Last month, on my birthday, my parents sold my car. I had saved for years to buy it, making sacrifices, working long shifts, and dreaming of the freedom it represented. But none of that seemed to matter when my brother Josh called them in tears after crashing his own. They told me it was urgent—Josh needed money fast, and my car was the easiest solution. I watched the keys leave my hands without so much as a thank-you. It wasn’t just the loss of the car that stung—it was the reminder of a lifetime of choices where my needs always came second.
