When your family has spent generations in poverty, survival becomes the only goal. Dreams? Those are for people who can afford them.
I’m Lena, 19, the third of five siblings in a household where hand-me-downs, church donations, and favors from relatives were how we got by. I wore my brother’s jeans with the holes patched up and got my shoes from the school’s donation bin.
But I refused to accept that this was all life had to offer.
I’m working 20 hours a week at a campus coffee shop, surviving on ramen and free event food, and reusing old textbooks just to stay in college. I haven’t bought new clothes in two years.
The only reason I’m even here is because of my grandfather, Leo. Before he passed, he set up small college funds for each of his grandchildren.
“Education is the only thing no one can take from you,” he told me. “Use it wisely.”
That fund is my lifeline. It’s my ticket out — my only guarantee I won’t end up trapped in the same cycle.
Now, meet my oldest sister, Rachel. At 27, she’s already a mom of four — with three different fathers. Her first child came at 18. Then another at 20. Twins at 24.
She burned through her share of Grandpa’s fund years ago — not on school, but on a failed nail salon, designer purses, fancy dinners, and a car she couldn’t afford to insure.
“I was investing in myself,” she’d say.
Now, she’s always broke, always needing a bailout. And guess who she calls?
Me.
In our family, I’m “the responsible one.” I’m the one who helps, who babysits, who shows up when no one else will. My mom has said for years, “Lena, you’re so good with the kids. Lena, you’re so reliable.”
And so, I spent my teenage years raising her children — missing school events, giving up time with friends, working double shifts — while she lived her life.
I told myself it would end when I got to college. That I’d finally get to focus on me .
Then came Sunday dinner.
We were all at Mom’s, the house loud with kids and chaos, when Rachel stood up with a wide smile.
“I’m pregnant again!” she announced.
Everyone cheered.
My stomach dropped.
“Congratulations,” I said, forcing a smile. “When’s the due date?”
“June,” she said. “I’m already 12 weeks.”
Twelve weeks. She’d been hiding it while I helped pay for her groceries and watched her other kids.
Then she dropped the bomb.
“I’ve been thinking… there’s still some of Grandpa’s money left. Your college fund.”
I stared at her. “You’re serious?”
“You don’t even have kids,” she said. “You’re just saving it. I need it for this baby.”
Around the table, heads nodded. Mom said, “Family comes first, Lena.”
Rachel added, “You’re hoarding that money while I’m struggling to feed the ones I already have.”
That’s when I snapped.
“I fight for my education every single day,” I said, voice steady. “That money is mine . It’s for my future. Not for another one of your poor choices.”
The room exploded.
“How can you be so selfish?” Rachel screamed. “This is your niece or nephew !”
Mom gave me that disappointed look — the one that used to make me crumble. “I raised you better than this.”
I finally fought back.
“What about when I needed help? When I was working three jobs just to afford applications? Where was ‘family comes first’ then?”
Rachel stood up, chair crashing behind her. “You think you’re better than us now?”
“I think I deserve a future,” I said. “You spent your fund on a nail salon and purses. I’m not letting you take mine.”
I listed every sacrifice I’d made — the winter formal I missed, the library job I quit, the nights I studied at 2 a.m. because I was too busy babysitting.
“I gave up my childhood for you,” I said. “But I’m done. When do I get to live my life?”
The table fell silent.
Then my older brother, Mark, spoke up. “She’s right. Grandpa meant that money for education. Why should Lena pay for Rachel’s mistakes?”
Rachel cried. “You’re all turning against me when I’m pregnant!”
“I’m not turning against you,” I said. “I’m finally turning toward myself.