Growing up, my mother’s frugality was a constant source of tension in our family. Despite our comfortable lifestyle—my father was a regional manager, and my mother was a nurse—her obsession with saving money left me feeling resentful. I couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t let us enjoy life’s simple pleasures.
My father, Henry, was my favorite person. His sudden death when I was seventeen shattered me, and my relationship with my mother only grew colder. When she drained my college fund, I was furious. I saw it as a selfish act and vowed never to forgive her.
Years later, after her death, I found her diary. As I read through its pages, I discovered the truth about our family’s struggles. My father had a hidden gambling addiction, and my mother had been quietly working to pay off his debts. One entry read, “I had to drain Cara’s college fund… It was the only way to keep us from losing the house.”
Her words changed everything. I had spent years resenting her, not realizing the sacrifices she had made to protect me. My anger turned to regret as I finally understood the depth of her love.
