When I was 10, my mom was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. The weight of her illness was suffocating, and our lives were filled with constant worry. One day, the father of my school friend, aware of our dire situation, offered a respite. “Let me take you on holiday with us,” he said. “I want to give you a break from all this and let your mom have some rest.”

It sounded like a much-needed escape, so I went with them to the coast. The first night, as the sound of the waves lulled me into a fragile sense of peace, he abruptly entered my room. “Do you have enough money to pay for your dinner?” he asked, his tone unexpectedly sharp.

Panic gripped me. I wasn’t sure if my mom had given them any money for my expenses. We didn’t have much, and I was acutely aware of our financial struggles. I stammered, unsure how to respond, my mind racing with the fear of burdening my mom with more debt. He laughed, as if it were a joke, and brought me some snacks and a drink.

But the “joke” didn’t end there. Throughout the holiday, every time we sat down to eat or planned an activity, he repeated the same question. “Do you have enough money for this?” It gnawed at me, the worry becoming an all-consuming dread. I even refused to go to the swimming pool, terrified that I was adding to a debt my mom couldn’t afford.

When I returned home, my mom’s condition had worsened. I couldn’t bring myself to ask her about the “bill,” but the weight of it stayed with me. Even as a grown woman, the memory of that cruel “joke” still hurts. I hope no one ever made his child feel that way, and I hope he never understood the cruelty of his words.