The Burden

It all started the year I turned twenty-eight, right after I finished my residency and started my first job with a stable salary.

My father called, his voice hesitant in a way I’d rarely heard, explaining that his company had just made layoffs, the mortgage was two months behind, and “if you could just help out a little, think of it as an advance, we’ll pay you back.”

I sent him five thousand dollars that month.

That “advance” was never paid back, and it never stopped there either.

Over the eight years that followed, I quietly paid off the mortgage whenever my parents “hit a rough patch,” covered health insurance for both of them after my father’s company cut benefits, fixed my mother’s car three separate times, and paid to repair the roof after a bad storm.

My parents always told me not to tell anyone, not even Vanessa.

“Your sister has her own life to worry about, don’t put that pressure on her,” my mother explained, even though Vanessa had never once been asked to contribute anything at all.

I never once sat down and added up the total.

I only knew that every time I made a transfer, I told myself it was the only way I knew to prove I still belonged to this family.