On my son’s birthday, I spent the whole day baking his favorite flower-shaped cake. When he found out, he just coldly told me to send it to a private room. I casually asked, "Aren’t you spending your birthday at home?" My ten-year-old son immediately snapped, "What’s it to you? You’re just spending my dad’s money and think you can boss me around?" "I’m going to eat with Aunt Cece. What do you know, you country bumpkin!" My husband, Ethan, grabbed his phone and said, "You reek of cooking oil. The cake doesn’t even smell good now. I’ll just order takeout." That night, while scrolling through my son’s Instagram, I saw a photo of the three of them, all smiling happily together. And there I was, alone at home, staring blankly at the family photo on the table, clutching my phone tightly.