calmly agreed and handed him the lunch I’d bought with my own money. Then, I called for backup—Matt’s father arrived and confronted him, pointing out that money doesn’t give you the right to treat others like property. Matt was humiliated. That night,
I packed my things, with Mr. Reynolds’ help, and left. Matt stayed behind, alone, while I found a small studio apartment that was all mine. I was free, with my dignity intact. The lesson? Generosity with strings attached isn’t generosity at all—it’s a trap. Love should never come with fine print, and I’d rather struggle on my own than live under someone else’s control.