For four straight hours, I studied my own blindness.

I traced every payment I’d made to Trevor and Melanie over the previous five years. Rent I never collected. Cars I bought and insured. Credit card balances I erased after Trevor’s company missed yet another target.

Tuition. Vacations. Furniture. “Temporary” allowances. Consulting advances. Emergency transfers that somehow appeared every time I refused an unnecessary request.

The total was even worse than I’d imagined.

Not because I lacked the money.

Because I’d mistaken a complete absence of gratitude for stress.