My Teenage Son Spent Grandma’s Funeral Savings on a Game — The Family Taught Him a Lesson

When Judy discovers that her teenage son has been stealing and using his grandmother’s money to satisfy his gaming addiction, she has no choice but to teach him a lesson that he will never forget.

I’ve always heard about there being one child in every family who just goes overboard and does stupid things.

I didn’t expect my son to be that child in our family.

A smiling teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

A smiling teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

My teenage son, Brandon, like most teenage boys his age, had gotten into gaming. And whenever a new game came out, he would get obsessed over it and watch the trailers, begging me to buy it.

“It’s ridiculous, Brandon,” I would say firmly. “I’m not giving you money for stupid games.”

But he was as persistent as they came. And when the latest version of his favorite game came out, he would whine and plead daily.

A teenage boy playing on a computer | Source: Midjourney

A teenage boy playing on a computer | Source: Midjourney

“Please, Mom,” he would ask at every opportunity. “Please, just this game and I won’t ask for anything else.”

“Brandon, I’ve already said no,” I would say. “Please, stop nagging. This discussion is over.”

Then, a week ago, the whining stopped. Brandon retreated to his room and was stuck behind his computer again, talk of the game long forgotten.

I was relieved, thinking that he had finally moved past this phase.

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling woman | Source: Midjourney

“I don’t know how else to tell him that we cannot spend money on video games,” I told my husband, Liam.

“I know,” he agreed. “It’s time that Brandon realizes that there’s more to life than just sitting behind a computer. And if he insists on it, then it’s time to get a part-time job to pay for his games.”

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

A smiling man | Source: Midjourney

Everything seemed fine as we settled back into our routine.

Until I received a panicked call from my mom.

“My savings for the funeral! They disappeared!” Her voice trembled with fear and confusion. “Judy, they’re gone!”

A shocked old woman | Source: Midjourney

A shocked old woman | Source: Midjourney

Now, I should probably explain this part:

My mother is as eccentric as they come. And for the past three years, she has gotten it into her head that she needs to save up for her funeral. She’s healthy as can be, but it’s something that she does as a comfort.

“It’s not my fault, Judy,” she would say. “Some of my friends are passing away now, and I have to be prepared, too.”

An urn on a stool | Source: Midjourney

An urn on a stool | Source: Midjourney

She would pick up her paintbrushes and splash wet paint all over her studio as she spoke.

“And it’s okay if you think I’m crazy, darling,” she would continue. “But at the end of the day, I have to do what gives me peace of mind.”

Since then, my mother had been putting away money each month.

A person holding a paintbrush | Source: Midjourney

A person holding a paintbrush | Source: Midjourney

“Where are you storing it, Mom?” I asked her one day. “Please tell me that you have a separate bank account.”

“No, Judy,” she replied, her eyes wide. “Then we definitely won’t get it out in time for you to use for my funeral. No, it’s in a little wooden box under my bed.”

“That’s not safe, Mom,” I replied. “Anyone could get to it!”

A little wooden box | Source: Midjourney

A little wooden box | Source: Midjourney

“My neighborhood is safe, darling,” she said. “Don’t you worry about that. I just need you to know where it is when you need it. You know, when the time comes.”

Little did I know, my son had heard this entire conversation.

“Calm down, Mom. I’m sure that there’s an explanation for this,” I said, trying to soothe her.

A woman on the phone | Source: Midjourney

A woman on the phone | Source: Midjourney

It took hours to calm her down, and every time I thought she was okay, she would burst into tears all over again.

“I should have listened to you, Judy,” she cried. “Keeping the money lying around was a very stupid thing to do.”

But as I hung up, I knew two things: who was at fault and what I was going to do.

A sad old woman | Source: Midjourney

A sad old woman | Source: Midjourney

A week earlier, Liam and I had gone away for the weekend to celebrate our anniversary, and we had left Brandon with my mother.

He had been present when my mother and I had the conversation about her savings and the little wooden box that held it.

I could remember him sitting at her kitchen table, eating the cookies she had made for him, and listening intently to the conversation.

Cookies on a plate | Source: Midjourney

Cookies on a plate | Source: Midjourney

“Gran is really worried about dying?” he asked me in the car.

“It’s normal for her to be worried,” I replied.

Now, I pieced together the story quickly. Brandon must have thought that my mother wouldn’t notice the missing money. Or maybe he did, but he didn’t care about the consequences.

A woman driving | Source: Midjourney

A woman driving | Source: Midjourney

All he had wanted was to satisfy his gaming obsession.

“Brandon, do you know anything about Grandma’s missing money?” I asked him later that evening as we cooked dinner together.

My son’s face paled in front of me.

A shocked teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

A shocked teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

“No, why would I know anything about that?” he replied, a little too quickly. “Gran didn’t tell me.”

By that point, I was certain that it was him. His tone was all off, and I had offered him a chance to confess.

The following weekend, he begged to spend the night at my mother’s house.

A smiling teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

A smiling teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

“Please, Mom,” he said. “I’m sure Gran isn’t feeling too safe at the moment.”

I allowed it, thinking that he’d try to sneak the money back.

And sure enough, when I went to pick him up, my mother opened the door beaming.

“You’ll never guess what!” she said, pulling me into a tight hug.

A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney

A smiling older woman | Source: Midjourney

“What happened?” I asked, curiosity taking over me.

“Last night, after Brandon and I had dinner, he asked me about the money and said that he wanted to check my room,” she said.

“Oh, he said that, huh?” I asked.

A stack of dollars | Source: Midjourney

A stack of dollars | Source: Midjourney

“Yes! And he found it! He said that I must have misplaced it, and I guess that maybe I did. Most of it is there, except for about $100, but I could have used that on my nails last week for all I know.”

“I’m glad you found it, Mom,” I said earnestly, but inside, I was seething.

The plan was simple. I texted Liam and told him everything, asking him to call for a family meeting later that evening. We needed to teach Brandon a lesson that he wouldn’t forget any time soon.

A person using their phone | Source: Midjourney

A person using their phone | Source: Midjourney

After dinner, Liam stood up.

“We need to have a family meeting now,” he said. “It’s important. Don’t worry about the dishes, love, we can do it later.”

Brandon and I followed Liam into the living room and we sat down.

A teenager sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

A teenager sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney

“Brandon, Gran told me about you finding her money last night. Her memory seems to be going, doesn’t it? Maybe we should consider a nursing home?”

Liam nodded his head slowly.

“Look, Judy, I know that it’s painful to think about. But maybe that will be the best thing, if she’s worried about her memory.”

A close-up of a man | Source: Midjourney

A close-up of a man | Source: Midjourney

“What? No! She’s fine!” Brandon protested, his eyes wide with panic.

“Well, she’s lost her money once. What if it’s her keys or she forgets to take her medication or put the stove off?” my husband added, playing his part perfectly.

My son’s face turned a deep shade of red.

A close-up of a teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

A close-up of a teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

“She didn’t lose the money! It was there all along!” he said.

“So, you’re saying that Grandma’s lying?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I’m saying that maybe she’s just confused,” he said, squirming in his seat.

“If she’s that confused, then maybe a nursing home is best,” I replied.

An old woman at a nursing home | Source: Midjourney

An old woman at a nursing home | Source: Midjourney

“I’ll make some calls tomorrow,” my husband said.

Finally, Brandon’s façade crumbled.

“Okay, okay! I took the money! I’m sorry! But I just wanted to buy my game. I didn’t think that it would cause so much trouble.”

We let him sit in silence for a moment, the weight of his confession hanging in the air.

An upset teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

An upset teenage boy | Source: Midjourney

“Brandon, stealing is wrong. And lying about it makes it worse,” I said softly. “You’re going to have to make this right.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m sorry. I’ll get a summer job and pay Grandma back. I promise.”

“That’s a start,” I said. “But you also need to apologize to Grandma. And you’re going to tell her the truth. Not me. And you’re grounded from using your computer until you’ve paid back every cent. Do you understand?”

A close-up of a stern woman | Source: Midjourney

A close-up of a stern woman | Source: Midjourney

Brandon nodded, tears streaming down his face.

“I will, I promise. I’ll get a job at the ice cream place and I’ll make everything right.”

Of course, he had no other choice.

An ice cream store | Source: Midjourney

An ice cream store | Source: Midjourney

What would you have done?

If you enjoyed this story, here’s another one for you.

My Kids Listed My House on Airbnb While I Was in the Hospital — I Found a Way to Teach Them a Lesson

Mariah had been feeling less than healthy lately, causing her to admit herself to the hospital so that she could have a check-up. But in her absence, her children decided to rent out her house as an Airbnb, ready to pocket the money for themselves. When Mariah found out, she decided to teach them a lesson.

“I want you to tell Denise to book it,” I said. “But they’ll recognize that it’s her, so she’s probably going to need to create a new account. Do you think she’ll be okay with that?”

A phone opened to an Airbnb app | Source: Pexels

A phone opened to an Airbnb app | Source: Pexels

“Of course, she will!” Liz said. “Anything for you. But then what?”

“I’m getting discharged tomorrow,” I said. “But the kids think that I’ll be here until the end of the week. So, let them think that they’re going to make some money off the place.”

A close-up of a woman's IV and hospital band | Source: Midjourney

A close-up of a woman’s IV and hospital band | Source: Midjourney

“You want Denise to rent the place, but you want to mess it up?” Liz chuckled. “That’s devious.”

“No, my children are devious,” I said.

I hung up the call, and the nurse brought my lunch to me, ready to leave me alone to eat while she did her rounds.

Read the full story here.

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

Man from Dating Site Brought His Parents on Our First Date with Their Ridiculous Demand – I Decided to Outplay Them

Who brings their parents to a first date? My boyfriend from a dating app did. But what really got me was the list of OUTRAGEOUS DEMANDS his parents brought with them. I knew I’d have to outwit them… but on my own terms.

When I virtually met Jacob on a dating site several months ago, we hit it off instantly. The connection felt real — the kind that makes your heart skip a beat when you see a new message notification. I grew to think that he was “the one,” but then when we actually met… well, let’s just say reality has a way of shattering our perfectly crafted illusions.

A woman holding a phone | Source: Unsplash

A woman holding a phone | Source: Unsplash

Three months of late-night texts and hour-long video calls had built up to this moment. Jacob wasn’t just another match; he was different.

While most guys led with cheesy pickup lines or bland “hey” messages, he had caught my attention with a detailed comment about my profile photo taken at Comic-Con.

“Is that a handmade Scarlet Witch costume?” he’d written. “The detail work is incredible!”

From there, our conversations flowed naturally. He listened, really listened, when I talked about my work as a graphic designer and my dreams of starting my own studio.

A woman using a computer | Source: Midjourney

A woman using a computer | Source: Midjourney

He shared my love for true crime podcasts and could quote every episode of my favorite shows by heart. When I mentioned my sister’s battle with depression, he opened up about his own experiences with anxiety.

“I feel like I can tell you anything,” he’d said during one of our video calls, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ve never connected with someone like this before.”

“Me neither,” I’d admitted, feeling my cheeks flush. “Sometimes I worry this is too good to be true.”

He’d laughed then, running a hand through his dark hair. “I can’t wait to finally meet you in person. Friday at Coffee Beanz? 7 p.m.?”

A man using a laptop | Source: Pexels

A man using a laptop | Source: Pexels

“It’s a date! Finally!” I’d chirped, unable to contain my excitement.

“See you on Friday!” He said as I hung up, blushing.

I spent the entire week planning my outfit, finally settling on a gorgeous dress that my best friend Sarah insisted brought out my eyes.

“He won’t know what hit him,” she’d said, helping me style my hair.

Friday evening found me standing outside Coffee Beanz, smoothing down my dress for the hundredth time. Through the window, I could see couples enjoying their meals, soft candlelight flickering across their faces.

People in a cafe | Source: Unsplash

People in a cafe | Source: Unsplash

My hands were shaking slightly as I pushed open the heavy wooden door, the warm aroma of garlic and fresh bread enveloping me. My eyes nervously darted around in search of Jacob.

“Lia! Over here!”

I turned toward Jacob’s familiar voice, my practiced smile freezing on my face. There he sat, but not ALONE.

An older couple sat beside him, their faces beaming with smiles. My heart, which had been filled with excitement all day, sank to my stomach.

“Hey… um, hi, what’s going on?” I managed, my brain struggling to process the scene before me.

A shocked woman | Source: Pexels

A shocked woman | Source: Pexels

Jacob stood up, his bright smile unchanged as if this was completely normal. “Lia, I’m so excited to finally meet you! These are my parents, Linda and Patrick!”

Linda, a petite woman with perfectly coiffed gray hair and gold earrings that probably cost more than my monthly rent, gave me a practiced smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Patrick, sporting a dress shirt that seemed a size too small for his frame, barely looked up from his menu.

“Sit down, girl,” Linda patted the chair next to her, not next to Jacob. “While we wait for our appetizers, I have a few questions for you.”

An older lady smiling | Source: Midjourney

An older lady smiling | Source: Midjourney

I sank into the chair, still trying to make sense of this ambush. The waiter appeared with water glasses, and I found myself wishing it was something stronger.

That’s when Linda pulled out a crisp sheet of paper from her designer handbag.

“Now then,” she cleared her throat, clicking her gold-plated pen. “I’ve prepared a brief questionnaire to help us get to know you better. I want you to fill it out.”

Sheets of paper on a table | Source: Pexels

Sheets of paper on a table | Source: Pexels

My eyes scanned the paper she placed before me, each question worse than the last:

1. What is your current annual income and five-year career projection?

2. Please list any medical conditions, including a family history of genetic disorders.

3. How many romantic partners have you had, and what were the reasons for those relationships ending?

4. Do you own or lease your vehicle? What is your credit score?

5. Are you willing to sign a prenuptial agreement?

6. Do you plan to work after having children? If so, who will provide childcare?

7. What is your stance on living with in-laws?

8. Are you willing to host special occasions like Thanksgiving & Christmas every year without expecting a penny from your partner?

A startled woman covering her mouth | Source: Pexels

A startled woman covering her mouth | Source: Pexels

The questions went on and on like a never-ending train carriage. My water glass stopped halfway to my mouth. “I’m sorry, but is this for real?”

“Of course it is, dear,” Linda replied, her tone suggesting I was being deliberately difficult. “Our family has certain standards to maintain. We need to ensure any potential partners for our Jacob are… suitable.”

My eyes darted to Jacob, waiting for him to jump in, to say this was all a joke. But he just sat there, examining his napkin as if it held the secrets of the universe.

A man sitting casually | Source: Midjourney

A man sitting casually | Source: Midjourney

Something snapped inside me. Three months of building this connection, sharing hopes and fears, only to be treated like a job applicant? No. This called for a different approach.

“Would you excuse me for just a moment?” I smiled sweetly. “Ladies’ room.”

Instead of heading to the restroom, I ducked into the convenience store next door. Five minutes later, I returned with my own notebook and pen.

“Before I answer your questions,” I said, sitting down with renewed confidence, “I have a few of my own.”

A woman holding a piece of paper | Source: Pexels

A woman holding a piece of paper | Source: Pexels

Linda’s perfectly plucked eyebrows shot up in surprise as I placed the paper with my questions on the table. She picked it up and began reading loudly, her face speaking volumes of her anger.

“Question one: At what point did you realize your son wasn’t capable of choosing his own partner?”

Patricks’s face reddened. Jacob finally looked up from his napkin.

“Question two: How many women have actually completed your interrogation process? Or do most run screaming before the credit check?”

“This is completely inappropriate!” Linda’s voice pitched higher as she continued to read.

A furious older woman with a man | Source: Midjourney

A furious older woman with a man | Source: Midjourney

“Question three: Do you also inspect their teeth like show horses, or is that saved for the second date?”

“Question four: When Jacob moves out of your basement, will you be requiring his future wife to submit weekly progress reports?”

“Question five: Have you considered therapy for your control issues, or is that too personal a question?”

“That’s enough!” Jacob slammed his hand on the table, making the silverware jump. “You have no right to disrespect my family like this!”

An angry man | Source: Midjourney

An angry man | Source: Midjourney

I leaned back, crossing my arms. “Oh, but they have every right to treat me like I’m applying for a position at the FBI?”

“My parents are just looking out for me,” he protested, his voice weak. “They want what’s best— “

“No, Jacob. What’s best for you would be growing a backbone and living your own life.”

Linda and Patrick were already gathering their things, faces flushed with indignation. Linda’s hands shook as she stuffed her questionnaire back into her bag.

“We’re leaving,” she announced. “Jacob, come on. She’s not the one for you.”

“Wait!” I called out, loud enough for nearby tables to turn. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Side shot of a woman | Source: Midjourney

Side shot of a woman | Source: Midjourney

They paused. “WHAT??”

“Waiter, these people are trying to leave without paying their bill!” I announced loudly, waving to the waiter. “Guess running out on checks is another proud family tradition!”

The restaurant had gone quiet. Linda’s hands shook as she pulled out her credit card, practically throwing it at the waiter. I stood up, smoothing my dress once again.

“Well, this has been entertaining. I’ll cover my water.” I placed a five-dollar bill on the table and turned to Jacob.

“Good luck finding someone who meets your family’s rigorous standards. Although, you might want to try job recruitment sites instead of dating apps. I hear they provide detailed background checks and references.”

A woman laughing | Source: Midjourney

A woman laughing | Source: Midjourney

As I walked out into the cool evening air, my phone buzzed with a message from Jacob, “You didn’t have to be so cruel. My parents were just looking out for me.”

I typed back, “Just looking out for myself, mama’s boy. Goodbye!”

Later that night, Sarah called to hear about the date. After I finished telling her everything, she was quiet for a moment.

“You know what?” she finally said. “I bet Linda has a spreadsheet ranking all of Jacob’s potential wives.”

We both burst out laughing, and I felt the last of my disappointment melt away. Dodged a bullet? Absolutely. And I’ve never been so grateful for a red flag wrapped in a questionnaire.

A woman walking away | Source: Midjourney

A woman walking away | Source: Midjourney

This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.

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