He’d been saving for a car since his second year of high school. Every cent from his job at the store went right into his car fund. I’d watch him count those wrinkled dollars night after night, his eyes full of dreams.

“I’m almost there,” he’d say, flattening out tens and twenties. “I just need a small boost to make it.”

When he finally got the guts to ask Mom and Vance for help, they turned him down flat.

“We’re not a bank, Jasper,” Vance snapped, not even looking up from his phone. “Want a car? Work for it.”