Chapter 4: The Group Chat War

To avoid being hurt by my son again, I put my phone on airplane mode and helped my mother pack her things.

We moved quietly through her house, the clock ticking in the hallway, the smell of lavender sachets lingering in the air. I let my phone buzz in my pocket, determined not to let anything ruin this last night at home.

Sun hat, comfortable sneakers, a light jacket, a warm sweater—I packed them one by one. By the time we finished, it was already dark. After settling my mother into bed, I turned my phone back on. It was already 10:30 p.m.

I tucked her in with the old quilt she’d sewn herself, the one with the blue stars and faded fabric. Her breathing settled, peaceful for the first time all week. I tiptoed to the guest room and finally powered up my phone, bracing for the storm of notifications.

As soon as airplane mode was off, a flood of notifications came in.

The screen lit up with pings and chimes—texts, missed calls, the family group chat going wild. For a minute, I just stared, heart pounding.

Second sister had transferred me five thousand dollars: [Fourth, Linda and Denise are short on cash. If you need more, just tell me. Having Eric collect money in the group was really embarrassing.]

Marsha’s message came with a payment notification. She never hesitated to help out, but her words carried a hint of apology—like she knew money couldn’t fix everything.

Third sister had called me several times and sent several one-minute voice messages. I didn’t have time to listen, so I hurried to check the family group.

Denise’s missed calls filled the screen, her voicemails waiting for me like a row of unanswered questions. I skipped them for now, anxious to see what had happened in the group chat.

At nine in the evening, my son had sent a payment request in the group, tagging everyone: Hey @Linda @Marsha @Denise, since Mom’s taking Grandma to D.C. solo, I figure we should split the costs. $1,200 each for plane and hotel. Venmo me when you can.

His request was so blunt, so public, it made my cheeks burn with embarrassment. I could picture my sisters’ faces, their confusion turning to irritation.

No one replied to Eric.

A minute passed, then another. The silence said everything.

After a while, he started hurling accusations in the group: [So grandma only raised my mom? Aunt Linda, when grandma was healthy, she helped you every year with chores. Now she’s old and you think you can’t count on her, so you just ignore her? Aren’t you afraid your own kids will follow your example?]

The guilt-tripping, the public shaming—I felt the family ties stretching thin, threads pulled taut by old grievances.

Eldest sister was baffled: [We didn’t even know your mom was taking grandma to D.C. Any expenses she incurs, we sisters can settle privately. This is an issue for us elders, no need for you to get involved.]

Linda, always the peacemaker, tried to soothe things. I could hear her voice in my head, calm and practical, refusing to let Eric make trouble where there was none.

Eric wouldn’t let it go: [If you won’t pay in advance, aren’t you just trying to dodge the bill?]

He was relentless, refusing to back down, like a dog with a bone. I wished he’d just let it drop.

Second sister, always generous, said: [Eric, the four of us sisters have never fought since we were kids. Don’t worry, I’ll cover all the expenses for your mom taking grandma to D.C.]

Marsha’s message was quick and firm. I felt a pang of gratitude—and regret for the distance that had grown between us.

Third sister messaged too: [Eric, we elders have our own way of handling things. You asking for money in the group like this—is that appropriate?]

Denise chimed in, gentle but firm. I could almost hear her sigh on the other end of the line.

Eric didn’t dare offend second sister, so he turned his fire on third sister: [Aunt Denise, you sure talk a lot for someone who can’t stand up.]

[Oh, I forgot, Aunt Denise’s disabled—can’t stand up. All these years, you haven’t earned a penny, just been a burden to your kids. Can you even cough up $1,200? Better save it for your medicine.]

His words were cruel, sharper than a winter wind. I felt a wave of shame, wishing I could reach through the screen and make him stop.

After that, third sister and Eric went back and forth with long voice messages. I didn’t even need to listen to know what they’d say.

The unread audio files stacked up, a digital record of hurt feelings and stubborn pride. I knew Denise would hold her own, but it broke my heart just the same.

Second sister couldn’t stand it and tried to smooth things over, but even so, Eric wouldn’t stop: [Holiday triple pay—even if my mom is just a nanny, that’s $150 a day, triple pay is $450, five days is $2,250. You all need to pay this too.]

He was calculating, adding up grievances like dollar signs, missing the point entirely. Family isn’t a ledger, but Eric couldn’t seem to see past the bottom line.

After that, no matter what Eric said in the group, no one replied. They just kept sending me private messages like crazy.

Their silence felt like a line drawn in the sand. In the midst of the chaos, I realized my sisters still had my back—even if they didn’t know how to say it out loud.

I hurried to tag each one.

[Linda, the kid’s just ignorant, sorry. Taking mom to D.C. is my own idea. I have my pension, I don’t need your money. Besides, you bring groceries to mom every day and never asked us to pay you back.]

I typed quickly, thumbs shaking, hoping to reassure her. Family means never keeping score—not really.

Second sister didn’t let me off: [Fourth, what’s going on? Taking mom out for a trip and letting your son make a scene about it? If you’re short on money, just tell me. I’m sorry I left the country with the kids, but my heart’s never changed.]

Her words softened something in me. It wasn’t just about money—it was about showing up, in whatever way you could.

I timidly returned the money, but second sister refused to accept it: [Then split it between Linda and Denise. Linda cooks for mom every day, Denise’s got it tough. We’re sisters, not outsiders.]

I hated feeling like charity, but I knew pride wouldn’t pay the bills or buy memories for Mom.

Thinking of Eric’s insults to Denise in the group, I messaged Denise with mixed feelings: [Denise, that ungrateful brat talks without respect, don’t take it to heart.]

I wanted her to know I was on her side, that the past couldn’t be erased by a few careless words in a group chat.