When my brother and his wife stole my credit card, they thought they were just taking plastic. What they really took was my trust. What happened next was something they didn’t see coming.
I never planned to get a credit card.
Growing up, I watched my parents argue about money and bills spread across the kitchen table. My mom would cry, and my dad would promise to work more overtime. I swore I’d never put myself in that position.
Bills and other papers on a table | Source: Midjourney
But here I am at 22, juggling classes at the local university while living at home with my parents. I’m not complaining. My arrangement works for me.
I pay $300 monthly rent and cover my own phone bill, streaming services, and personal expenses. Every extra dollar goes straight into my savings account for driving lessons and eventually a car of my own.
Independence is what I’m after, one careful step at a time.
That’s why I got the credit card in the first place. To build my credit score.
A credit card application form | Source: Pexels
I researched for weeks, comparing interest rates and annual fees before choosing one designed for students. When it arrived in the mail, I felt oddly proud.
Adult Britney, making responsible financial decisions.
I used it exactly twice. Once for my textbooks ($65.99) and once for some groceries when Dad’s car broke down and I couldn’t get to the ATM ($14.27). Both times, I paid the balance in full before the statement even closed.
Honestly, the card mostly lived in the back of my wallet. It wasn’t a temptation for me.
A woman holding her wallet | Source: Pexels
I only told my dad about it. Mom means well, but she’s physically incapable of keeping information to herself. It’s like secrets burn holes in her pockets.
“Dad, I got approved for that student credit card,” I mentioned one evening while helping him wash dishes.
He nodded approvingly. “Smart move, honey. Just remember—”
“I know, I know. It’s not free money,” I finished his sentence with a smile.
“That’s my girl,” he said.
\Of course, Mom walked in right at that moment. Her ears practically perked up like a cartoon character.
“What’s not free money?” she asked, setting down her shopping bags.
Dad and I exchanged looks.
“Britney got a credit card to build her credit history,” Dad explained before I could change the subject.
Mom’s eyes widened. “A credit card? With an actual limit? How much can you spend?”
“That’s not the point, Mom,” I sighed. “The point is to use it responsibly and pay it off.”
She waved her hand dismissively. “Of course, of course. I’m just asking.”
I should have known better.
Two days later, my phone buzzed with a text from my brother Mark.
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