Chapter 5
Ten days after I cut off the money, Edward and his family were barely scraping by.
Edward's tiny paycheck, after covering the bills, barely left enough to put food on the table.
Bella's credit cards were already maxed out, and the moment she asked her so-called "besties" for a loan, they all found reasons to bail.
The one who felt it most was my grandson, Hank.
He was a sixteen-year-old who'd grown up with Bella's "boys should be spoiled" philosophy, never thinking twice about how much he spent.
Name-brand sneakers, the latest phones, pricey in-game skins—if he asked, Bella would max out her cards just to give them to him.
But now, his allowance was gone.
He couldn't hold his head up in front of his so-called friends at school anymore.
"Hank, heard your grandpa cut you off?" one of them sneered.
"Thought you were all that, but turns out you're just another freeloader living off your grandpa," another chimed in.
"If you're broke, why are you still hanging around us? Go home and beg your mom for some cash," a third guy jeered.
Teenage pride was paper-thin, easily shattered.
Every word was like a needle, leaving Hank feeling raw and torn up inside.
He burst into the house, yelling at Bella, demanding why she wouldn't give him any cash.
Money was already driving Bella crazy, and Hank's tantrum was the last straw.
She shouted, "Money! That's all you care about! Can't you see we're barely surviving? If you want cash, forget it. If you want my life, take it."
It was the first time Bella ever turned Hank down.
Hank slammed the door and stormed out.
He was desperate for cash. He needed to show he wasn't just a nobody, to claw back whatever pride he still had.
An insane idea began to brew in his mind.
He knew where the car key was kept at home.
I bought that car outright, so Edward and Bella could drive Hank around.
That night, after everyone was asleep, Hank snuck out and swiped the car keys.
He called up his crew, telling them he was taking everyone out to the suburbs for some crazy fun: midnight street racing.
A bunch of reckless, hormone-charged teens piled into the car and tore off into the pitch-black night.
Alcohol, speed, adrenaline: the whole crew was buzzing on the mix.
Hank floored the gas, chasing that fake high as the car roared through the darkness.
At an intersection, he gunned it, trying to blow past his buddies.
With a deafening crash, he slammed right into an electric bike that was just minding its own business.
The guy on the bike was sent flying over thirty feet, knocked out cold, blood pooling beneath him.
The piercing wail of sirens and ambulance horns shattered the quiet night.
The police were on the scene in minutes.
Turns out the truth was brutal: Hank, just sixteen, was driving without a license, speeding, and running a red light. The blame was all on him.
The guy Hank hit was rushed straight to the ICU, fighting for his life.
At three in the morning, Edward and Bella got the call from the police.
They rushed to the hospital, barely dressed. They saw the guy lying in the ICU, his fate hanging by a thread, and a daily bill that looked absolutely astronomical. Both of them just collapsed on the spot.
The doctor told them the man had a brain bleed and multiple fractures. His condition was critical. Even if he survived, the treatment and rehab would be a bottomless pit of expenses.
The initial estimate was that medical bills plus compensation would cost at least 500 thousand.
That number landed on Edward and Bella like the end of the world. They felt the ground vanish beneath their feet.
Every penny they'd ever wrung out of me over the years had either been squandered or sent off to her folks.
They didn't have a single cent to their names.
Bella's face turned paper-white. Her hands were trembling as she pulled out her phone and started calling her folks back home.
With terror and hopelessness eating him alive, Edward went straight to me.
He dialed my number.
I was out on the balcony of my old house, exercising, when I finally heard my phone ringing.
Unknown number, but I had a feeling it was Edward.
I picked up.
Edward was sobbing on the other end, his voice shaking, unable to get the words out.
He choked out, "Dad, something happened to Hank."
Between sobs, he poured out the whole story, crying his heart out as he told me what went down.
I stood there frozen, with the phone still in my hand, silent for a long time.
The clivia on the balcony was in full bloom.
Inside, a whirlwind of feelings crashed through me.
Hank was my own grandson. My heart ached for him.
But I knew: if I went soft again, there'd be no saving them, ever.
Spoiling them was a slow-acting poison, and I'd been shoving it down their throats for a whole decade.
Now, it was time for them to taste the bitter antidote.
"Is that so?" I said, my voice steady, almost like I was just talking about the weather.
"He's nearly grown up. It's about time he faced the consequences for himself," I said.
With that, I hung up before Edward could say another word.
I knew my response was cold, maybe even cruel.
But I also knew: sometimes, one had to be merciless if one really wanted to cure the rot.
I gazed at the pale, early morning sky and let out a weary sigh.
It felt like everything was about to come crashing down.
But sometimes, one had to let it all collapse before one could start over.