Two years ago, I convinced my husband George that it was finally time to buy our first house. What was meant to be a leap toward stability became a catalyst for family tension, regret, and a lesson in what it means to truly listen to our children. The night we sent our sons to Grandma’s so we could move in peace, our youngest broke down—sparking a whirlwind of guilt, secrets, and the realization that a fresh start isn’t always what it seems.
I never expected my family to face the kind of hardship that would expose our vulnerabilities and test our bonds. When my son Isaac and his wife Harper faced mounting financial pressure after welcoming a third child, I found myself torn between my desire to help and the reality of my own limitations. Their struggle forced us all to confront uncomfortable truths about pride, dependence, and what it means to truly support one another.
“Because then you’ll have to save money to pay off the mortgage! And you’re still so young! Live and enjoy life!” my mother kept telling us.
Two years ago, my husband and I made a rather impulsive decision that we now deeply regret. It all started when my husband got a promotion, and I, following my gut feeling, suggested we take out a mortgage. For years, even before the birth of our two children, the eldest of whom just turned 15, we had been renting an apartment. Then
My daughter-in-law, Harper, and my son, Isaac, have two young children and recently bought a house. Harper was on maternity leave and planned to return to work, but then she found out she was pregnant again and couldn’t go back. Isaac was left to manage the mortgage and all financial responsibilities on his own.
