When my husband passed away suddenly, it was just me and my 12-year-old daughter, May, against the world. I worked long hours as a bank manager to keep us afloat, determined she’d have the opportunities we’d once dreamed of. Through sheer grit, May earned a place at an Ivy League school — my proudest moment. It felt like our sacrifices had finally paid off.

At university, May met Carl, and soon wedding bells followed. But his wealthy parents, Dave and Viki, never hid their disdain. Their polite smiles came with cutting remarks about our “quaint” lifestyle. Still, May’s happiness mattered more, so I swallowed the hurt, standing tall beside her through the wedding preparations.

When May announced she was pregnant, joy filled our lives — until her in-laws planned a lavish baby shower, charging $1,500 per guest. I couldn’t afford it and begged them to reconsider, only to be told to “sell something or take a loan.” Heartbroken but determined, I borrowed from friends so I wouldn’t let my daughter down. Then, suddenly, their accounts were frozen due to an embezzlement scandal, and the grand event collapsed.

So, I threw May a shower at our modest home — homemade food, soft lights, and a cake baked with love. To everyone’s surprise, the guests adored it, praising the warmth and sincerity money couldn’t buy. Even Dave and Viki showed up, humbled, later asking for my help with their finances. I agreed — not for them, but for May. That day, I realized love and resilience build a richer life than wealth ever could.