onLeave a Comment on On a typical Tuesday evening, I walked into my in-laws’ house to find my children with completely empty plates, while their nieces and nephews were eating their third helping of lasagna from a “real” dinner set. Eighteen minutes later, I quietly decided I’d had enough of being their personal ATM, and that something in this family was about to go wrong in a way no one expected. 
“What should we do? Give them another chance to tell our kids they’re not good enough? Write them another check so they can continue treating us like ATMs without batting an eye?”
He had no answer.
By noon, Roger had sent six text messages, each one increasingly aggressive. In the last one,
