Six years ago, I took over my father’s finances.
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I was 25 and had just moved in with my boyfriend, who is now my husband, and was working in New York as a health reporter making what felt like barely enough to cover my commute. I knew nothing about money — and now I was in charge of my father’s complicated and secretive finances.
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Until that point, I had been living a narrative that may be familiar to many Americans. My parents divorced when I was halfway through high school. We struggled financially, though my mother never let my brother and me catch on. It was always the three of us, and we moved a lot. Growing up, I knew my father through a revolving door in the lobby of our lives. Child support and his sobriety were just as unpredictable. Eventually, he made an attempt to sober up and rented an apartment in a town next to us.
With Flowers
I’ve tried to tell this story before. Let me try again. This time with flowers. My mother died on Mother’s Day. It’s nearly impossible for me to...
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