The next day, I discovered where Paul’s mind truly was.
He had been secretly planning to buy his son a brand-new car for his sixteenth birthday. A shiny vehicle with leather seats and the latest tech features — a gift worth nearly as much as a year of Jude’s tuition.
“Paul,” I said, my voice trembling, “is that why you won’t help with Jude’s tuition? Because you want to buy your son a car?”
He didn’t even flinch. “My boy deserves it. He’s turning sixteen — it’s a big milestone. Don’t expect me to deprive him of that just because Jude’s father is a lazy man who never worked a day in his life.”
I gasped. “Don’t drag my ex into this! This isn’t about him — it’s about Jude’s future. You’ve raised him, Paul. He calls you Dad. Don’t you see? He has the same rights as your son.”
Paul shook his head slowly, almost mockingly.
“No. He doesn’t. My son is my blood. Jude… he’s yours. Don’t expect me to sacrifice for him at the expense of my own child.”
And then came the dagger to my heart.
“Even though I love him, Jude is no longer my responsibility now that he is 18.”
That night, I sat on the edge of my bed, tears spilling onto my pillow. I thought about every scraped knee Paul had bandaged for Jude, every school play he had clapped at, every bedtime story he had read. How could he now claim Jude wasn’t his responsibility?
Jude must have sensed something, because he knocked gently on my door.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
I forced a smile through my tears. “I’m fine, sweetheart.”
But Jude wasn’t fooled. He came in, sat beside me, and placed his hand on mine. “It’s about tuition, isn’t it?”
I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want to burden him. But he already knew.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” he whispered. “I’ll figure it out. I can work more hours, take more loans… I’ll make it happen.”
Hearing my son — the boy who had already carried so much — volunteer to carry even more broke me.
