I bought my nephew a pickup for his birthday. At dinner, he mocked me in a toast buying respect with money. Everyone laughed. I left silently. By morning, the truck gone—and my phone exploding wildly.

During the family dinner, he lifted his glass, smirked, and said, “Cheers to my gullible aunt, trying to buy respect with cash.” Everyone laughed. I didn’t argue. I didn’t cry. I simply stood up and left. By the next morning, the driveway was empty—and my phone wouldn’t stop ringing.

Daniel’s twentieth birthday had seemed perfect. I’m his Aunt Marta, an …