I paid $2,400 for my sister’s kids’ straight-A rewards—brand-new tablets and headphones. On New Year’s morning, my son opened his gift. A used notebook.
Dad smirked. “Your kid doesn’t get the good stuff. He’s not the one we show off.”
My son asked, “Did I do something wrong?”
I stayed quiet.
I loaded the boxes into my SUV and texted:
Rewards retrieved. By 7:10 a.m., my sister was banging on my door. Before we jump into today’s story, I need your help.
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My name is Kyle. I’m thirty-three years old, and for most of my adult life, I’ve been the one who pays. Not because anyone asks kindly.
Not because I’m swimming in cash. I pay because, somewhere deep in my brain, a tiny voice whispers that if I just help one more time—if I just cover one more expense—maybe they’ll finally see me. Maybe Dad will look at me the way he looks at Amber.
Maybe Mom will remember my birthday without me having to remind her three days later. I’m an accountant. I work at a midsized firm downtown, pulling sixty-hour weeks during tax season and about forty the rest of the year.
I drive a seven-year-old Honda with a dent in the rear bumper I never got around to fixing. I live in a decent two-bedroom apartment with my nine-year-old son, Jake. His mom left when he was three.
She needed to find herself. Last I heard, she was in Oregon with a yoga instructor named River. Amber—my younger sister—lives in a four-bedroom house with a two-car garage and a pool.
She doesn’t work. Her husband, Trevor, sells insurance and does well enough, but not pool-and-luxury-SUV well. Well, that gap?
That’s where I come in. I paid for the down payment on their house. Mom called me crying one night.
Amber was stressed. Trevor’s credit wasn’t good enough for the loan they wanted. “Could you help?” Mom asked.
“Just this once.”
I wired $18,000 the next morning. Amber sent me a thumbs-up emoji. No thank you.
No card. Just a thumbs up. I paid for their youngest kid’s surgery two years ago—an emergency app
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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