My 22-Year-Old Son’s Ultimatum: A Car or Moving In with My Ex

My son Michael, who just turned 22 last month, seemed to have moved past the turbulent teenage years. Or so I thought. It turns out, a storm was brewing right under my nose.

I was in the kitchen, preparing lunch, when Michael stormed in with a scowl on his face.

“Mom, we need to talk,” he said, his voice carrying an unusually serious tone.

I looked up, surprised. “Sure, what’s going on, honey?”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I need a car.”

I was taken aback. “A car? I thought you were saving up from your part-time job.”

Michael let out an exasperated sigh. “I know, but it’s taking forever. I need it now.”

I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and frowned. “Michael, cars are expensive. You’re working, so you can save up a bit more—”

He cut me off impatiently. “No, Mom, I can’t wait any longer. All my friends have cars, and I’m tired of depending on you for rides or taking the bus. I need my freedom.”

I felt a pang of frustration. “I understand that, but buying you a car isn’t something we can do on a whim. It’s not that simple.”

His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing. “Well, maybe I’ll just go live with Dad. He’ll buy me a car.”

His words hit me hard. David, my ex-husband, was always more inclined to buy Michael’s affection than to be a responsible parent. I was stunned that Michael would even suggest this.

“Michael, you can’t just threaten to leave because you’re not getting what you want,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Why not? Dad would be happy to have me. He always spoils me,” he shot back, defiant.

I took a deep breath. “This isn’t about your dad. It’s about responsibility. You’re an adult now, and part of being an adult is making responsible decisions.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, responsible decisions like being the only one of my friends without a car.”

The conversation ended there, but the tension lingered. I couldn’t shake the feeling of disappointment and worry.

In the days that followed, we were both silent and distant. Every attempt to discuss the issue ended in arguments.

One evening at dinner, I decided to try again.

“Michael, can we talk about the car situation?” I asked cautiously.

He sighed and poked at his food. “What’s there to talk about, Mom? You still won’t buy me one.”

“It’s not just about buying you a car, Michael. It’s about how you’re handling this situation,” I said, striving to keep my voice steady.

He looked up, defensive. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, threatening to leave if you don’t get what you want isn’t how adults should handle things. It’s not fair to manipulate me like that,” I explained, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness.

He shrugged. “I’m just tired of waiting. Dad would understand.”

“Dad isn’t here, Michael. And buying you a car won’t fix everything. What about the costs—insurance, maintenance?” I trailed off, hoping he’d understand.

He fell silent for a moment before pushing his plate away. “Forget it, Mom. You’ll never understand.”

As he left the table, I felt a pang of guilt, wondering if I was being too harsh or failing as a parent.

Days turned into weeks, and the tension only grew. Michael became more distant, spending more time out with friends or locked in his room.

One Saturday morning, I found a note on the kitchen counter:

“Mom, I’m going to stay with Dad for a while. I can’t stand being here anymore. Maybe he’ll understand me better.”

My heart sank as I read the note. I knew this day might come, but I never imagined it would be like this.

I immediately called Michael, but it went straight to voicemail. Panic surged as I tried to recall where David lived now. We hadn’t been in touch for years after the divorce.