He sighed.
“Your mother doesn’t understand why you’re suddenly making money such a big issue.”
“Dad, she used my credit card to buy Khloe nearly twelve thousand dollars in airline tickets.”
“She thought you’d understand.”
“Why?”
He hesitated.
“Because you’ve always helped.”
I stared at the wall.
There it was.
The answer I’d been searching for.
Not because Mom misunderstood the card’s purpose.
Not because she’d accidentally selected the wrong payment method.
Because I’d helped before.
And helping had gradually become something she considered mandatory.
“Dad,” I said, “I can’t keep doing this.”
He was quiet.
Then he asked, “What about the insurance?”
I took a breath.
“I’ll send you a list of the payments I’ve been covering and their next due dates. You and Mom need to make arrangements to take them over.”
He sounded worried.
“We don’t have everything sorted out yet.”
“I understand. That’s why I’m giving you the information now instead of simply letting bills fail without warning.”
He sighed.
“Your mother is going to say you’re punishing us.”
“I know.”
“Are you?”
I thought about the question.
“No, Dad. I’m choosing not to keep paying expenses that aren’t mine.”
He didn’t answer immediately.
Then he said something I hadn’t expected.
