How To Plan A Fun Mother And Son Vacation On A Budget?

The day after our wedding, Justin Hudson and I are finally about to leave for our honeymoon. A trip that's supposed to be just for the two of us. But as we're about to board our flight, his mother, Karen Cruz, shows up beside him with a suitcase and a warm smile. "I'm not here to get in your way," she says. "I'm just tagging along." I freeze. Justin simply takes my hand and tries to reassure me. "My mom raised me all by herself. It wasn't easy. If she wants to come, let her. Don't start acting selfish the minute we're married." The entire trip, the two of them sit together, reminiscing about relatives I've never met and sharing stories I've never heard. Karen even jokes that the neighbor's daughter used to insist she'd only ever marry Justin. Justin laughs as he peels an orange for her. "Mom, don't start." He never even looks at me. When we arrive at the hotel, the front desk informs me that the honeymoon suite I booked has been changed to a family room. Karen immediately takes my hand. "Zoe, I was just trying to save you two some money. We're family. Why pay for two rooms?" That night, she complains that the air conditioning is too cold, the shower is too loud, and my perfume gives her a headache. By the end of the night, she's called Justin over to sit beside her bed. He stays there until dawn. Only then does he finally turn to me. "My mom's getting older. Just let her have this." I stare out at the pale gray ocean. And in that moment, I finally understand. This honeymoon gives the two of them exactly what they want. As for me, I'm nothing more than the extra bride in their story.

On the first day of every month, my mom will give me my allowance based on the number of times I had checked in with her last month. "You'll receive 20 dollars for greeting your parents once in the morning and once in the evening. But last month, you only hit ten days' worth of quota, so you can only receive 200 dollars. This also means your 300-dollar punctuality fee will be deducted as well. "After adding on 150 dollars for your basic necessities, you shall receive only 350 dollars for this month's allowance. Remember to write a reflection report on your lack of punctuality later. I'll only transfer you the money if your report is acceptable." I become so overwhelmed by anxiety that my voice starts trembling. "I was busy with my finals last month, Mom! I had to line up outside the library at 5:00 am every day just so I could secure myself a seat! That's why I couldn't call you in time!" In a choked-up tone, I plead to my mom, "I need 600 dollars for the train ticket all the way home during the holidays! 350 dollars really isn't enough for me! Mom, can you please—" But my mom cuts me off firmly, "The allowance system is something that I've specifically designed for you so that I can help you get rid of the bad habit of wanting to receive everything without putting in hard work! Why can't you just understand that I'm doing this for your own good?" After that, she ends the call mercilessly. Just as I'm filled with despair and helplessness, a blond appears before my eyes. He's willing to buy my train ticket for me, but in return, I need to leave with him.

Before my son entered university, he gave me a list of necessities he needed for school. Everything from a laptop costing 2,000 dollars to a phone at 1,000 dollars. Even the cost of traveling amounted to almost 10,000 dollars. My head pounded at the staggering figure. My mom had been hospitalized and was in urgent need of money. 10,000 dollars was a huge sum. I asked if I could give him 5,000 dollars first. My son’s face darkened in an instant, and he yelled at me for being stingy. He even wrote a lengthy post scolding his own family on social media. The next day, I read the post while at work. Someone even threatened to kill me. [A parent like you should die!] I read the latest post my son wrote, and my heart grew cold. In that case, there was no need for me to keep the truth a secret.

To take care of my mother after she fell and injured herself, I turned down a promotion and took a week off work to stay by her side. On the day she was discharged from the hospital, she smiled and handed me a small envelope. “Suzy, you’ve worked hard these past few days. This is just a little something from me. Go treat yourself to something good.” I wiped my hands, a quiet warmth spreading through my chest. When I opened the envelope, I froze for a moment. Inside was $2. Still, I told myself it didn’t matter. The amount wasn’t important. What mattered was the thought behind it. But the very next day, while scrolling through social media, I came across a post from my younger brother, the one who hadn’t shown his face at the hospital even once. Nine photos filled the post, all of them showing off a sprawling luxury mansion. In the center was a photo of the purchase contract. The caption read: “Officially the owner of a $2 million riverfront house. Big thanks to Mom for the support!”

In my previous life, my three sons told me they wanted to set up a Family Bond Fund for me. Each of them would deposit three thousand dollars every month. I cried with gratitude, truly believing that decades of sacrifice had finally paid off. One of them even said, "Mom, you've given us so much. It's our turn to take care of you now." However, eight years later, I was told I have uremia. That was when I discover that the bank card, which supposedly held the fund, couldn't even cover the dialysis deposit. Soon after, my eldest son video-called me. He said he wanted to buy a better apartment in a good school district. He was short of 150 thousand dollars for the down payment and asked if I could lend it to him first. My second son came to the hospital with his wife and daughter. He didn't ask about my condition at all. Instead, he kept showing off his daughter's piano competition trophy, hinting that he needed 50 thousand dollars to enroll her in a prestigious international piano program. My youngest son was even more straightforward. He said he had his eye on a limited-edition pair of sneakers and wanted me to pay 30 thousand dollars for them as a birthday gift. The moment they realized the bank account didn't have enough money, their faces fell. "We each put in three thousand dollars every month. Over eight years, that's at least eight hundred thousand dollars. Mom, are you hiding the money from us?" To force me to reveal my savings, they took turns pressuring me, switching between sweet talk and threats. They even told relatives that I had dementia and had been scammed out of my money. Unable to take it anymore, I yanked out my IV late one night and walked out of the hospital, only to be hit by a car, dying instantly. When I open my eyes again, I find myself back on the day of my hospital checkup.

In order to stop me from spending money recklessly, my mom has exchanged my college living expenses into coupons. If I need to buy anything, I must buy it online. Also, I need to send a copy of my expenses sheet and the details behind said expenses to my mom so that she can check everything thoroughly. Only when she's given me her permission can I buy that item. When I tell my mom I want to buy a shirt, she tells me, "I remember you could still wear that shirt back in your high school days. You should just stick with it. Why waste your money on new clothes?" During winter, I can only wear the old sweater I've been wearing since my high school times while huddling in a corner of my dorm and nibbling on a sandwich. Meanwhile, my mom smugly posts a picture of the six-thousand-dollar dress she has just bought on her social media feed. "What a beautiful dress!"