Chapter 1

The smell of dinner, chicken and roasted potatoes, usually filled our small kitchen with warmth, but tonight, it felt cold. My daughter, Jessie, barely twenty-two, sat across from me at the table, her phone face down beside her plate.

She'd been working her first real job for a month, a marketing assistant role downtown.

My husband, David, was still clearing his throat, a nervous habit.

"Mom, Dad," Jessie started, her voice too formal, "I've been doing some thinking."

Above her head, a shimmering rectangle of light appeared, visible only to me. It was like a comment from some awful online forum.

*"It's time. Your boomer parents are exploiting you! Demand financial freedom!"*

The words pulsed, bright and aggressive. I blinked, trying to make it go away, but it stayed, hovering.

Jessie continued, "Since I started working, I've been paying rent, eight hundred dollars a month."

David nodded, "And we appreciate it, honey. It helps."

"Well," she said, her chin lifting, "I want it back."

David choked on his water. I just stared at her.

"All of it," Jessie clarified. "The full amount I've paid since I started contributing. Plus interest."

Another pop-up bloomed above her, this one angrier, a deep red.

*"They've been using YOUR money! You deserve compensation for their theft!"*

"Jessie, what are you talking about?" I asked, my voice quiet. I'd been saving that money for her, every penny, in a separate account. A down payment on a car, maybe, or a future apartment.

"I'm talking about my money," she said, her eyes hard. "You've had it long enough. It's mine. I read online that it's common for parents to do this, to hold their kids back financially."

The pop-ups were multiplying now, a swarm of them.

*"She's trying to gaslight you! Don't fall for it!"*

*"Stand your ground! This is YOURS!"*

*"They owe you for years of emotional labor too!"*

"Honey, we're not holding you back," David said, his voice placating. "We're trying to help you build a future."

"By taking my money?" Jessie scoffed. The pop-ups flashed in agreement.

"We haven't 'taken' anything, Jessie," I said, trying to keep my voice even, though a tremor ran through me. "That money, I've been putting it aside for you."

"Oh, sure," she said, a sneer twisting her lips. It was a look I'd never seen on her face before. "I bet. You probably spent it on yourselves, or you're hoarding it for Kevin."

Her brother, Kevin, was in his first year of a plumbing apprenticeship, working hard, saving his own money. The idea was absurd.

A new pop-up confirmed her suspicion, a particularly nasty one.

*"The golden boy gets everything! They've always favored him. Make them pay!"*

"That's not true, Jessie," I said, feeling a wave of nausea. "Kevin has nothing to do with this. And we haven't spent a dime of your money."

"I don't believe you," she snapped. "I want it by the end of the week. Or I'll have to consider my options."

The pop-ups cheered. *"Yes! Threaten them! They'll cave!"*

David looked at me, his eyes pleading for me to just give in, to make it stop. But this wasn't about money anymore, not really. It was about this... this poison that had infected my daughter, these invisible, screaming headlines that only I could see, twisting her mind.

I felt a deep chill, a premonition of something terrible starting. My little girl, the one who used to bring me dandelions and hug my legs, was gone, replaced by this stranger with angry, glowing words floating above her head.