t make it,” I said. “Flight issues.”
But here’s the thing that really got to me. Not one of them called. Not one text. Not a single “Happy Birthday.” My parents, who I’d been supporting, couldn’t be bothered. Emma, whose entire college education I was paying for, nothing.
What I did see was Emma posting photos on Instagram. Pictures of her on some beach in Hawaii, cocktails, sunset shots—the whole vacation album, paid for with my money.
I was pissed, but I wasn’t going to let it show. I started taking my own photos. Pictures with my friends, shots of the beautiful cake. I posted a bunch on Facebook and Instagram.
Within thirty minutes, I got a comment from my mother: Why didn’t you wear the gorgeous pink dress we sent you?
I stared at that comment for a full minute. The audacity was unbelievable. I replied with the photo of the dress. Do you mean this dress? The one with the $15 thrift store price tag still on it?
My friends started seeing the comments. Then Mom doubled down: We spent hours choosing that dress for you. We’re so disappointed you didn’t appreciate our thoughtful gift.
That’s when I lost it. I commented back: I turned 30 years old today, and you sent me a used dress that cost $15. After I sent you $3,500 for flights and clothes so you could be here. Then I posted another photo, the one I’d taken of the package when it first arrived.
Within an hour, the post had dozens of comments from my friends, all supporting me. That’s when my phone rang.
“Lisa Marie, you delete that post right now!” My mother’s voice was shaking with anger.
“No.”
“You have embarrassed us! How dare you put our private business on the internet!”
“Your private business? You mean the fact that you stole money from me and sent me garbage for my birthday?”
“We did not steal anything! That money was a gift!”
“A gift with strings attached, apparently. Since you were supposed to use it to come to my party.”
“If you don’t delete it, we’re going to have to limit our contact with you.”
“Oh, no,” I said, laughing. “Whatever will I do without people who steal from me?”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Am I? Well, here’s some more drama for you. Right after I hang up, I’m canceling the mortgage payments and Emma’s tuition. All of it.”
I hung up and opened my banking app. It took about five minutes. The mortgage payment, the tuition payment—all of it, gone. I went back to my friends and told them what I’d just done. They cheered. Actually cheered.
The rest of the night was amazing. My phone kept buzzing with calls, but I ignored every single one. When I finally went to bed, I had about fifteen missed calls. I sent one text back to Emma: I don’t talk to thieves. Then I blocked all their numbers. For the first time in years, I felt free.
Two weeks went by. Then my boss called me into his office. “Lisa, I got a phone call yesterday from someone claiming to be your mother.” My stomach dropped. “She said you’d left your family in a difficult financial situation and that I needed to talk to you about resuming financial support. She also mentioned something about going to court.”
I explained everything. He listened, then actually chuckled. “Well, sounds like you did the right thing. Family or not, nobody should take advantage of you like that. If this escalates and you need legal help, we have a corporate lawyer who can assist you.”
A month later, they showed up at my door. My parents and Emma. They’d flown all the way across the country.
My mother pushed past me into my living room. “Lisa, this has gone too far. The bank sent us a warning about the mortgage. They’re threatening foreclosure.”
“I have one year left of college,” Emma said. “You can’t just abandon me now.”
“If you want to finish college,” I looked at her, “get a job and pay for it yourself.”
“You’re being vindictive,” my dad said. “This is about that stupid dress, isn’t it?”
“This is about you stealing $3,500 from me and treating me like garbage.”
“We’re your family!” Mom snapped. “You’re supposed to help family!”
“Help goes both ways,” I said. “When have any of you ever helped me?”
They all started talking at once, calling me selfish and ungrateful. I walked to my front door and opened it. “Get out of my house. Right now.”
When they didn’t move, I literally started pushing them toward the door. Emma was the last one out. I slammed the door in her face.
After that, I heard through cousins that my parents had gotten full-time jobs and were complaining to everyone about how hard they were working. Emma was working two jobs to pay for her senior year, exhausted and with no time for parties. Did I feel bad? Not really. Every time I started to feel guilty, I remembered that hideous pink dress and the text where Mom said Emma was their priority.
Fine. That meant I was my own priority now. And honestly, it felt amazing.