As I reflect on my childhood, my mother’s relentless greed and frugality loomed large, casting a long shadow over my early years.
It didn’t make sense because we weren’t a poor family—in fact, we were quite comfortable. My father, Henry, was a regional manager for a well-known retail store, and my mother, Lydia, worked as a nurse. We had what we needed.
Yet, my mother seemed obsessed with saving money. Her constant penny-pinching left me feeling resentful. I struggled to understand her strictness, especially when Dad and I wanted to enjoy simple pleasures.
Dad was kind and understanding, always making time for me. He was my favorite person. His tragic death in a car accident when I was seventeen shattered my world. Losing him felt like losing the only person who truly got me.
After Dad’s passing, my relationship with Mom worsened. I blamed her for everything: her coldness, her stinginess, and now for taking Dad away from me.
Our fragile bond couldn’t endure much more. Then, everything changed when Mom drained my college fund.
I had worked hard, kept my grades up, and secured a partial scholarship. The rest was meant to come from the fund my parents had saved for years. When I discovered it was gone, I was furious.
“How could you?” I shouted at her. “How could you take away my future?”
She didn’t respond much, just gazed at me with weary eyes, her face marked by stress and sorrow. “It wasn’t what you think,” she whispered, but I didn’t want to hear her excuses. I stormed out, vowing never to forgive her.
Years passed, and I distanced myself from Mom. I worked multiple jobs to put myself through college, building a life for myself, but the resentment towards her never faded.
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