my mother worked two jobs as a hospital night shift custodian to raise Kloe and me after our father passed away. She wore faded clothes, skipped meals, and ruined her knees on concrete floors just to make sure we had food and books. I remember her coming home in the gray light before
dawn, still in her uniform, easing herself onto the couch with a groan she thought we couldn’t hear, and being up again three hours later to make our lunches before her second shift. She never complained about it in front of us. Not once.
I inherited her work ethic. Kloe inherited an overwhelming sense of entitlement. Ten years ago, I earned a degree in chemical engineering and secured a high-paying contract managing offshore logistics for an energy consortium overseas. I spent six long years working in extreme climates, living frugally and
saving every single dollar with one
