Goodstorie

My name is Madison Andrews, and at 23, I finally graduated college after four brutal years of working multiple jobs to make ends meet. My family celebrated at Valini’s, a restaurant way fancier than anywhere I could afford. When Grandma Eleanor arrived, her eyes sparkled with such genuine pride it almost made the struggle worth it. I felt accomplished but completely drained, still facing mountains of debt despite sacrificing sleep, social life, and sanity to pay tuition. Little did I know, the tension between my grandmother and parents was about to explode in the most unexpected way. Before I tell you how my world imploded that night, drop a comment about where you’re watching from and hit that subscribe button to join me on this wild journey of family secrets and betrayal.

A Childhood of Practicality and Distant Support

I grew up in Lexington, just outside Boston, in what I always thought was a typical middle-class family. Our house was modest but comfortable. My parents, Diana and Robert Andrews, constantly reminded us about living within our means and the importance of financial responsibility. Every money conversation ended with sighs about bills, mortgage payments, and how expensive it was to raise children in today’s economy. Despite living two states away in Connecticut, my grandmother Eleanor was my rock. She visited regularly, bringing thoughtful gifts and genuine interest in my life. While my parents often seemed distracted by work and social obligations, Grandma Eleanor made me feel truly seen. She called weekly throughout my childhood, and when I left for college, those calls became my lifeline.

The Grueling College Years

College hit me like a freight train. I’d been accepted to Northeastern University with a partial scholarship, but it nowhere near covered the astronomical costs. My parents sat me down before freshman year with spreadsheets and serious expressions. “We’ll help as much as we can,” Mom said, “but we just don’t have enough saved. You’ll need to take out loans and work part-time.” I nodded, determined to make them proud and prove my independence. I had no idea what I was agreeing to.

By sophomore year, I was working three jobs: mornings at the campus library, evenings waiting tables at a sports bar, and weekends tutoring online. My apartment was the cheapest I could find, a basement unit I shared with three other students that flooded every spring. My diet consisted primarily of ramen, peanut butter sandwiches, and whatever food I could take home from the restaurant. While my classmates went on spring break trips and studied abroad, I picked up extra shifts. When my laptop died before finals week junior year, I had to beg the computer lab for extended hours access because I couldn’t afford a replacement. My parents sympathized but reminded me they were helping as much as possible and that this struggle would build character. I believed them. I had no reason not to.

A Celebration Shrouded in Discrepancies

When graduation finally arrived, I felt both triumphant and exhausted. My business degree had cost me four years of my youth, my health, and left me $45,000 in debt despite working myself to the bone. Still, I’d done it. And that evening at Valini’s was supposed to be my moment of celebration. The restaurant screamed expensive from the moment we walked in: crystal chandeliers, white tablecloths, servers in formal attire. I immediately felt anxious about the cost, but my parents waved off my concerns. “Tonight is special,” Dad insisted, ordering a $200 bottle of champagne while studying the menu’s priciest options. I noticed Mom’s new designer handbag and the gleaming watch on Dad’s wrist. Small luxuries weren’t unusual for them, but something felt different. Their generosity tonight seemed performative, especially with the family gathered around.

My younger brother Tyler slouched in his chair, scrolling through his phone. He just finished freshman year at Boston College and somehow always had nicer things than I did: new clothes, the latest iPhone, weekend trips with friends. I chalked it up to him being better with money or perhaps picking up on jobs he never mentioned. Aunt Jessica, my mother’s sister, kept giving me sympathetic looks. She’d always been the family truth-teller, never afraid to point out hypocrisies. Uncle Mark, my father’s brother, arrived late with his typical businessman energy, checking his watch and scanning the room as if looking for more important people.

“Madison, darling, you look thin,” Aunt Jessica said, squeezing my shoulder. “Have they been feeding you at that apartment?” “I feed myself just fine,” I laughed, though we both knew that wasn’t entirely true. As appetizers arrived, I noticed Tyler order the $42 seafood platter without even checking with our parents. Mom simply nodded approval. A memory flashed of me calling home three months earlier, asking to borrow $200 for textbooks and hearing about how tight things were that month.

The conversation flowed through dinner, focusing on my accomplishments and future plans. I spoke enthusiastically about a job interview I had lined up the following week—entry-level marketing position, modest salary, but good potential. Inside though, I was already calculating how much of each paycheck would go towards student loans. “Where will you live after graduation?” Uncle Mark asked between bites of his $65 steak. “I’m staying in my apartment for now,” I explained. “Rent’s cheap, and I need to build up some savings before moving.” “Still in that basement place?” Mom wrinkled her nose. “Surely you can find something nicer now that you’ll have a real job.” I forced a smile, thinking about my bank account with its pathetic $342 balance. One step at a time. Throughout dinner, I kept noticing small discrepancies, comments, and behaviors that didn’t quite align with the financial reality I’d been living. When Dad mentioned their upcoming trip to Bermuda as if it were a casual weekend getaway, something cold settled in my stomach. But I pushed it aside, determined to enjoy my celebration.

The Truth Unravels

Then Grandma Eleanor arrived, fashionably late as always, bringing her warmth and genuine enthusiasm that immediately lightened the atmosphere. “There’s my brilliant granddaughter,” she announced, making her way to the table with a wrapped gift and a card in hand. “I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was terrible coming down from Hartford.” Everyone shifted to make room, and the waiter brought another chair. Grandma settled beside me, patting my hand affectionately. “I am so, so proud of you, Madison,” she said, her eyes misting slightly. “For years of hard work while juggling all those jobs. You’re remarkable.” “Thanks, Grandma,” I said, feeling the sting of tears myself. “It means a lot that you came.” “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she replied, then glanced around the table. “This is quite the spread. Robert, Diana, you’ve gone all out tonight.” My parents exchanged a quick look I couldn’t quite interpret. “Nothing but the best for our graduate,” Dad said, raising his glass.

As dinner progressed, I found myself relaxing for the first time in months. The weight of finals was behind me. My degree was in hand. Whatever struggles lay ahead, tonight, I could breathe. If only I’d known how temporary that peace would be. The evening progressed pleasantly enough through the main course. Grandma Eleanor regaled everyone with stories of my childhood achievements—science fair projects, soccer tournaments, and that time I organized a neighborhood cleanup at just 9 years old. I blushed at the attention but secretly treasured her pride in me. “A toast,” Uncle Mark announced, raising his glass. “To Madison, the hardest-working, most determined member of this family. May your career be as successful as your academic journey.” Everyone clinked glasses, and for a moment, I felt truly celebrated. Mom dabbed at her eyes dramatically. “Our first college graduate,” she said. “We always knew you were special, honey.” Dad nodded vigorously. “Worth every sacrifice we made.” The waiter came to clear our plates and present dessert menus. My parents, unusually extravagant tonight, insisted everyone order something. The table fell into casual conversation about my post-graduation plans, Tyler’s college experience, and Uncle Mark’s recent business expansion. That’s when it happened—the moment that would fracture my family forever.

Grandma Eleanor turned to me during a lull in conversation, smiling warmly as she squeezed my hand. “Madison, I meant to ask, have you decided what you’ll do with your savings now that you’re finished with school? I’m glad the $3,000 I send you each month is helping, but you might want to consider investing some of it now that your expenses will change.” The table went silent. I stared at my grandmother, certain I’d misheard her. “What money?” I asked, my voice sounding strange even to my own ears. “Grandma, I never got any money from you.” The confusion on her face mirrored my own. “The $3,000 I’ve been sending to your parents each month for your education. Ever since you started college.” I felt like I’d been doused with ice water. My mind raced, calculating quickly: $3,000 a month for four years. That was $144,000.

“I never saw any of that money,” I repeated, looking around the table. “Mom, Dad, what is Grandma talking about?” Everyone slowly turned to look at my parents. The color had drained from both their faces. Mom’s hand froze with her wine glass halfway to her mouth. Dad suddenly became intensely interested in rearranging his silverware. “There must be some confusion,” Dad said with a forced laugh. Grandma Eleanor set her plate down carefully. Her eyes narrowed as she looked between my parents. “Robert,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “I’ve been sending $3,000 every month to your joint account for Madison’s education. That’s $36,000 a year for four years. Are you telling me Madison never received this money?” Tyler’s head snapped up from his phone, suddenly interested. “Wait, what?” he asked. Aunt Jessica’s expression changed from surprise to something like vindication, as though a long-held suspicion had finally been confirmed. Uncle Mark sat back in his chair, arms crossed, looking grim. “I don’t understand,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve been working three jobs. I took out loans. I’ve been eating ramen for dinner four nights a week for years.” The restaurant around us continued its ambient hum of conversation and clinking glasses. But at our table, time seemed suspended. I felt disoriented, like the floor was tilting beneath me.

“Diana,” Grandma prompted when my mother remained silent. “Would you care to explain?” Mom’s eyes darted around the table, looking for an escape. Finding none, she attempted a dismissive laugh that came out more like a nervous hiccup. “Mother, you know how expensive college is nowadays. That money helped with Madison’s tuition and living expenses. Just as we discussed.” “But I never saw any of it,” I repeated, louder this time. Several diners at nearby tables glanced over. “You told me you couldn’t afford to help much with tuition. You made me take out loans.” Dad cleared his throat. “Madison, this is hardly the time or place.” “I think it’s exactly the time and place,” Grandma interrupted, her normally gentle voice hardening. “I sent that money specifically for Madison. I confirmed with you multiple times that she was receiving it.” “She did receive it,” Mom insisted. “Through us. We paid her tuition bills.” “Only part of them,” I said, memories flooding back. “I had to take out loans for the rest. $45,000 worth of loans.” Tyler looked between us all, confused. “But you guys give me an allowance every month for expenses.”

Another bomb dropped. I turned to my brother. “What allowance?” “The $1,000 you guys deposit in my account,” he said slowly, realization dawning on his face. “Don’t you get the same?” I felt like I might be sick right there at the table. All those nights I’d worked double shifts. All the times I’d counted pennies for groceries. All the doctor’s appointments I’d skipped because I couldn’t afford the copay. “You told me you were broke,” I said to my parents, my voice shaking. “You told me I needed to stand on my own two feet.” “And look how well you’ve done,” Dad attempted weakly. “You’ve learned responsibility, work ethic…” “By lying to her!” Grandma cut in. “By stealing money I sent specifically for her education and expenses.” The words “stealing” hung in the air like a thunderclap. “We didn’t steal anything,” Mom hissed, leaning forward. “We’re her parents. We decided what was best.” “What was best?” I repeated, feeling tears building. “I worked 35 hours a week while taking full course loads. I burned myself out every semester. I couldn’t afford to eat properly or get enough sleep. How was that what was best for me?” Aunt Jessica reached over to put a hand on my arm. “Madison, breathe, honey.” But I couldn’t seem to catch my breath. The restaurant felt too hot, too crowded. “I want to know exactly where that money went!” Grandma demanded. “Every penny of it, because it certainly didn’t go to Madison.” My parents exchanged another look. This one panicked. “We used it for family expenses,” Dad finally admitted. “College costs affect the whole family budget. We had to make adjustments.” “What adjustments?” I asked. The new kitchen remodel last year. Mom’s shopping trips. The boat you bought. Each example that came to mind made me feel sicker. All the times they told me money was tight while apparently sitting on thousands of dollars meant for me.

“This is a misunderstanding,” Mom tried again. “We can discuss this at home as a family.” “I think we’re well past that point,” Uncle Mark said, speaking up for the first time, his business acumen coming to the fore. He asked, “Robert, Diana, did you ever tell Madison about this arrangement with Eleanor?” Their silence was answer enough. “Did you tell Eleanor you were keeping the money rather than giving it to Madison?” He continued. More silence. “That’s what I thought,” he said grimly. I looked at my grandmother, whose face reflected hurt, betrayal, and growing anger. “Grandma, I had no idea,” I said, my voice breaking. “All this time I thought you were just being supportive with phone calls and care packages. I never knew.” “Oh, my dear girl,” she said, reaching for my hand. “I thought I was helping make your college years easier. I never imagined.” The waiter approached our table, sensed the tension, and wisely retreated. My entire understanding of the past four years of my family was crumbling around me. What had begun as a celebration had transformed into a nightmare, and we were only just scratching the surface of my parents’ deception.

Unanswered Questions and Deeper Lies

“Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere more private,” Dad suggested, glancing nervously at nearby tables where diners were beginning to notice our tension. “No,” I said firmly, surprising myself with my resolve. “I want answers now. I’ve waited for years without even knowing I was waiting.” Grandma Eleanor nodded in agreement. “I’ve been sending that money every month since August before Madison’s freshman year. That’s 4 years and 4 months, a total of $156,000.” My head spun at the figure, even more than I’d calculated. “The money was for your education, living expenses, books, healthy food, proper housing, and maybe even a study abroad program,” Grandma continued, her voice tight with controlled anger. “I wanted you to focus on your studies without working yourself to exhaustion.”

Each word felt like a knife. I thought about all the opportunities I’d missed, all the unnecessary suffering. “I never studied abroad because I couldn’t afford it,” I said quietly. “I lived in a basement apartment that flooded every spring. I caught pneumonia sophomore year because I couldn’t afford to fix my car and had to walk to work in the rain.” Mom shifted uncomfortably. “Madison, you’re being dramatic.” “Am I?” My voice rose. “Junior year, my laptop died before finals. Remember when I called you crying because I couldn’t afford a new one and you told me there was nothing you could do? Was that when you were planning your cruise to the Bahamas? The one you said was a work trip?” Tyler’s eyes widened. “That wasn’t a work trip?” “Of course it was,” Dad snapped, but his confidence was clearly shaken. “Show me your bank statements,” Grandma Eleanor demanded. “Show me where that money went.” “We don’t have to show you anything,” Mom replied, her voice rising. “We’re Madison’s parents. We make the financial decisions for this family.” “I’m 23 years old,” I countered. “You had no right to make decisions about money that was explicitly meant for me without even telling me it existed.” The gravity of the situation was sinking in. This wasn’t just about money. It was about years of deliberate deception.

“So, while I was eating ramen and skipping meals,” I continued, my voice shaking, “while I was working until 2:00 a.m. and then getting up for 8:00 a.m. classes. While I was having anxiety attacks about making rent, you had $3,000 a month that was meant for me.” My hands were trembling so badly I had to put them in my lap. The memories came flooding back with new context: the night I’d called home sobbing because I couldn’t afford both textbooks and groceries that week. The summer I’d worked double shifts instead of taking an unpaid internship that would have helped my career. The time I developed an ulcer from stress and skipped getting treatment because of the medical bills. “We were teaching you responsibility,” Dad insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. “No,” Aunt Jessica interjected. “You were using your daughter as free labor while spending her money. Let’s call this what it is.” Uncle Mark leaned forward. “I’m curious where the money actually went. Robert, that’s a significant sum to absorb into regular family expenses.” Tyler looked shell-shocked. “Do I even want to know how much of my allowance was actually from Grandma?” “None,” Grandma said sharply. “I sent money specifically for Madison’s education. I already have a separate college fund for you that won’t be accessible until you graduate and after tonight, I’ll be changing the terms of that arrangement.” My brother’s expression shifted from confusion to anger as he turned to our parents. “So, you’ve been giving me an allowance while Madison worked multiple jobs? How is that fair?” “It’s not about fair,” Mom said. “Different children have different needs.” “What does that even mean?” I demanded. “It means,” Dad said with a sigh, “that you’ve always been independent and capable. Tyler needs more support.” “I needed support, too.” My voice cracked as tears threatened to spill. “Do you have any idea how hard these past four years have been? I was working 35 hours a week on top of full-time classes. I was exhausted all the time. I got shingles from stress last year. Shingles at 22! You could have asked for help.” Mom tried weakly. “I did!” I slammed my hand on the table, causing glasses to rattle. Several nearby diners openly stared now. “I asked for help constantly! You always said you were doing everything you could.” My chest felt tight, breathing difficult. The restaurant seemed to spin around me. All those years of struggling, sacrificing, pushing myself to the breaking point, all unnecessary. My own parents had watched me suffer while hiding resources that were rightfully mine. “I took out loans,” I continued, fighting for composure. “I’ll be paying those for years. Why would I need loans if you had Grandma’s money?” A terrible thought struck me. “Wait, the loan papers you had me sign my sophomore year. Was that even a legitimate student loan?” The guilty look my parents exchanged confirmed my worst fears. “You didn’t?” Aunt Jessica gasped, reading their expressions. “Tell me you didn’t take out loans in Madison’s name.” “It was for family expenses,” Dad said defensively. “We were going to pay it back before she ever knew.” The room tilted dangerously. Not only had they taken Grandma’s money, but they’d also committed fraud by taking out loans in my name. My credit, my financial future. Everything was compromised. “How much?” Uncle Mark demanded. “Just $20,000,” Mom said quietly. “Just?” I repeated incredulously. “Just $20,000? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Grandma Eleanor’s hands were shaking as she reached for her purse. “I need to see documentation of everything. The transfers to your account. These supposed loans. All of it.” “This is family business,” Dad tried again. “Family?” I laughed bitterly. “Is that what you call this? Families don’t steal from each other. Families don’t lie and manipulate and commit fraud.” “Madison,” Mom reached for my hand, but I pulled away. “We love you. Everything we did was for this family.” “No.” I stood up, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Everything you did was for yourselves. You watched me struggle and suffer for years while you lived comfortably on money meant for me. That’s not love. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not love.” The restaurant had gone uncomfortably quiet, with nearby tables openly watching our family drama unfold. “I need some air,” I muttered, grabbing my purse and heading for the door. “Madison, wait!” Dad called after me. But I was already pushing through the restaurant entrance, gulping the cool evening air. My graduation celebration had transformed into a nightmare revelation of betrayal that spanned years. The family I thought I knew was a facade, and I couldn’t bear to look at the reality another second.

The Aftermath and Seeking Justice

I made it to my car before the tears started in earnest. My hands shook so badly I couldn’t get the key in the ignition. The magnitude of the deception was too much to process all at once. For years of unnecessary hardship, for years of lies, my own parents had watched me struggle while secretly spending money that was meant to help me. As I finally managed to start the car, I caught sight of Grandma Eleanor rushing out of the restaurant, phone in hand, scanning the parking lot for me. But I couldn’t face anyone right now, not even her. I pulled out of the parking space and drove away, tears blurring my vision, forcing me to pull over a few blocks away. Alone in my car, the full emotional impact hit me like a physical blow. I doubled over the steering wheel, sobbing uncontrollably. My phone buzzed repeatedly. First my parents, then Grandma, then Tyler. I ignored them all until Grandma called a third time. Something told me I needed to answer. “Madison,” Her voice was thick with emotion. “Where are you, sweetheart?” “I don’t know,” I admitted through tears. “A few blocks away. I just couldn’t stay there.” “I understand. I’m so sorry, my dear. So terribly sorry. I had no idea.” She paused. “Can we meet tomorrow? There’s much to discuss, and I want to help make this right.” As the initial shock began to ebb, it was replaced by something else: determination. My graduation marked the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. I’d survived 4 years of unnecessary hardship. I could survive this betrayal, too. “Yes,” I told my grandmother, taking a deep breath. “Let’s meet tomorrow. I think it’s time for some honesty in this family.”

I barely slept that night. My small apartment, which had always felt like a symbol of my independence despite its many flaws, now seemed like evidence of an elaborate gaslighting campaign orchestrated by my own parents. The cracked ceiling, the temperamental hot water, the secondhand furniture—all of it should have been unnecessary given the financial support Grandma thought she was providing. By morning, my emotions had crystallized from shock into righteous anger. I arrived at the small cafe where Grandma Eleanor had suggested we meet to find her already waiting. A thick folder on the table beside her coffee cup. “I was up all night gathering documentation,” she said, hugging me tightly before we sat down. “I called my bank, accessed years of statements, found all the email confirmations.” Her eyes were rimmed with red, her usual perfect appearance slightly disheveled. I realized with a pang that she’d been up all night, too, dealing with her own sense of betrayal. “I trusted them,” she said quietly. “I trusted them with your well-being.” The waitress came for our order, but neither of us had much appetite. We both requested just coffee.

“I have copies of every transfer,” Grandma continued, opening the folder. “Monthly payments of $3,000 starting August before your freshman year. I have emails from your parents thanking me, telling me how the money was helping you focus on your studies instead of working so many hours.” She pushed several printed emails across the table. Reading my father’s detailed fabrications about how I was thriving with less financial pressure made my stomach turn. “They sent me updates about you,” she continued. “How you were able to join study groups instead of rushing to work, how you were eating better, sleeping more, even considering study abroad options.” Each lie was more elaborate than the last. While I’d been working myself to exhaustion, my parents had been crafting a fictional college experience to report to my grandmother. “They even sent me this,” she said, sliding a photo across the table. “It showed me smiling in front of what appeared to be an apartment building. They said this was your new apartment sophomore year, made possible by my financial help,” Grandma explained. “They said you had a nice place with just one roommate instead of four.” I stared at the photo. “This isn’t an apartment I’ve ever lived in. This picture was taken when we visited Tyler at his dorm. They cropped him out.” The deliberate nature of their deception was staggering. This wasn’t opportunistic. It was calculated and sustained over years. My phone buzzed with yet another text from my mother. “We need to talk as a family. Please come home.” I silenced it without responding. “What do we do now?” I asked Grandma. “That depends on what you want,” she replied carefully. “What they’ve done is wrong on multiple levels, morally and legally. Taking money under false pretenses, opening fraudulent loans in your name. These are serious matters.”

Before I could respond, the cafe door opened and Aunt Jessica walked in with a professional-looking woman I didn’t recognize. “Hope you don’t mind the company,” Aunt Jessica said, sliding into the booth beside me. “This is Vivian Parker. She’s a friend and a financial crimes attorney.” “I’m not sure if I want to pursue legal action,” I said hesitantly. “Just information for now,” Vivian assured me. “No decisions needed today.” Over the next hour, Vivian explained my options in clear terms. The loans taken out in my name constituted identity theft and fraud. The misappropriation of funds from Grandma could potentially be prosecuted as elder financial abuse, given that she was over 65 when the arrangement began. “Best-case scenario,” Vivian explained, “would be full financial restitution without criminal charges. They repay everything, the diverted funds, the fraudulent loans with interest, and you decide whether to maintain a relationship with them.” My phone continued to buzz. Tyler had now sent several messages. “Mom and Dad are freaking out. They say there’s more to the story. Please call me at least.” I finally responded to my brother: “Meeting with Grandma and Aunt Jessica. We’ll call you after.” As we wrapped up our meeting, another text came through. This one from my father. “We’re prepared to make this right. Please come home so we can talk.” Something about his wording bothered me. Not “we want to apologize” or “we’re sorry for what we did,” but “we’re prepared to make this right” as if this were a business negotiation rather than a profound betrayal. “I think I need to confront them,” I told Grandma and Aunt Jessica. “I need to hear whatever explanation they think justifies this.” “You don’t owe them that,” Aunt Jessica said. “I know, but I need it for myself.” Grandma nodded understanding. “We’ll go with you.” “No,” I said, finding strength in my voice. “I need to do this myself first, but I’ll call if I need backup.”

An hour later, I pulled into the driveway of my childhood home. The house I’d grown up in suddenly looked different to me: the recent landscaping, the new front door, the luxury SUV in the driveway. How much of this had been paid for with money meant for my education? Both my parents met me at the door, relief evident on their faces. “Madison, thank goodness,” Mom said, attempting to hug me. I stepped back, keeping physical distance between us. “I’m only here to hear what you have to say. That’s it.” They exchanged nervous glances as they led me to the living room. I remained standing while they sat on the sofa. “First, we want you to know we love you very much,” Dad began. “Love doesn’t steal,” I replied flatly. “Love doesn’t watch someone struggle unnecessarily.” “It’s complicated,” Mom said, wringing her hands. “When your grandmother first offered the money, we had every intention of giving it all to you.” “What changed?” I demanded. They looked at each other again, a silent communication passing between them. “The first year of your college, we had some financial setbacks,” Dad explained. “My commission structure changed at work. We had unexpected expenses. We used a little of the money to cover household costs, just temporarily.” “A little. We meant to replace it,” Mom insisted. “But then we got used to the lifestyle, and one thing led to another.” “What things exactly?” I pressed. “What was so important that it justified watching me work myself sick?” Dad sighed heavily. “We took some trips, made some investments, helped Tyler with his startup idea.” “The podcast network?” I asked incredulously. “The one that lasted all of 3 months before he got bored, that cost enough to justify stealing over $150,000 from me?” “We didn’t think of it as stealing,” Mom said defensively. “We’re your parents. We thought we were making decisions for the family.” “What about the loans in my name?” I asked. “Was that also a family decision?” Their silence was damning. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” My voice shook with emotion. “I worked three jobs. I got sick from stress. I lost friends because I never had time to socialize. I lived in a moldy basement. I ate ramen for days on end.” “You’re stronger for it,” Dad tried weakly. “Don’t you dare,” I spat. “Don’t you dare try to pretend this was for my benefit. What do you want from us now?” Mom asked, her tone suggesting I was being unreasonable. “I want the truth. All of it. Then I want every penny back, including the loans you fraudulently took out in my name, and I want to know why. Why would you do this to your own daughter?” Dad looked down at his hands. “We never meant for it to go this far. We started with small amounts, justifying it because we were helping Tyler too. Then it became normal. We told ourselves you were doing fine, that you were learning valuable lessons about independence.” “While Tyler got an allowance?” I asked bitterly. “Tyler is different,” Mom said. “He needs more support.” “So you decided I needed less without even asking me. Without even telling me about Grandma’s generosity.” “We made a mistake,” Dad admitted. “A terrible mistake that got worse over time. But we can fix this.” “How exactly do you plan to fix years of unnecessary struggle?” I demanded. “How do you plan to fix the fact that you committed fraud and identity theft?” “We’ll pay back everything,” Dad said quickly. “The loans, the money from your grandmother, all of it.” “And where will this money magically come from?” I asked. “The same place it’s been coming from, Grandma Eleanor?” They had no answer for that. “I’ve spoken with a financial crimes attorney,” I said, watching their faces pale. “What you’ve done is criminal. You could go to jail.” “You wouldn’t do that,” Mom whispered. “We’re your parents.” “Parents don’t do what you did,” I replied coldly. “I haven’t decided what I’m going to do yet. But first, I want to see everything. Bank statements, loan documents, all of it.”