“Mom, we need to talk,” he said seriously.
“Sure, what’s on your mind?” I asked.
“I need a car,” he said, arms crossed.
Surprised, I replied, “How’s your part-time job going? You were saving for one.”

Michael sighed. “It’s taking too long. I need it now. All my friends have cars. I’m tired of the bus and asking for rides.”

“Michael, cars are expensive. You have a job, so keep saving,” I reasoned.
“I can’t wait any longer,” he snapped. “If not, I’ll just move in with Dad. He’ll buy me one.”

His words hit me hard. My ex-husband, David, was known for buying Michael’s affection.

“Michael, you can’t threaten to leave because you’re not getting what you want,” I said firmly.
“Why not? Dad spoils me,” he retorted.

“Being an adult means making responsible choices,” I said, trying to stay calm. “This isn’t about your dad—it’s about learning responsibility.”

Days passed in tense silence. Each conversation about the car ended in arguments. One evening at dinner, I tried again.

“Michael, can we talk about the car?”
He sighed, poking at his food. “What’s there to talk about? You’re still saying no.”

“It’s not just about the car,” I said, steadying my voice. “It’s about how you’re handling this.”