As I recall, my mother’s extreme frugality cast a long shadow over my childhood.

It was perplexing because we weren’t a poor family. Both my parents earned enough to provide a comfortable life. My father, Henry, was a regional manager for a popular retail store, and my mother, Lydia, was a nurse. We were financially secure.

However, my mother was always obsessed with saving money. Her relentless penny-pinching made me resent her deeply. I couldn’t understand why she was so strict, especially when Dad and I wanted to enjoy simple pleasures.

Dad was kind, understanding, and always had time for me. He was my favorite person in the world. His tragic death in a car accident when I was seventeen shattered me. Losing him felt like losing the only person who truly understood me.

After Dad’s passing, my relationship with Mom deteriorated even further. I blamed her for everything — her coldness, her stinginess, and now, for taking Dad away from me.

Our fragile relationship couldn’t handle anything else. But then, everything changed when Mom drained my college fund.

I had worked hard, maintained good grades, and secured a partial scholarship. The rest of the expenses were supposed to come from the fund my parents had diligently saved for years. When I found out it was gone, I was livid.

“How could you?” I screamed at her. “How could you take away my future?”

She didn’t say much, just looked at me with weary eyes, her face etched with lines of stress and sorrow. “It wasn’t what you think,” she murmured, but I didn’t want to hear her excuses. I stormed out, vowing never to forgive her.