It started with a utility bill. Then groceries. Then a “temporary” contribution to the mortgage that soon became a permanent monthly fixture. Before I knew it, I was funding their entire life, while Zach sat on the couch playing video games, a permanent guest in the home I was paying for. I gritted my teeth and told myself that this is what families do.

Six months ago, that illusion shattered. It was a Sunday afternoon. I stopped by their house, arms laden with groceries I knew they’d forgotten to buy. I walked in to find them waiting for me like an intervention. My mother, arms crossed, her lips pressed into that thin, angry line. My father, shaking his head with pre-emptive disappointment. And Zach, on the couch, tapping on his phone, utterly unbothered.