My husband left work early to pick up our daughter, Sophie. I was at home, preparing a birthday surprise for her. I had just put the Boston lobsters and king crabs in the steamer when my husband texted: "Turn off the stove! Don't cook them yet!" I knew immediately. Sophie's classmate had tagged along again. It wasn't that I was stingy or didn't want to share. But this classmate lived right across the hall. For the past few months, she and her brother had been practically living at our house, eating and drinking for free. Meanwhile, her mother wouldn't even offer my daughter a single popsicle. I ran to the kitchen and turned off the heat. Good food is for family. We'll eat later, just us. 1 For Sophie's twelfth birthday, we planned a quiet celebration at home. My husband, Mark, had exceeded his sales targets recently, and his boss gifted him two boxes of premium seafood. Boston lobsters and king crabs—worth over a thousand dollars easily. Mark and I have lived half our lives without tasting such luxury. Sophie had seen mukbang videos online and was drooling over them. Today, our family of three was finally going to feast. "She insisted on getting in the car. I couldn't exactly kick her out once she was seated," Mark texted while waiting at a red light. He drove today intending to take Sophie shopping, but ended up stuck with our neighbor's kid. "It's fine. Just don't let her in the house later," I replied. Our neighbor, Karen, had a daughter named Bella in Sophie's class. We've known them for about a year. Bella frequently came over, usually right around dinnertime, shamelessly asking what we were eating. Then she'd give me puppy eyes and ask, "Auntie, can I have some?" In front of Sophie, I couldn't refuse. After this happened repeatedly, I told Bella not to come during meals, but she ignored me and kept ringing the doorbell. When they did homework, Sophie would share her snacks. Bella always asked for extra to take home to her little brother, Ben. I told Sophie not to share everything. A case of 24 milk cartons used to last Sophie a month. Now, sharing with Bella, it was gone in a week. Milk, cookies, cake—individually cheap, but the cost adds up fast! Sophie was unhappy. "Mom, she's my best friend. She shares with me too." I softened, thinking I shouldn't interfere too much with her friendships. Aside from being thick-skinned, Bella was generally polite. Until a month ago, I overheard Karen talking to her daughter in the hallway. "The neighbors bought pork knuckles today. Go over there and eat your fill." "And bring some snacks back for your brother." "Come back after 9:30 so we save on electricity." I didn't confront them immediately to keep the peace. But for the next two weeks, we didn't cook a single meat dish for dinner. Bella would come, scan the table, see nothing she liked, and leave. I also confiscated the snacks in Sophie's room. Gradually, Bella stopped coming over for homework. Without the food, she became cold to Sophie, ignoring her in the hallway. "See? She's only friends with you for what she can get," I told Sophie. "No food, no friendship." Sophie, being stubborn, still greeted Bella and invited her over. "No food at your house, I'm not going," Bella bluntly refused. Sophie even spent her own allowance to buy Bella snacks. A week ago, Sophie ran home crying, wanting a popsicle. "Mom, you were right." I took her downstairs to buy one. Karen was seemingly waiting for me. Holding an apple, she looked apologetic. "I'm so sorry. I always buy popsicles in even numbers for Bella and Ben." "If I gave one to Sophie, I'd have an odd number, and my kids would fight." "You only have one child; you don't know the struggles of raising two!" She squatted down and shoved the apple into Sophie's hand. "Understand Auntie, okay?" Then she stood up, smiling. "When are you making pork knuckles again? Bella's been craving them, and I'm a terrible cook." "If you can't cook, buy takeout," I said coldly. I tossed the apple back to her. I thought that was the end of it. But Karen's skin was thick enough to pretend nothing happened. Here she was, standing at my door, holding Ben and Bella. "It's Sophie's birthday! I'm not cooking tonight. They can eat here." 2 She reached for the door handle. I blocked it from the inside, forcing a polite smile. "Sorry, we aren't celebrating this year." "Just a small cake. You should take the kids home." Karen looked surprised. "Not celebrating? I saw a delivery guy bring two boxes to your place at noon." "Heard it was seafood. Bella and Ben haven't had seafood in ages. Perfect timing, right?" She pulled a red envelope from her bag and handed it to Sophie. "A little something from Auntie. Happy Birthday!" I tried to block it, leading to a shoving match. It was rush hour; neighbors were passing by, watching. Karen loudly announced she was giving Sophie a red envelope, earning praise from onlookers. Mark grabbed the envelope and stuffed it back into her bag. "Thanks, but we really want a private family dinner." Taking advantage of the chaos, Bella and Ben slipped through the door. They ran to the kitchen. Clang! A pot lid hit the floor. "Mom! They really have king crabs and lobsters!" they cheered. I never imagined children could be so rude. Mark went in and dragged them out. They fought back, clinging to the sofa, screaming and kicking. Ben suddenly yelped. "Why are you hitting my son?!" Karen screeched. Mark, scolded publicly, tried to explain he hadn't hit anyone. Karen stormed in, grabbed her kids, and turned to yell at me. "Is this over a popsicle? Are you that petty?" "No one in class plays with your daughter except mine! I let her come to the party out of kindness! It's not like they're freeloading!" "It's just crab! If you don't want to share, fine! Don't make up disgusting excuses!" She twisted the narrative perfectly. Neighbors poked their heads out. "Sophie's mom, that's not right. The kids are close friends, why exclude them?" "How much can kids eat? It's just seafood. Why be so stingy?" "And hitting a child? That's too much." Before I could explain, Karen dragged her kids home and slammed her door. Mark and I looked at each other. It took a while to explain the truth to the neighbors. Afterward, I steamed the seafood. We were about to eat when the class group chat exploded. 3 Karen's message was at the top: [Can't believe I have neighbors like this.] [It's her kid's birthday. I gave a red envelope, and they lied about not celebrating and kicked my kids out.] [Turns out they just wanted to hoard the king crab and lobster for themselves.] [My daughter is such a good friend to hers! And this is how they treat her?] A parent tagged Karen: [Wrong chat?] Silence for three minutes. Karen: [Oops, sorry everyone! Wrong chat. Can't delete it now. Please ignore.] But people love drama. Someone tagged her: [Is this about Sophie's mom? You guys are neighbors, right?] Karen didn't reply, but the discussion started. [My son said it's Sophie's birthday. She promised to invite him but canceled last minute. He was so sad.] [Kids' birthdays should be lively!] [I invite the whole class for my daughter. Doesn't cost much.] [I saw Sophie's dad post the crab on Facebook. Doesn't look that big.] [Sophie's mom is being petty here.] ... I barely knew these parents, yet they were judging me. I tagged Karen: [Stop lying. We didn't invite you. You forced the red envelope on us.] [What we eat is none of your business.] [Your daughter practically lived at my house for months, eating our food and taking snacks home. Did I ever complain?] Karen tagged me back: [Freeloading? That's harsh. What did she eat?] [If we're counting, your daughter ate a bag of chips, two packs of konjac snacks, three spicy strips, and a chicken leg at my son's birthday.] [I bought her a lemonade, an ice cream cone, and even a dress when we went shopping.] [If you're going to be this petty, our kids are done being friends.] A parent posted a laughing emoji: [Wow, Karen remembers every detail.] I laughed too. Those snacks were the only food at her son's party, shared among three kids. The lemonade and ice cream were shared between Sophie and Bella. The dress was a buy-one-get-one-free item from a street stall. I explained all this in the chat. Karen accused me of slander. Seeing her panic, I uploaded a 5-minute and 37-second audio recording. 4 The recording started from the moment Karen opened her mouth at my door. Her unreasonable demands were clear as day. Then I uploaded screenshots of my online shopping history—six months of gifts for Bella. Pens, notebooks, dresses, shoes. Ranging from $10 to $50. I tagged Karen: [If I recall, the dress your daughter is wearing today is from my order history. Screenshot #8.] [Everyone, judge for yourselves.] Silence in the group. Karen blew up my phone with messages and calls demanding I delete the post. I blocked her. Peace at last. A few minutes later, several parents added me. I thought they wanted to comment on the drama, but they just asked for links to the clothes I bought. One parent messaged: "You're too nice. Why do that for her kid? I wouldn't do that even for my best friend's child." Soon after, the teacher disbanded the group and created a new one. "Parents, please keep private matters private." The farce ended. I worried Sophie might be gossiped about at school, but she said kids were actually nicer to her. Bella was moved away from Sophie's desk. They stopped talking. Karen and I avoided each other. When we did meet, she'd turn her nose up in the air. Neighbors learned the truth and whispered, "That woman has no shame." A while later, I noticed my delivery boxes disappearing from my door. An elderly lady on the second floor collected cardboard, but she usually stuck to the dumpster area. I ignored it at first. One morning, I woke up early and heard rustling outside. Checking the peephole, I saw Karen taking all my boxes.
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