When I was twelve years old, my world shifted in ways I never could have imagined. Up until then, my family had lived a fairly comfortable life. We weren’t rich, but we had enough.
There were family dinners, weekend outings, and a home that always felt secure. But then my father lost his job. Almost overnight, the stability I had always known began to crumble.
At first, I didn’t understand the seriousness of what was happening. I only noticed the subtle changes: the hushed conversations between my parents late at night, the stacks of unopened bills gathering on the kitchen table, and the sadness in my mother’s eyes when she thought no one was watching. Slowly, the changes became more obvious. Dinners grew smaller. The heat was turned down lower in winter. My parents spoke less and worried more.
