I stared at that photo for a long time. I almost called Mom to ask about it. Almost. But then I told myself, “Maybe the bag was on sale. Maybe Megan really was hurting. Maybe I was being selfish for even questioning it.”
That was the first lie I told myself. It wouldn’t be the last.
Year three, the amount climbed to 3500. “Megan wants to take an online marketing course,” Mom explained. “She’s finally found her passion. She wants to be an influencer.”
Year 5, 4500. “The house needs repairs. Your father’s health isn’t getting better. You know how expensive his medications are.”
I never questioned it. I just adjusted my budget—canceled my gym membership, stopped eating out, took on freelance consulting work on weekends just to make the numbers work.
