My Parents Made Me Pay for My Dinner While Covering Everyone Else’s – Their Reason Was Ridiculous

Jennifer’s parents caught her off guard during a family dinner by unexpectedly asking her to cover the cost of her meal, while they paid for everyone else. Jennifer’s resentment brews as the sting of unfairness deepens, setting the stage for a confrontation the family won’t forget.

The night I got the text from Mom about a “special family dinner,” I nearly choked on my microwaved ramen. It had been ages since we’d all gotten together, and even longer since it felt like my parents actually wanted me there.

A woman reading a text on her phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman reading a text on her phone | Source: Midjourney

I love my family, but being the middle child is like being the bologna in a sandwich where everyone’s fighting over the bread.

I stared at my phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Part of me wanted to make up some lame excuse, but then I thought about Tina and Cameron, my perfect older sister and my can-do-no-wrong little brother.

They’d be there, basking in Mom and Dad’s approval, like always. And I’d remain the perpetual afterthought if I didn’t show up.

A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney

A thoughtful woman | Source: Midjourney

“Count me in,” I typed, hitting send before I could change my mind.

Mom replied instantly. “Great! Le Petit Château, 7 p.m. next Friday. Don’t be late!”

Le Petit Château. Fancy. I whistled low, already mentally tallying up my savings. This wasn’t going to be cheap, but hey, maybe it was a sign things were changing. Maybe they actually wanted to spend time with me, Jennifer the Forgettable.

A woman smiling at her phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman smiling at her phone | Source: Midjourney

That Friday, I arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early, feeling nervous. Just as I was about to go in, Mom and Dad showed up. Mom was all smiles, while Dad wore his usual concerned expression.

Inside, we found a cozy table, and soon after, Tina and Robert joined us. Tina looked stunning, as always, making me feel like a potato by comparison. Finally, Cameron arrived, late as usual, and complaining about traffic.

Now we were all settled, Mom wasted no time in making me feel insignificant.

A table in a restaurant | Source: Pexels

A table in a restaurant | Source: Pexels

“So, Jennifer,” Mom said, peering at me over her menu, “how’s work going? Still at that little marketing firm?”

I nodded, trying not to bristle at the ‘little’ part. “Yeah, it’s good. We just landed a pretty big client, actually. I’m heading up the campaign.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Mom said, her attention already drifting back to Tina, who was regaling Dad with tales of her son’s latest soccer game.

That stung, but the atmosphere improved while we ate. The food was great, and soon we were talking and laughing like we used to when I was a kid.

A woman enjoying her dinner | Source: Midjourney

A woman enjoying her dinner | Source: Midjourney

I was enjoying the meal and the rare feeling of being part of the family, but then the check came.

Dad reached for it and started going over the bill, like he always did. But then he frowned, looking directly at me.

“Jennifer,” he said, his voice oddly formal, “you’ll be covering your portion tonight.”

I blinked, sure I’d heard him wrong. “What?”

“You’re an adult now,” he continued, as if explaining something to a child. “It’s time you start paying your own way.”

A mature man in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

A mature man in a restaurant | Source: Midjourney

“But…” I started, my voice small, “I thought this was a family dinner. You’re paying for everyone else.”

Dad’s frown deepened. “Your sister and brother have families to support. You’re single, so it’s only fair.”

Fair. The word echoed in my head, mocking me. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over. Without a word, I pulled out my credit card and handed it to the waiter, praying it wouldn’t get declined.

The rest of the night was a blur. As I drove home, the hurt began to curdle into something else. Something harder, angrier.

An upset woman driving | Source: Midjourney

An upset woman driving | Source: Midjourney

The next morning, I woke up with a headache and a heart full of resentment. I spent the day alternating between moping on the couch and pacing my apartment like a caged animal. By evening, something inside me had shifted.

I wasn’t just going to let this go. Not this time.

An idea started to form. Crazy at first, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I was going to give them a taste of their own medicine.

A decisive woman | Source: Midjourney

A decisive woman | Source: Midjourney

I invited Mom and Dad over for dinner and then spent days perfecting the menu. I cleaned my apartment until it sparkled, bought fancy candles, and even splurged on a tablecloth that didn’t come from the dollar store.

The night of the dinner arrived, and I was eerily calm. I had a plan, and I was sticking to it.

The doorbell rang at 7 p.m. sharp. I took a deep breath and opened the door with a smile plastered on my face.

“Mom, Dad! Come in!”

A mature couple | Source: Pexels

A mature couple | Source: Pexels

Dad handed me a bottle of wine. “Place looks nice, Jennifer.”

“Thanks,” I said, ushering them to the living room. “Dinner’s almost ready. Can I get you something to drink?”

As I poured their wine, Mom settled onto the couch, her eyes roaming over my bookshelf. “So, how have you been, dear? We haven’t heard much from you since… well, since our last dinner.”

I forced a light laugh. “Oh, you know how it is. Work’s been crazy busy.”

A woman having dinner with her parents | Source: Midjourney

A woman having dinner with her parents | Source: Midjourney

We made small talk for a while, the conversation stilted and full of long pauses. Finally, the oven timer beeped, saving us all.

“Dinner’s ready!” I announced, perhaps a bit too cheerfully.

I’d outdone myself with the meal: herb-crusted salmon, roasted vegetables, and a quinoa salad that had taken forever to get right. Mom and Dad made appropriate noises of appreciation as they ate.

“This is delicious, Jennifer,” Mom said, sounding genuinely impressed. “I didn’t know you could cook like this.”

A mature woman smiling | Source: Pexels

A mature woman smiling | Source: Pexels

I shrugged, tamping down the flare of resentment at her surprise. “I’ve picked up a few things over the years.”

The dinner progressed smoothly, almost pleasantly. I almost forgot why I’d invited them over in the first place. Then Dad started with one of his lectures about financial responsibility, and I knew it was time.

As I cleared the plates and brought out a fancy tiramisu for dessert, I steeled myself. This was it.

“So,” I said casually, setting down the dessert plates, “I hope you enjoyed the meal.”

Plates of dessert | Source: Pexels

Plates of dessert | Source: Pexels

They both nodded, smiling. “It was wonderful, dear,” Mom said.

I smiled back, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Great. That’ll be $47.50 each, please.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Mom’s fork clattered against her plate, and Dad’s face went through a rapid series of emotions – confusion, disbelief, and then anger.

“I’m sorry, what?” he sputtered.

I kept my voice calm, channeling Dad’s tone from that night at the restaurant. “Well, you’re both adults. It’s time you started paying your own way.”

A woman having dinner with her parents | Source: Midjourney

A woman having dinner with her parents | Source: Midjourney

Mom’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “But… but this is your home. You invited us.”

“Yes,” I said, my voice hardening slightly. “Just like you invited me to Le Petit Château. And then made me pay for my meal while covering everyone else’s.”

Understanding dawned on their faces, quickly followed by shame.

“Jennifer,” Dad started, his voice gruff. “That’s not… we didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t mean what?” I interrupted, years of pent-up frustration finally boiling over.

A woman speaking to her parents over dinner | Source: Midjourney

A woman speaking to her parents over dinner | Source: Midjourney

“Didn’t mean to make me feel like I’m worth less than Tina or Cameron? Didn’t mean to constantly overlook me? Or did you just not mean to get called out on it?”

Mom reached out, trying to take my hand, but I pulled away. “Sweetie, we had no idea you felt this way.”

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Of course you didn’t. Do you have any idea what it’s like to always be the afterthought in your own family?”

Dad shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

A pensive man | Source: Pexels

A pensive man | Source: Pexels

“We love you just as much as your siblings, Jennifer.”

“Do you?” I challenged. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. I’m just as successful as Tina, just as hardworking as Cameron. But somehow, I’m always the one who’s expected to ‘act like an adult’ while they get a free pass.”

The room fell silent again, but this time it was heavy with unspoken words and long-ignored feelings.

Finally, Dad cleared his throat. “We… we owe you an apology, Jennifer. A big one.”

A woman speaking to her parents over dinner | Source: Midjourney

A woman speaking to her parents over dinner | Source: Midjourney

Mom nodded, tears in her eyes. “We never meant to make you feel less valued. You’re our daughter, and we love you so much. We’ve just… we’ve done a terrible job of showing it.”

I felt my own eyes welling up, but I blinked back the tears. “I don’t want your apologies. I want you to do better. To be better. To see me.”

Dad stood up, his movements stiff. For a moment, I thought he was going to leave.

A man rubbing his chin | Source: Pexels

A man rubbing his chin | Source: Pexels

Instead, he walked around the table and hugged me. It was awkward and a little too tight, but it was more genuine than any interaction we’d had in years.

“We see you, Jennifer,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “And we’re so, so proud of you. We’ve been blind and stupid, and we’ve taken you for granted. But that ends now.”

Mom joined the hug, and for a minute, we just stood there, a tangle of arms and unshed tears and long-overdue honesty.

A woman hugging her parents | Source: Midjourney

A woman hugging her parents | Source: Midjourney

When we finally broke apart, Mom wiped her eyes and gave a watery chuckle. “So, about that bill…”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Tell you what. This one’s on the house. But next time we go out? We’re splitting the check evenly. All of us.”

Dad nodded solemnly. “Deal.”

As they left that night, things weren’t magically fixed. Years of feeling overlooked and undervalued don’t disappear in one conversation. But it was a start. A crack in the wall I’d built around myself, letting in a glimmer of hope.

A hopeful woman | Source: Midjourney

A hopeful woman | Source: Midjourney

Here’s another story: When Carmen’s father-in-law, Jerry, invites her and Leo out to dinner, the couple is excited to spend time with the old man. But Jerry, known for his penny-pinching ways, makes the invitation sound like a rare gesture of generosity. Instead, he hands the bill over to Leo, claiming that he lost his wallet. When the couple realizes the truth, they teach him a lesson.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

Before She Died, Grandma Asked Me to Clean the Photo on Her Headstone a Year After Her Passing — I Finally Did So and Was Stunned by What I Found

“One year after I’m gone, clean my photo on my headstone. Just you. Promise me,” my grandma whispered her dying wish. A year after burying her, I approached her grave to keep my word, armed with some tools. What I found behind her weathered photo frame left me breathless.

My grandma Patricia, “Patty” to those blessed enough to know her, was my universe. The silence in her house now feels wrong, like a song missing its melody. Sometimes I catch myself reaching for the phone to call her, forgetting for a heartbeat that she’s gone. But even after her passing, Grandma had one final surprise to share… one that would change my life forever.

A woman mourning in a cemetery | Source: Pexels

A woman mourning in a cemetery | Source: Pexels

“Rise and shine, sweet pea!” The memory of her voice still echoes in my mind, warm as summer sunshine. Every morning of my childhood started this way — Grandma Patty would gently brush my hair, humming old songs she claimed her mother taught her.

“My wild child,” she’d laugh, working through the tangles. “Just like I was at your age.”

“Tell me about when you were little, Grandma,” I’d beg, sitting cross-legged on her faded bathroom rug.

A grandmother braiding her granddaughter's hair | Source: Pexels

A grandmother braiding her granddaughter’s hair | Source: Pexels

“Well,” she’d begin, her eyes twinkling in the mirror, “I once put frogs in my teacher’s desk drawer. Can you imagine?”

“You didn’t!”

“Oh, I did! And you know what my mother said when she found out?”

“What?”

“Patricia, even the toughest hearts can be softened, even by the smallest act of kindness.”

“And?”

“I stopped catching those poor frogs again!”

An older lady with a warm smile | Source: Midjourney

An older lady with a warm smile | Source: Midjourney

Those morning rituals shaped me, her wisdom wrapped in stories and gentle touches. One morning, as she braided my hair, I noticed tears in her eyes through the mirror.

“What’s wrong, Grandma?”

She smiled that tender smile of hers, fingers never pausing in their work. “Nothing’s wrong, sweet pea. Sometimes love just spills over, like a cup full of sunshine.”

Our walks to elementary school were adventures disguised as ordinary moments. Grandma transformed every block into a new world.

Silhouette of a little girl walking on the road with her grandmother | Source: Midjourney

Silhouette of a little girl walking on the road with her grandmother | Source: Midjourney

“Quick, Hailey!” she’d whisper, pulling me behind Mrs. Freddie’s maple tree. “The sidewalk pirates are coming!”

I’d giggle, playing along. “What do we do?”

“We say the magic words, of course.” She’d grip my hand tight. “Safety, family, love — the three words that scare away any pirate!”

One rainy morning, I noticed her limping slightly but trying to hide it. “Grandma, your knee is hurting again, isn’t it?”

A shocked little girl | Source: Midjourney

A shocked little girl | Source: Midjourney

She squeezed my hand. “A little rain can’t stop our adventures, my love. Besides,” she winked, though I could see the pain in her eyes, “what’s a little discomfort compared to making memories with my favorite person in the whole wide world?”

Years later, I realized those weren’t just words. She was teaching me about courage, finding magic in mundane moments, and facing fears with family by your side.

Even during my rebellious teenage phase, when I thought I was too cool for family traditions, Grandma knew exactly how to reach me.

A frustrated teenage girl using a laptop | Source: Pexels

A frustrated teenage girl using a laptop | Source: Pexels

“So,” she said one evening when I came home late, makeup smeared from crying over my first breakup. “Would this be a hot chocolate with extra marshmallows kind of night or a secret recipe cookie dough moment?”

“Both!” I managed through tears.

She pulled me into her kitchen, the one place where every problem seemed solvable. “You know what my grandmother told me about heartbreak?”

“What?”

“She said hearts are like cookies! They might crack sometimes, but with the right ingredients and enough warmth, they always come back stronger.”

A smiling older lady holding a cup of flour | Source: Midjourney

A smiling older lady holding a cup of flour | Source: Midjourney

She set down the measuring cup and took my hands in hers, flour dusting both our fingers. “But you know what she didn’t tell me? That watching your granddaughter hurt is like feeling your own heart shatter twice over. I’d take all your pain if I could, sweet pea.”

When I brought my fiancé Ronaldo home at 28, Grandma was waiting in her signature spot, knitting needles clicking like time itself was being woven.

“So,” she said, setting aside a half-finished scarf, “this is the young man who’s made my Hailey’s eyes sparkle.”

“Mrs…” Ronaldo started.

“Just Patricia,” she corrected, studying him over her reading glasses. “Or Patty, if you earn it.”

Portrait of a young man | Source: Midjourney

Portrait of a young man | Source: Midjourney

“Grandma, please be nice,” I pleaded.

“Hailey, dear, would you mind making us some of your grandfather’s special hot chocolate? The recipe I taught you?”

“I know what you’re doing,” I warned.

“Good!” she winked. “Then you know how important this is.”

When I left them alone to make the hot chocolate, I lingered in the kitchen, straining to hear their muffled voices from the living room.

A worried young woman in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A worried young woman in the kitchen | Source: Midjourney

A full hour passed before I returned, finding them in what seemed like the tail end of an intense conversation. Ronaldo’s eyes were red-rimmed, and Grandma was holding his hands in hers, the way she always held mine when imparting her most important lessons.

He looked as though he’d been through an emotional marathon, but there was something else in his eyes. Fear. And joy.

“What did you two talk about?” I asked him later that night.

“I made her a promise. A sacred one.”

A young man smiling | Source: Midjourney

A young man smiling | Source: Midjourney

I understood what that conversation must have been like. Grandma was probably making sure the man I was bound to marry understood the depth of that commitment. She wasn’t just being a protective grandmother; she was passing on her legacy of fierce, intentional love.

Then one day, her diagnosis came like a thunderclap. Aggressive pancreatic cancer. Weeks, maybe months.

I spent every moment I could at the hospital, watching machines track her heartbeat like Morse code signals to heaven. She kept her humor, even then.

An older lady lying on a hospital bed | Source: Midjourney

An older lady lying on a hospital bed | Source: Midjourney

“Look at all this attention, sweet pea. If I’d known hospital food was this good, I’d have gotten sick years ago!”

“Stop it, Grandma,” I whispered, arranging her pillows. “You’re going to beat this.”

“Sweetie, some battles aren’t meant to be won. They’re meant to be understood. And accepted.”

One evening, as sunset painted her hospital room in gold, she gripped my hand with surprising strength.

“I need you to promise me something, love. Will you?” she whispered.

“Anything.”

A heartbroken young woman in a hospital ward | Source: Midjourney

A heartbroken young woman in a hospital ward | Source: Midjourney

“One year after I’m gone, clean my photo on the headstone. Just you. Promise me.”

“Grandma, please don’t talk like that. You’ll be around longer. I’ll not let anything happen to—”

“Promise me, sweet pea. One last adventure together.”

I nodded through tears. “I promise.”

She smiled, touching my cheek. “My brave girl. Remember, real love never ends. Even after death. It just changes shape, like light through a prism.”

She slipped away that very night, taking the colors of my world with her.

A grieving woman in a hospital ward | Source: Midjourney

A grieving woman in a hospital ward | Source: Midjourney

I visited her grave every Sunday, rain or sunshine. Sometimes I brought flowers. Sometimes just stories. The weight of her absence felt heavier than the bouquets I carried.

“Grandma, Ronaldo and I set a date,” I told her gravestone one spring morning. “A garden wedding, like you always said would suit me. I’ll wear your pearl earrings if Mom agrees.”

“You know, last night, I’d woken up at 3 a.m., the exact time you used to bake when you couldn’t sleep. For a moment, I swore I could smell cinnamon and vanilla wafting through my apartment. I stumbled to the kitchen, half-expecting to find you there, humming and measuring ingredients by memory. But—”

A grieving woman holding a bouquet of flowers in a cemetery | Source: Freepik

A grieving woman holding a bouquet of flowers in a cemetery | Source: Freepik

“Other times, I’d sit silently, watching cardinals flit between trees, remembering how you claimed they carried messages from heaven, Grandma.

“Some days, the grief would ambush me in the most ordinary moments. Like reaching for your cookie recipe and recognizing your handwriting. Or finding one of your bobby pins behind the bathroom radiator. I’d hold it like a precious artifact from a lost civilization.

“I miss you, Grandma. I miss you so much,” I confessed, my eye fixed on her tomb. “The house still smells like your perfume. I can’t bring myself to wash your favorite sweater. Is that crazy?”

A young woman mourning before a loved one's grave | Source: Freepik

A young woman mourning before a loved one’s grave | Source: Freepik

“Yesterday, I put it on and sat in your chair, trying to feel close to you. I keep expecting to hear your key in the door, or your laugh from the garden. Mom says time helps, but every morning I wake up and have to remember all over again that you’re gone.”

A cardinal landed nearby, its red feathers bright against the gray headstone. I could almost hear Grandma’s voice: “Crazy is just another word for loving deeply, sweet pea.”

A year later, I stood before her grave, cleaning supplies in hand. It was time to fulfill my promise.

An older woman's grave | Source: Midjourney

An older woman’s grave | Source: Midjourney

Armed with a screwdriver, I unscrewed the weathered brass photo frame. When I removed it, I was shaken to my core.

“Oh my God! This… this can’t be!” I gasped, leaning closer.

Behind the photo lay a note, written in Grandma’s distinctive cursive:

“My dearest sweet pea. One last treasure hunt together. Remember all those times we searched for magic in ordinary places? Here’s where you’ll discover our biggest secret. Find the hiding spot in the woods at these coordinates…”

A startled woman holding a piece of paper in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney

A startled woman holding a piece of paper in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney

Beneath the note was a string of numbers and a tiny heart drawn in the corner, just like she used to sketch on all my lunch napkins.

My hands trembled as I entered the numbers into Google Maps. The location pointed to a spot in the woods nearby, where she used to take me to collect autumn leaves for her pressed flower albums.

I carefully wiped her photo, my fingers lingering on her familiar smile, before cleaning the glass and securing it back in place. The drive to the woods felt both eternal and too quick, my heart keeping time with the rhythm of the windshield wipers in the light drizzle.

A young woman driving a car | Source: Unsplash

A young woman driving a car | Source: Unsplash

At the woods entrance, I pulled out her note one last time. There, at the bottom, in writing so small I almost missed it like she was whispering one last secret, were the words:

“Look for the survey post with the crooked cap, sweet pea. The one where we used to leave notes for the fairies.”

I remembered it instantly, a waist-high metal post we’d discovered on one of our “magical expeditions” when I was seven. She’d convinced me it was a fairy post office.

A rusty metal post in the woods | Source: Midjourney

A rusty metal post in the woods | Source: Midjourney

I grabbed a small spade from my car and carefully dug the soil around the post. The metallic clank that followed sent my heart racing.

There, nestled in the dark earth like a buried star, lay a small copper box, its surface turned turquoise with age.

I lifted it as gently as if I were holding one of Grandma’s teacups, and when the lid creaked open, her familiar lavender scent wafted up with the letter inside.

An old copper box dug out from the soil | Source: Midjourney

An old copper box dug out from the soil | Source: Midjourney

The paper trembled in my hands as I unfolded it, her handwriting dancing across the page like a final embrace.

“My darlings,

Some truths take time to ripen, like the best fruit in the garden. Elizabeth, my precious daughter, I chose you when you were just six months old. Your tiny fingers wrapped around mine that first day at the orphanage, and in that moment, my heart grew wings. And through you, I got to choose Hailey too.

Sweet pea, I’ve carried this secret like a stone in my heart, afraid that the truth might dim the light in your eyes when you looked at me. But love isn’t in our blood… it’s in the thousand little moments we chose each other. It’s in every story, every cookie baked at midnight, every braided hair, and wiped tear.

Blood makes relatives, but choice makes family. And I chose you both, every single day of my life. If there’s any forgiveness needed, let it be for my fear of losing your love. But know this: you were never just my daughter and granddaughter. You were my heart, beating outside my chest.

All my love, always,

Grandma Patty

P.S. Sweet pea, remember what I told you about real love? It never ends… it just changes shape.”

A stunned woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

A stunned woman holding a letter | Source: Midjourney

Mom was in her studio when I arrived home, paintbrush frozen mid-stroke. She read Grandma’s letter twice, tears making watercolor rivers down her cheeks.

“I found my original birth certificate when I was 23,” she confessed. “In the attic, while helping your grandma organize old papers.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Mom smiled, touching Grandma’s signature. “Because I watched her love you, Hailey. I saw how she poured every drop of herself into being your grandmother. How could biology compete with that kind of choice?”

A teary-eyed senior woman | Source: Midjourney

A teary-eyed senior woman | Source: Midjourney

I gently brushed the sapphire ring from the box, one Grandma had left me along with her final letter. Outside, a cardinal landed on the windowsill, bright as a flame against the evening sky.

“She chose us,” I whispered.

Mom nodded. “Every single day.”

Now, years later, I still catch glimpses of Grandma everywhere. In the way I fold towels into perfect thirds, just as she taught me. In how I unconsciously hum her favorite songs while gardening. And in the little phrases I say to my children.

Portrait of a smiling older lady | Source: Midjourney

Portrait of a smiling older lady | Source: Midjourney

Sometimes, when I’m baking late at night, I feel her presence so strongly I have to turn around, half-expecting to see her sitting at the kitchen table, reading glasses perched on her nose, completing her crossword puzzle.

The empty chair still catches me off guard, but now it carries a different kind of ache — not just loss, but gratitude. Gratitude for every moment, every lesson, and every story she shared.

Because Grandma Patty didn’t just teach me about family… she showed me how to build one, how to choose one, and how to love one deeply enough that it transcends everything, even death itself.

An empty armchair in a room | Source: Midjourney

An empty armchair in a room | Source: Midjourney

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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