During a family gathering, my grandmother inquired, «Is the $1,500 I send you each month sufficient?» I responded..

She whistled low, your parents are something else. Did they even apologize? Not once, I stared at the ceiling. They just wanted me to convince Grandma to change her will back so they could get more money for Henry.

Unbelievable, Sarah squeezed my hand. What are you going to do? Move forward, I said, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice. Focus on school, keep my weekend job because I actually like it, and stop letting them drag me down.

Over the next few weeks, I threw myself into my studies. The freedom from constant financial worry was life-changing. I could buy textbooks instead of struggling with library copies.

I could eat three meals a day. I could replace my worn-out shoes. Grandma called every Sunday, and I found myself looking forward to our conversations.

She never pressured me to reconcile with my parents, just listened when I needed to talk and made me laugh with stories from her youth. You know, she said during one call, I was the forgotten child too. My older sister was the beauty, my younger brother the prodigy.

I was just the middle kid no one noticed. How did you deal with it, I asked. I built my own life, found people who valued me for me.

I could hear the smile in her voice, like you’re doing now. One evening, while studying in the library, my phone buzzed with a text from a cousin, did you hear about your parents’ house? A quick call to grandma filled in the details. My parents were selling their home to pay off Henry’s gambling debts.

He’d gotten involved with loan sharks this time, and the situation had turned dangerous. Do you want me to help them, grandma asked. I thought about it for a long moment.

No, I finally said, they made their choice. Three months passed without any contact from my parents. I didn’t call them, and they didn’t call me.

It was strange how their absence felt more like relief than loss. Spring semester was in full swing, and for the first time, I was thriving academically. Without the constant stress of working two jobs and worrying about money, I could actually focus on learning.

My GPA jumped from a 3.1 to a 3.8, and my professors had started to notice. Your analysis in this paper shows remarkable insight, my psychology professor told me after class one day. Have you considered applying for the research assistant position in the department? Before, I would have immediately declined, knowing I couldn’t spare the time from my jobs.

Now, I found myself nodding enthusiastically. I’d love to apply, I said, when our applications due. That evening, as I worked on my application, Sarah burst into our room waving a flyer.

Spring break trip to Miami, she announced. A bunch of us are going, you should come. Again, my first instinct was to say no, an old habit from when every dollar had to be stretched.

But then I remembered I didn’t have to live that way anymore. You know what? I’m in, I said. Sarah’s jaw dropped, seriously? No, I can’t afford it or I have to work.

Nope, I grinned. I’ve been saving some of grandma’s money. I can take a vacation…