My grandma, the heart of every family gathering, turned 85 this year. All she wanted was a simple dinner. But my family had other plans.

“Grandma deserves something spectacular,” Aunt Linda declared. They booked the fanciest steakhouse in town—and planned to stick me with the bill.

I overheard my cousins plotting: “Jade works at a bank. She’ll cover it.” Furious, I played along.

The dinner was lavish. Grandma beamed. The rest ordered like royalty. When the $800 bill arrived, they all suddenly had “financial emergencies.” Grandma was in the restroom—perfect timing for them to guilt-trip me.

But I had a plan. I quietly spoke with the manager—my old college friend Eric.

When I returned, Grandma was alone. The others had ditched her. I reassured her and made sure she enjoyed her dessert and special moment.

Next morning, chaos erupted. Aunt Linda ranted about the restaurant “harassing” them. Turns out Eric sent them the bill—complete with interest and security footage of their exit.

Grandma thanked me again, still confused by the others’ disappearance.

“Don’t worry,” I told her, smiling. “They won’t pull anything like that again.”