Meanwhile, I started working at sixteen. I put myself through college with scholarships and part-time jobs, landing a position in finance straight after graduation. I never asked my parents for a dime. But Zach did. And when my parents began struggling with their mortgage, guess who was expected to pick up the slack?

I didn’t complain at first. They were my parents, and I had the money. The guilt trips were an art form in my house, subtle and insidious. My mother would sigh dramatically about how “things have been so hard lately.” My father would casually mention how Zach was “trying so hard” but just needed a little more time. I knew what they were doing, and I let them.