My grandmother, the heart of every family gathering, asked for a modest dinner for her 85th birthday. I agreed, but my relatives insisted on a lavish evening at the most expensive steakhouse—except it wasn’t really for her. They planned to let me foot the bill.

I overheard my cousins scheming: I was single, childless, and “rich”—so I could cover everything. Furious, I didn’t say a word.

That night, Grandma beamed as the others treated the dinner like a red-carpet event. They ordered expensive wines, steaks, and posed for photos. Then came the bill—over $800. Just as expected, everyone feigned sudden financial hardship. My aunt mentioned vacation home payments. My cousin blamed concert tickets. Another whined about pet bills.

I didn’t argue. I told them I’d handle it—and left.

When I returned, they were gone. They’d ditched Grandma too.

I reassured her and paid only for our meals. The manager, a college friend, had footage of their sneaky exit and all their details. He’s pursuing the balance—with added fees.

The next day, angry calls flooded in. I didn’t flinch.

This year? Grandma and I are celebrating alone. Peacefully. With the bill—and love—on me alone.