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Retired, I Sent Son 5000; Daughter-in-Law: 11800, About to Reply

NovelShort Completed

Second Chance Billionaire Revenge HotDevil Husband

My name is Garry Finch. I'm sixty-five this year, and my pension comes to $7,800 a month. But for the past three years, without fail, I've transferred $5,000 every month to my son's household to help with their expenses. My wife passed early. I know it isn't easy for young people to put down roots away from home, and the mortgage and car payments were crushing them. As their father, whatever I could do to help, I did.

Chapters (4)

第1章

My name is Garry Finch, I'm 65 years old, and I collect a pension of $7,800 a month. But for the past three years, every single month, without fail, I've sent $5,000 to my son's family to help with their household expenses. My wife passed away young, and I know it isn't easy for young people to put down roots in another city. The mortgage and the car loan had them gasping for air, and as their father, I figured any little bit I could give would help. Then, at that one family dinner, my daughter-in-law suddenly smiled at me and said, "Dad, from now on just give us $3,000 a month." My heart warmed, and I was about to praise her for being so reasonable, when my son, his eyes red, blurted out a sentence that nailed me to the spot. It was an early autumn evening, and I was walking slowly home from the farmers' market, carrying a cloth bag. Inside were two bundles of wilted spinach and a piece of pork belly the owner had marked down to half price just after closing his stall. As I passed the deli on the corner, the smell of roast duck drifted out and went straight up my nose. I swallowed, but still quickened my pace. "A roast duck runs a few dozen dollars, enough vegetables to feed me for three days," I calculated silently. Back in the empty house, I put the groceries in the refrigerator and, out of habit, glanced at the calendar on the living room wall. Today was the 15th. I dried my hands, fished my reading glasses out of the drawer and put them on, then took out my smartphone with its slightly cracked screen. I opened the mobile banking app with practiced ease, entered the card number I knew backward and forward, and transferred $5,000. With a "ding" of a text alert, the screen popped up confirming the transfer had gone through. Looking at the $2,800 left in my account, I let out a long breath. I'd been going through this same routine for three whole years. My pension really isn't small — $7,800 a month. By rights, an old man living alone, no illness, no trouble, that money would be plenty to sip tea and play chess every day and have fish and meat at every meal. But I forced myself to live pinched and tight. My clothes were ones my wife bought me years ago, when she was still alive; the cuffs had gone pale from washing. If an appliance broke, I'd fix it if I could, and if not, I'd make do with a secondhand one. The neighbors all laughed at me, said I got stingier the older I got, turned into a real Justin Roy of a miser. But they didn't know I was saving this money to keep my son Stewart afloat. Three years ago, my son and his wife bought a school-district condo in a neighboring city on a mortgage. Add the car loan and their newborn son, and the young couple's finances were suddenly stretched thin. I can't forget how worn out Stewart looked the day he came back to see me. He slumped on the sofa and chain-smoked half a pack of cigarettes, his hair a mess like a bird's nest, his eyes shot through with red. "Dad, I'm still two thousand short on next month's mortgage, and I really can't borrow any more money." He buried his head in his hands, his voice trembling. In that moment, my heart felt like something had grabbed it hard. Before my wife passed, she held my hand and told me over and over that we only had this one son, and no matter what, we had to help him build a family and a life. "Stewart, don't be scared. Dad's here." From then on, I set myself a rule: every month, once my pension came in, I'd take out $5,000 and wire it to the young couple. I thought this money would be like a timely rain, dousing the anxiety in their lives. I believed that as long as I, their father, kept giving off light and heat, my son could stand up straight and hold his head high out there. Every time I finished a transfer, I even felt a quiet swell of pride. See, I told myself, I may be old, but I haven't become a burden to my children — I'm still the pillar of this family. But I never once imagined that this self-satisfied giving would one day turn into a knife hanging over this family. At the end of the month, my son and his family of three came back over the weekend to visit me. To welcome them, I went to the morning market before daybreak to wait in line, bought the liveliest sea bass, and cut off two pounds of the finest pork ribs. I spent the whole afternoon busy in the kitchen until my back ached, but looking at the four steaming dishes and a soup on the table, my heart felt sweeter than honey. At first the mood at the table was warm and easy. My daughter-in-law, Penelope, kept putting food on my grandson's plate while chatting with me. "Dad, your cooking is out of this world — even better than the restaurants," Penelope said with a smile. "If you like it, eat more. You're both busy with work, and takeout has no nutrition." I cheerfully set a piece of braised pork rib on my son's plate. But Stewart was quiet. He kept his head down, picking at his rice, poking at the ribs in his bowl without eating a single bite. I figured he was just worn out from work and didn't think much of it. Halfway through the meal, Penelope set down her chopsticks, picked up a napkin, and dabbed her mouth gracefully. She glanced at Stewart, then turned to me, an especially gentle smile spreading over her face. "Dad, actually, the reason we came back today is there's something I wanted to talk over with you." I quickly put down my chopsticks. "What is it? Did something change with Stewart's job?" "No, no," Penelope said, waving her hand, her smile turning even sweeter. "It's about the money you send us every month." My chest tightened. Could it be that $5,000 wasn't enough? Prices had been going up lately, and my grandson had started early-learning classes, so the expenses really were high. I calculated to myself that if it truly wasn't enough, I could dip into my little burial savings to make up the difference. But what Penelope said next made me breathe a sigh of relief. "Dad, thanks to your help these past three years, the pressure of our mortgage isn't so bad anymore." "Stewart and I talked it over. You're getting on in years, and you can't keep making yourself suffer." "From now on, cut back a little on what you give us each month. Just $3,000 will be fine." Hearing that, I froze for a moment, and then a huge wave of warmth surged up in my heart.

第2章

Three thousand dollars? That would leave me with forty-eight hundred. I don't want for food, but the fact that my daughter-in-law was thinking of me showed that these past three years of sacrifice hadn't been for nothing. She was a sensible, good girl, one who knew to care about an old man. "Oh, Penelope, it's rare to see such devotion in you two. As long as you're doing well, what's it to me if Dad eats a little less meat..." Before I could finish, a loud crack cut off my sentimental moment. It was Stewart. He'd slammed his chopsticks down hard on the table, hard enough to rattle the soup bowl in front of him and slosh broth over the rim. His head shot up, his eyes fixed on Penelope, the rims frighteningly red. "Why are you giving him three thousand?!" Stewart's voice had gone hoarse with agitation. He turned to look at me, his chest heaving violently. "Dad! Don't give us a single cent from now on! Keep your pension for yourself. Even if you throw it away, don't wire another cent to my house again!" The whole dining room fell dead silent in an instant. I froze where I sat, mouth half open, the smile from a moment ago still stiff on my face. My grandson was so scared by the sudden burst of temper that he broke into a wail. Penelope's face went white in a flash, then turned ashen. She kicked Stewart hard under the table and hissed at him under her breath, "What's gotten into you? Why are you yelling in front of Dad!" Stewart ignored her, just clenched his fists tight, the veins standing out on the backs of his hands. "I'm not out of my mind. This money, we can't take it anymore." There was a deep despair in Stewart's tone. "Stewart... what's the matter with you?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Did Dad do something wrong?" "Dad, it's not about you." Stewart stood up abruptly. "I'm full. I'm going downstairs for a smoke." With that, he slammed out the door without looking back. That left Penelope and me staring at each other. Penelope forced out an awkward smile. "Dad, don't mind him. His company's been doing layoffs lately, he's under a lot of pressure, and his temper's short." Was it really because of work pressure? Looking at the plate of braised pork ribs on the table that no one had touched much, I felt as if a boulder weighing hundreds of pounds was pressing down on my heart, choking off my breath. The meal ended in a rush, in that heavy, oppressive mood. Early the next morning, the three of them came again. The atmosphere was noticeably easier than the night before. Stewart carried two boxes of my favorite premium green tea, and Penelope had bought a big bag of fresh fruit. "Dad, I'm sorry about last night. I lost control of my emotions. Please don't take it to heart." Stewart hung his head, like a child who'd done something wrong. I quickly waved it off. "What's a father and son doing talking like this? When work's going badly, it's normal to grumble a bit." Holding the child beside him, Penelope smiled. "Exactly, Dad. Stewart's the type who suffers just to save face. But Dad, that thing we settled on last night, let's still do it my way." "You keep forty-eight hundred a month for yourself and just wire us three thousand. After all, the little one's about to start preschool, so there really are some expenses." Stewart stood by the window, his back to us, an unlit cigarette between his fingers. At Penelope's words, his shoulders stiffened slightly, but he stayed silent the whole time and didn't argue back the way he had the night before. Looking at my son's back, I sighed inwardly. It seemed the two of them had gone home and closed ranks, and in the end Stewart had bowed to reality. "All right, we'll do as Penelope says. On the fifteenth of next month, I'll wire the three thousand." I nodded my agreement. They didn't stay long before saying they had to hurry back to get ready for their early shift the next day, and they left in a rush. The place went dead quiet again. I picked up a rag and started cleaning up the mess they'd left behind. While clearing out the cracks in the sofa, my hand found a wadded-up ball of paper. I pulled it out and looked. It was a crumpled shopping receipt, one Penelope must have accidentally dropped out of her pocket. I meant to toss it straight into the trash, but for some reason I couldn't explain, I unfolded the crumpled paper. The heading at the top of the receipt was a string of English letters, from that newly opened upscale imported-goods grocery store downtown. I put on my reading glasses and read down the list. Premium cherries (Grade J): $298. Australian Wagyu ribeye steak: $450. Black tiger prawns: $188. The last line was some brand of imported serum: $1,580. Total: $2,896. The date was yesterday afternoon. Which was right before they came back to see me. My hands began to shake beyond my control, and the thin sheet of thermal paper rustled between my fingertips. Nearly three thousand dollars. That was more than half a month of my pension, hard-earned money I'd scrimped together haggling with vendors at the market and buying wilted vegetables. And they, in just one afternoon at the grocery store, had spent it clean. Everything they'd bought was the high-end stuff I never dared so much as glance at. I dropped down onto the sofa, my head buzzing. If they were living so lavishly, able to afford beef that cost hundreds of dollars a pound and cosmetics that cost thousands, then why did they still need my money? Penelope's gentle, considerate line, "Just give us three thousand from now on," now that I thought back on it, was like a ringing slap across my old face. If they weren't short of money, then what was behind Stewart's near-breakdown, that abnormal behavior of his last night? Could it be... that the two of them were putting on a double act to con me out of my money?

第3章

No, I'd watched Stewart grow up from the time he was a boy. However useless he might be, he'd never do something like scheming against his own father. There was only one explanation. Something in this family was being kept from me, and it was something big. That whole day, I felt like I'd lost my soul. In the evening, when I couldn't stand the restlessness anymore, I went to the neighborhood park to play chess with my old colleague, Peter. Peter was a shrewd man. Before he retired, he'd handled mediation in the company's union, and he'd seen every kind of family squabble there was. After I lost three games in a row, Peter noticed something was wrong with me. "Garry, you just walked your rook right into my mouth. Your head's not in the game. What is it? That precious son of yours upset you again?" I sighed, pushed the chess pieces aside, and told Peter everything that had happened over the past two days, including the shopping receipt, from start to finish. When I'd finished, Peter picked up his thermos, took a sip of wellness tea, and gave a cold laugh. "Garry, Garry, you've been sharp your whole life. How is it that now, in your old age, you've gone soft in the head about family?" I looked at him, confused. "How am I soft in the head? Is it wrong to help my own son?" "Your mistake is that you've helped too long, and too fully!" Peter rapped the stone table with his knuckles, making a crisp sound. "Think about it. Money is a thing that changes flavor over time." "The first year you give them money, that's charity in a snowstorm. The two of them are grateful, thankful to the bone." "The second year you give again, and it becomes a habit. They start to feel it's owed to them." "By the third year, you're emptying yourself out to prop them up, regular as clockwork. To greedy people, that's a 'vested interest.' Why on earth would they give it up?" My heart sank as I listened, and I argued back, "But Penelope offered on her own to cut it down to three thousand." "That's because she's clever!" Peter gave a cold snort. "If she'd kept asking for five thousand, even your son wouldn't have gone along with it. She retreated to advance. Asking for three thousand, she gets a good name as a dutiful, sensible daughter-in-law, and she keeps her grip on your wallet all the same. It's called a slow, steady trickle. Understand?" Peter leaned in closer and lowered his voice. "As for your son Stewart... he is, after all, your own flesh and blood." "When a son with a conscience sees his old father in worn-out clothes, eating discounted food, while his own wife blows the old man's hard-earned money, the guilt eats at him. It can drive a man mad." "When he slammed the table last night, it wasn't at you. It was at his own uselessness, and at his wife's greed!" Peter's words were like an extremely sharp scalpel, cutting cleanly through the cloth that had been draped over my eyes. That night, I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned in bed, my mind full of Peter's words and Stewart's bloodshot eyes. I dug out the yellowed savings book from the drawer. It recorded how the savings of my whole life had been drained away. Five years ago, when Stewart got married, the engagement gift came to a hundred and eighty thousand, and I put in more than half of a lifetime's savings. Three years ago, when they were buying a place, they were short two hundred thousand on the down payment, and I threw in the last of my burial money. And these three years, the five thousand every month had drained my daily life like blood being drawn from a vein. I thought I was paving the way for my son, but I never imagined I was driving him into a moral dead end. No, I couldn't just sit here and wait to die. I had to find out exactly how hard Stewart's situation really was, and just what Penelope had been up to behind my back. I wanted to see it with my own eyes.

第4章

The next afternoon, I changed into clean clothes and took a long-distance bus for more than two hours to the city where Stewart lived. I didn't tell anyone. Working from memory alone, I found my way to the trading company where Stewart worked and stood outside the building. I found a secluded spot by the window in a fast food place across the street, ordered a cup of hot water, and kept my eyes locked on the company's main entrance. I watched from three in the afternoon until eight at night, long after the neon signs had come on. Finally, I saw that familiar figure. Stewart came out of the building behind several middle-aged men in suits. He walked at the very edge of the group, carrying several heavy gift boxes, his back hunched low, his face wearing a fawning, ingratiating look I had never seen on him before. At the curb, he rushed to open the car doors for the bosses, even slipping a hand over the top of the door frame so they wouldn't bump their heads. After the car pulled away, Stewart stood there in the exhaust fumes, waving, until the taillights had vanished from sight. Only then did he slowly straighten up. In that instant, it was as if every ounce of strength had been drained out of him, and he slumped against a roadside lamppost. He pulled out a cigarette and tried several times before it finally lit, his hands shaking badly. After two deep drags, he suddenly bent over the trash can and retched violently. "Ugh—" Even from across the street, I could see the tears at the corners of his eyes. My heart felt like it had been thrown into a meat grinder, the pain so sharp I could hardly breathe. This was my son. Stubborn and proud in front of me, but out here as lowly as a dog. Peter was right. He had it too hard. He felt for me, his old father, so he would rather carry it all himself than bleed me any longer. My eyes stung. I pushed open the door of the fast food place and hurried across the street, wanting to walk over and hand him a tissue, to pat him on the shoulder and tell him: Son, quit the job and come home with your dad. But just as I reached a landscaping tree only five or six steps from him, Stewart's phone suddenly rang. He quickly straightened up, wiped his mouth, and answered. The street was quiet at that hour, and with his phone on speaker, the voice on the other end came through clearly to my ears. It was Penelope's voice, but the gentleness and consideration she always showed in front of me were gone, replaced by something sharp and cutting. "Stewart, where the hell have you been? It's this late and you still haven't gotten your ass back to cook dinner?" Stewart's voice was heavy with exhaustion. "I just saw off two clients... Penelope, I'm begging you, all right? Let's stop taking my dad's money. My dad's almost seventy. He picks out the bruised vegetables just to save a little when he shops. I really can't stand it..." A cold laugh came instantly from the other end, a laugh that sent a chill through my whole body. "You can't stand it? What are you playing at, the devoted son?!" "Stewart, did you forget you just got demoted and had your pay cut last month? Your salary right now can't even cover half the mortgage!" "If I hadn't been generous enough to grudgingly knock the amount down to three thousand, do you think your old man's precious little savings would still be safe?" Stewart lowered his voice anxiously, almost through gritted teeth. "And isn't that only because last month, behind my back, you secretly went and paid off your brother's online loans—" "Shut your mouth!" Penelope cut him off sharply, her tone turning viciously vicious. "I'm warning you, Stewart. That three thousand is 'protection money' your father has to pay!" "If you dare run your mouth to your father, if you let a single word of that slip, I'll take our son back to my parents' place tomorrow and make sure you never see your child again for the rest of your life! I'll see you in court, and I'll strip your family down to its last shred of underwear!" At that, my mind went off like a bomb. Protection money? Online loans? Strip us to our last shred? The blood in my veins seemed to run backward in that instant. My legs buckled, and I nearly collapsed on the sidewalk.