When my son went off to college, I started giving him $2,000 a month for living expenses. Seemed reasonable, right? But once he started dating, the complaints began. “Mom, how am I supposed to impress a girl on this kind of budget? If you ever want grandkids, you better send me another two grand!” At first, I thought it was a joke. It wasn’t. To fund his champagne tastes, I did the unthinkable. I downloaded every loan app under the sun and borrowed in his name. Why? Because I’d already sacrificed so much for him. What was a little more debt if it helped him succeed? When he graduated, I thought my job was done. Instead, he dropped a new bombshell. “Mom, I can’t start my life stuck in a 9-to-5. I need time to focus on big milestones, like getting married and having kids.” Then the housing market hit its peak, and he came to us, saying he needed a house. My husband and I reluctantly agreed, scraping together a down payment. We told ourselves it was for his future, for his family. But when the mortgage payments started piling up, he snapped. “If you hadn’t forced me into such an expensive house, I wouldn’t be so stressed out!” he yelled. Then came the ultimatum: “I’m not paying it back. You go figure it out. Either earn more money, or I’ll just dump the house on you!” I picked up three jobs. I barely slept, juggling work and endless bills, until one day, I collapsed at work. That was my breaking point. This time, I took control. I tanked his credit score myself. Let’s see him try to pull another stunt like that now. “Mom, I’m out of money again. Could you send more?” The text buzzed on my phone. “Make it two thousand. The cafeteria food’s been giving me diarrhea for days, and eating out costs a fortune.” It was the 10th of the month. Again. When he first went to college, $2,000 a month was supposed to cover everything. But within a year, it became $3,000. Now even that doesn’t last two weeks. Usually, I’d give him a long lecture about responsibility. But this time, I just said, “Sure, give me a second.” I opened one of the loan apps I’d downloaded, borrowed $5,000 in his name, and sent him the $2,000 he wanted. Not a word of thanks. Just another cold transaction. I grabbed my journal and added the day’s loan to the growing list. All this because I’d made the mistake of thinking my sacrifices would lead to his success. It didn’t stop after college. One day, he came home with Emily, his pregnant girlfriend. “Mom, Dad, we need $30,000 for the bride price and $200,000 for a house.” We didn’t have that kind of money, but when I saw the tears in Emily’s eyes and the panic on my son’s face, I caved. We begged and borrowed from every relative we could, pulling together $120,000. Thirty grand went to the bride price; the rest became the down payment on a house. “Thank you, Mom and Dad,” he said, tears in his eyes. “You two can relax now. I’ll take care of you forever.” Relax? We were too busy working overtime to pay back the family loans. And just as we thought we’d caught up, he came crying again. “Mom, the mortgage is killing me. I can’t do this alone. Would you really let your grandson be homeless?” So we stepped up. Again. My husband and I worked nonstop to support his little family. Two years later, housing prices tanked, and his salary hadn’t budged. When someone in his neighborhood sold a similar house for $80,000, I suggested downsizing. The extra cash could’ve covered the mortgage. That’s when he snapped. “This is all your fault!” he yelled. “If you hadn’t pushed me into buying such an expensive house, I wouldn’t be in this mess!” “I’m done. I can’t pay it. Either you work harder to cover it, or I’m handing it back to you!” I picked up another job. One night, while scrubbing dishes, I blacked out.