Two years later, I got pregnant with Lucas—and landed a major promotion in Dallas, Texas.
At first, Daniel supported me.
Then everything changed after Lucas was born.
Late nights. Irritation. Distance.
Eventually, he admitted the truth:
He never wanted to be a father.
We divorced when Lucas was two.
He pays child support—but barely shows up.
So I raised my son alone.
Lucas is the sweetest kid I know—kind, curious, and stronger than most adults I’ve met.
He’s had minor health issues since he was little, so medical bills were always part of our life.
I could handle that.
What I couldn’t give him… was a loving extended family.
Over time, a pattern formed.
My family rarely called—unless they needed something.
And what they needed was usually money.
I helped refinance my parents’ house.
Paid off Sophie’s $12,000 credit card debt.
Covered emergencies that somehow never stopped happening.
Every time, I got gratitude… promises…
Then silence—until the next crisis.
Meanwhile, when I talked about Lucas?
They barely listened.
“Your sister is going through a lot,” my mom would say.
And if I pushed back?
“Family helps each other.”
“You’re just better with money.”
“This is easier for you.”
But it was never easy.