Some families hand out favoritism like it is a party favor, and if you are not the chosen one, you learn early that gold stars are reserved for someone else. Growing up responsible means perfect grades, steady chores, and a front-row seat to the golden child spectacle while your own achievements are logged as background noise. Every mistake Luke made became a learning experience for him, while your slip-ups were treated as personal affronts to the family legacy. Years of this routine do not go unnoticed, and eventually, the smart move is to get out, create distance, and let the golden child bask in all that unconditional support.

Then the golden boy finally discovers that adulting does not come with a mommy-sponsored rewards program, and Mom is left staring at the empty nest she feathered for him. Out comes the greatest hits album of motherly affection, complete with crocodile tears and a request to crash at the place of the child she spent years treating like the family intern.

This is the part where most people might cue a violin solo and talk about forgiveness and healing, but it is hard to get sentimental when you are watching karma march around in yesterday’s bathrobe asking for a spare bed. You serve up a helping of no with a side of you made your bed, now go nap in it, and if anyone calls you heartless, remind them you are simply following the family tradition of selective hospitality.