For three years, I scrimped and saved every nickel toward college tuition. The day came when I was finally ready to transfer what I had saved — but instead, I received a chilling call from the bank: my account had been completely emptied.
Panic surged through me as I raced home. I confronted my father: “What did you do with my money?”
He barely looked up. “I needed it,” he said, as if grocery money or college savings were interchangeable.
Still shaking, I demanded to know where it went. His answer, delivered flatly: “I invested it in a new business venture. You’ll figure something out.”
My anger erupted: “You stole my future for another failed business?” But he only shrugged, his expression vacant.
“It’s just money,” he said, dismissing years of sacrifice.
The betrayal wasn’t just financial—it was a violation of trust. “How could you do this?” I yelled, my words slicing through the silence.
It took everything in me not to collapse. That money wasn’t just savings — it was hope, diligence, and plans for the future. And that hope had been squandered.
