At the time, I was twenty-five and working as an IT specialist for a growing firm. I wasn’t rich, but I made enough to live comfortably, and I had managed to save a decent chunk. When they came to me, I didn’t hesitate. They were my parents, after all. They explained that if they lost the house, they’d have nowhere to go. My younger sister, Marissa, was still living there too, fresh out of college, and they wanted stability for her as well.
So I made a decision. I agreed to help pay the mortgage. The arrangement was simple: they’d sign over responsibility to me, I’d take over the monthly payments, and eventually, once the house was fully paid off, it would become mine. It wasn’t even about ownership at first—I just wanted to make sure my parents didn’t lose the place they’d built their lives in.
