When my father came into the room and asked why I was taking so long, I didn’t even try to hide the folder.
I held it up and said, “So it’s all going to Eric. Everything. After all I’ve done.”
“It’s complicated,” he said.
No explanation. No apology.
Then Mom came in. Her response was somehow worse.
“You have a good job, Jacob,” she said gently. “You’re strong. Eric… he struggles. We just want to make sure he’s taken care of.”
That was the moment I knew—I wasn’t a son in their eyes.
I was a safety net.
A backup plan.
I Walked Away—and Stopped Paying the Bills
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