“You Should Be Earning for Your Own Place, Not Expecting Handouts from Mom,” My Mom’s Husband Told Me

It was a chilly evening in November when the argument erupted. I, Lily, had just returned from a long day of job hunting in the city, my spirits low and my feet sore. The living room was warm, a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, and I was looking forward to a quiet night in. That was until Vincent, my mom’s husband, decided it was the perfect time to lecture me.

Vincent, a man of few accomplishments, had moved in with us last year after marrying my mom, Genesis. He had always been a bit of a freeloader, living off my mom’s modest teacher salary while boasting about business ventures he never started. His latest obsession was that everyone should be entirely self-sufficient, ignoring the irony of his own situation.

As I kicked off my shoes and settled onto the sofa, Vincent started, “Lily, we need to talk about your living situation.”

I sighed, not in the mood for another one of his ‘talks’. “What about it, Vincent?”

“You’re 24, still living at home, and I don’t see any rent money coming from you,” he accused, ignoring the fact that I helped with groceries and did most of the house chores.

“I’ve been looking for a job, you know that. It’s not easy out there,” I replied, my voice steady despite the growing frustration.

“That’s no excuse. You should be earning enough for your own place, not expecting handouts from your mom,” Vincent retorted, his tone condescending.

The room felt smaller as his words hung in the air. My mom, Genesis, remained silent, her eyes fixed on her knitting. It wasn’t like her to stay quiet during such discussions, but lately, she seemed withdrawn, tired of mediating between me and Vincent.

“I’m not asking for handouts. I’m doing the best I can,” I shot back, feeling my cheeks flush with anger.

Vincent scoffed, “Doing your best? Doesn’t look like it. You need to take more responsibility instead of being a burden.”

The word ‘burden’ echoed painfully in my ears. I stood up, facing him. “I am not a burden. I am trying. You, on the other hand, have been living here, contributing nothing but criticism.”

Vincent’s face turned red, and my mom finally looked up, her expression pained. “Please, let’s not do this tonight,” she murmured.

But it was too late. The dam had broken, and years of frustration poured out. “Why should I take advice from someone who lives off my mom? What right do you have to tell me how to live my life?”

Vincent stood up abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “I’m trying to teach you about the real world, Lily. Something your mother obviously failed to do.”

That was the last straw. I grabbed my coat, my heart pounding in my chest. “Maybe I should leave then, if I’m such a burden.”

Genesis reached out, her voice soft, “Lily, please…”

But I was already out the door, the cold air hitting me like a wave. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I couldn’t stay there, not with him. As I walked down the street, the lights blurred through my tears, and I realized that this argument had been brewing for a long time. Maybe too long.