I don’t even know why I’m typing this. Probably because it’s 2am and I can’t sleep and my brain won’t shut up. I just need to say it, just once, to someone, anyone. Even if it's just to the internet. I’m 48. I have two kids, grown, mostly. A husband. And a mother who thinks I’m an ATM. No, that’s not fair. She doesn’t *think* I am. She *knows* I am. And I let her. I let her because I promised my dad. Before he died. He made me promise, swore me to it. “Always look after your mother, honey. Always make sure she’s taken care of.” And I said I would. I promised him. And he died. And I always did. But I’m just so… done. I’m SO DONE. Every month. It’s a text. Or a call. “Oh, honey, the rent is due, and I’m just a little short this month.” Short. She’s always short. Because she gambles. Bingo, scratch-offs, those stupid slot machines at the gas station. It’s not like Las Vegas high roller stuff. It’s little bits. But it adds up. It adds up to HER ENTIRE RENT. Plus whatever other dumb little debt she’s racked up. The phone bill. A vet bill for her cat she can’t afford. It’s endless. And I pay it. Every time. I send the money. I transfer it. My husband knows. He doesn’t say much anymore. He just looks at me. That look. The one that says "again?" But he doesn’t yell. He knows about my dad. He knows. But I see him looking at our savings account online, and then looking at me. And I just feel like dirt. Because we were gonna buy a house. A little place. Something with a yard. The one we’re in now, it’s fine, it’s good, but it’s small. And we’ve saved. We really have. We’ve worked our butts off for years. But every time we get close, every time we build it up a bit, BAM. Another email from mom. Another frantic call. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, I’ll be homeless, honey, I swear I’ll pay you back.” She never pays me back. Not really. Maybe twenty bucks here, fifty there. Like it’s a gesture. Like that makes a dent in the thousands I’ve given her. THOUSANDS. I’m a teacher. I don’t make bank. I work hard. I love my job. But I’m not rolling in cash. My house fund is her gambling fund. That’s what it is. And I know it. And I still do it. Last week, she called. Sobbing. Saying she was gonna lose her apartment. I didn’t even ask. I just sent it. The whole damn rent. And then I went into the bathroom and just sat on the floor. For like an hour. Just sat there. Staring at the tiles. Wondering how much longer I can do this. How much longer till I just… snap. I promised my dad. My sweet dad. He just wanted her to be okay. He didn’t know she’d be like this. He didn’t know she’d take advantage. Or maybe he did. Maybe he knew and that’s why he made me promise. To fix all his problems after he was gone. Sometimes I hate her. No, that’s too strong. I don’t hate her. She’s my mom. But I resent her. I resent her so much it feels like a physical thing, like a rock in my chest. A heavy, ugly rock. And I can’t tell anyone in my real life. Because they’d judge me. They’d say "just stop." Like it’s that easy. Like I can just break a promise to my dead father. Like I can just watch my mother be homeless. I can’t. I can’t. But I can’t buy a house either. And I’m exhausted. Just so goddamn exhausted.