I wanted to treat our mothers to a special dinner at Bellini’s, the fanciest restaurant in town. Just the four of us. A thank-you to my mom, who’d been our rock, and a nod to my mother-in-law, Charlize, who—while not exactly warm—was still family. But when we arrived, Charlize had turned our intimate dinner into a banquet. She’d invited her sisters, their grown kids, bridge club friends—even someone’s baby. My heart sank. Ten extra people. At Bellini’s. Worse?

She waved us over like we were party hosts. “Our generous hosts!” she announced, wine glass raised. Lucas and I stood there, stunned. My mom looked completely out of place, pushed to the end of the table. The night dragged on—champagne, truffle appetizers, dessert all around. Then came the kicker: Charlize told the server, loudly, to hand me the check. “She just got promoted! She’s treating!” The bill? $1,250.47 I smiled, pulled out my card,