I never planned to get a credit card. After watching my parents struggle with money, I swore I’d avoid debt. But at 22, working toward independence, I got a student credit card to build my credit. I used it responsibly, paid it off immediately, and kept it mostly tucked away.
Only my dad knew—until my mom overheard and let it slip to my brother Mark.
Mark, the golden child despite a string of bad decisions, texted asking to borrow my card. I said no. Days later, he and his wife Kendra showed up uninvited, pressured me again, and I still refused. When they left, my mom—always on Mark’s side—went with them, furious I wouldn’t “help family.”
Then my card went missing.
Charges started showing up: electronics, gas, pizza. I reported it stolen. The bank flagged the card. When Mark and Kendra tried using it again, they were caught. At the station, they called me, begging me to say I’d given them permission. I didn’t.
They weren’t arrested, but the damage was done. A fraud report, embarrassment, and strained relationships followed. Mom eventually came home—quieter, never apologizing.
They never asked me for anything again.
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