When I was diagnosed with stomach cancer at 24, my life collapsed. I lost my job, my home, and the independence I’d worked so hard to build. With nowhere else to go, I moved back in with my mother, hoping for support. Instead, she treated me like an employee.
Even while chemo left me exhausted, she demanded chores, meals, and errands. She took control of my food assistance benefits, spending them on snacks I couldn’t eat, and the meals I needed were never bought. The final blow came when she sold my car without asking, claiming I “didn’t need it,” stripping away my last bit of freedom.
Everything changed when my friend Mara saw how worn down I was. After I finally told her the truth, she insisted I move in with her. She helped me report the abuse, and authorities confirmed it as financial exploitation. My mother lost control, and I regained my dignity — thanks to real compassion.
