When their second business failed — a wellness studio with more mirrors than clients — my parents refinanced part of the house to keep it afloat.
“You have to spend money to earn it,” my father would proudly say, as if he were quoting an ancient wisdom.
I remember sitting at that kitchen table during one of those conversations. I was quietly eating cereal after a twelve-hour workday at my civilian job before enlisting.
I said nothing. I simply watched the scene repeat itself.
It’s my turn to ask for help.
At twenty-two, my car’s gearbox broke down. I needed two thousand dollars to repair it and be able to go to work.
I asked my parents for a loan. Not a gift, a loan that I fully intended to repay.
They agreed. Under certain conditions.
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