Mom called it “helping family.”
To me, it was twelve hundred dollars leaving my account every month before I paid myself.
At first, I was happy to help.
Then help became an obligation.
Every family emergency somehow reached me before anyone else.
If the furnace failed, Dad called me.
If Ryan overdrafted his account, Mom called me.
If a bill arrived stamped in red, everyone suddenly remembered I existed.
Groceries.
Property taxes.
Repairs.
Dad’s truck insurance.
Mom’s credit card whenever she “forgot” the due date.
Yet despite paying for almost
